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astraystayyh · 1 month

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An eye for an eye.

assassin!hyunjin x journalist!yn. slow burn. suggestive and angsty at times. she/her pronouns. 7.4k.

it is perhaps the most decisive night of your life. what are the odds that at the same time and place, it happens to be hyunjin’s too?

warnings: mention of alcohol, guns, bruises and injuries. brief talks of grief.

a.n: this is prompted by how hot villain hyunjin looks in the ate era 😭 it was supposed to be a drabble and i didn’t plan on it to be this long.. but i hope you’ll enjoy reading tehee it’s different from anything i’ve ever written so please feedback would be so appreciated,, muah muah 😘❣️

A ruby red lipstick.

Your first childhood dream was to become a journalist, but not the complacent, obedient kind. You wanted to shed light on uncovered events, dig into the raw truth with your claws, and hold it up for the entire world to witness. You craved justice. You never believed in letting things flow their way, like a current that morphs into a torrent, destroying everything in its path.

No, you were a dam, forcing the water to change its trajectory. After all, you have always believed that all it took for change to happen was a trigger, a single flicker that would in turn burst into flames.

You wished to be it.

It was hard to grow into this specific kind of journalist, though. Not because you lacked drive, passion, or discipline. Especially not because you weren’t curious enough, brave enough. You were Seoul Press’s youngest and brightest reporter, after all.

But in a highly competitive field, you still needed your big story, your breakthrough which would put you on the radar of esteemed awards that all journalists venerate. Though you deemed it much easier to obtain a Pulitzer than to squelch your heart’s quest for truth, justice, and most importantly, in an unpredictable curb that life threw at you— revenge.

Your second childhood dream was to put on ruby red lipstick. Your thirteen-year-old self deemed it the ultimate show of power and confidence, each time you saw your aunt wearing one to her most important meetings. You dreamed of the day you could put it on as well, on your way to uncover the truth.

And tonight, as you applied your ruby lipstick precisely, gliding the vibrant color across your lips, you felt nerves tighten like thorny vines in your stomach, puncturing your tender skin and leaving you a bloodied mess from within.

Tonight, in your black gown and your ruby lipstick, in San Heo’s mansion, your country’s most prominent presidential candidate, and the man who ruined your life, it seemed like you were about to achieve both dreams at once.

…

The clock hand points nine on Hyunjin’s Tank Louis Cartier watch. He throws a fleeting glance at the Victorian watch, before eyeing the people mingling at San Heo’s party.

He knows all of the guests, memorized their faces and their habits. He knows the school where they drop off their kids and what bar they frequent every Sunday. He memorized their mannerisms and antics, knows what set them off and what did not.

This is the fruit of two years of work, after all.

He knows exactly why everyone is here, tonight particularly. Three politicians’ families and friends gathered as a show of power, to prove that they weren’t afraid of whoever’s been forcing politicians to come clean about their crimes for the past three months.

In the least glamorous manner, at that too, to put it delicately—ten bloodied tapes sent to the country’s most prominent media channels, where ministers and heads of multinationals are bound by ropes to a chair, recalling their most heinous crimes: money laundering and embezzlement for most, theft and murder for some.

The latter is Jung Cho’s case, San’s most successful competitor for the presidency, who has also mysteriously vanished from the police’s grasp since the release of his tape. No one can get a hold of poor Jung Cho anymore.

Hyunjin smirks lightly to himself. His knuckles seem to have healed well since he last dislocated Jung Cho’s jaw. Well, that was before he shot him through the roof of his mouth.

The golden cuffs of Hyunjin’s Versace blazer reflect the light of the dangling crystal chandeliers, and he runs a weary hand through his black locks. He never chose to gel them back; he wasn’t one for structure, preferring the feeling of his silky strands brushing against his fingers.

His eyes catch those of San’s across the room, who tips his glass of whiskey towards Hyunjin—a job well done, he reads in San’s stare. Hyunjin raises his red wine back, before settling it across the table once more.

It is a boring half an hour that awaits Hyunjin.

That is until he sees you.

You weren’t here two minutes ago, Hyunjin is sure of this. And, judging by the way you are leisurely sipping your sparkling water, your eyes gliding across the room in search of someone in particular, you had just stepped foot into the party.

Fashionably late, if he were to add.

But that is none of Hyunjin’s concern. What intrigues him the most is that your face isn’t familiar to him. That isn’t normal.

You weren’t supposed to be here, then.

Who are you?

As if hearing his question, your gaze locks onto his. He cocks an eyebrow at you; you mirror the gesture like clockwork.

Thus ensues an intense game of eye contact. You don’t break away from his gaze until two minutes later, a light scoff escaping your lips that he can discern even from afar. You then turn to look at San, your eyes morphing into something fiercer, more determined— a sniper finally locking eyes on its target.

Hyunjin feels a slight headache growing at the base of his temple. He downs his drink, before taking long strides towards you.

It’s official, you’re going to be his nuisance for the night.

27 minutes.

“Care to dance?” Hyunjin inquires as he materializes before you, a hand extended towards your body.

“Pardon?”

“A dance? To the lovely music we are hearing right now?”

“I know what you mean,” you roll your eyes, leaning your body against the chair right next to you. Hyunjin’s eyes glaze over your legs peeking through the high slit of your dress. Had it been another setting, the sight of your black sheer tights would have made this night turn much differently.

Your voice dispels his thoughts like morning fog. “I mean why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“How flattering,” you grin sarcastically and Hyunjin feels the smallest urge to return your smile, although he knows it isn’t genuine.

“I know. Shall we?”

Your gaze flees to San once again, seemingly debating something in your head before finally sighing.

In the few seconds of scrutiny you consecrate to his boss, Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on your bright red lipstick, and the way you tuck your lip slightly into your mouth as you ponder.

A beautiful nuisance, he corrects himself.

“Fine,” You place your manicured hand in his in response.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he settles one hand atop your waist. The fabric of your black dress is too thin, he can feel the heat emanating from your body seeping through his palm.

Focus. You need to discover who she is.

“Julia,” your hand settles atop his shoulder, while the other entwines with his. “And you?”

“Sam. What are you doing here?” he quickly inquires.

You shake your head slightly, gliding your hand from the base of his neck to the end of his shoulder.

“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”

Hyunjin tilts his head curiously at you, before smirking slightly— “Yes ma’am.”

“What do you work for?”

“I’m Mr. Heo’s political adviser.”

“You’re quite young, though,” you note.

“I know.”

“And I don’t see you by his side a lot.”

“I work in the background, mostly. I don’t do well with the cameras.” He spins you around, picking up speed as the orchestra picks up the violin. “How do you know Mr. Heo?”

“I’m Kang’s niece, you know, Mr. Heo’s economic adviser? Uncle Kang is ill, and my father is out of the country so both of them chose not to come.”

Hyunjin’s memory faintly brushes off Kang’s single niece, completing her architectural studies in Paris’ Sorbonne.

“C’est beau à Paris?” Is it beautiful in Paris?

You don’t even blink— “Même magnifique, tu devrais visiter.” Marvelous even, you should visit.

Checks out.

“I’ll hold you on to that offer,” he says, before spinning you around, your chest settling across his back. Hyunjin ignores how his heart skips a singular beat at your proximity.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, his lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. He watches as your chest rises once before your airy voice floods his ear.

“Networking, though you didn’t quite allow me to speak to anyone but you,” you tease slightly.

“I fail to see what an architect has to do with politicians,” he muses, as he sways you gently from left to right.

“I want to oversee the building of Jamsil Sports Complex.”

“So you’re using your father for work connections?” he taunts and you swivel around, placing both your hands on his shoulders before interlinking your fingers behind his neck, caging him within the notes of your perfume.

“Is it a crime?” your voice is airy, too airy, everything you say sounds rehearsed, you don’t seem intimidated by him, by this setting, as opposed to how a newly graduated student, one who grew up away from her father’s world should.

“Depends on your definition,” he counters.

“Do you regard it as such?”

Hyunjin’s gaze flickers all over yours. He senses something urgent in your gaze, as if you are pushing for more, beyond what this simple question entails.

When he remains quiet for a tad too long, you let your hands drop by your body, taking a step away from him.

“I need to go,” you say. He grabs your wrist instantly. “Where to?”

“Bathroom.” And with that, you quickly turn around and walk away, leaving behind notes of your floral perfume and ghosts of your ruby lips.

Hyunjin steals a glance at his clock. 09:13 p.m.

He drags a hand across his forehead wearily. He won’t let you ruin this night.

17 minutes.

You are washing your hands obsessively in the bathroom, lost in thought as you gaze at your reflection, all blurry from your unfocused eyes. You only turn off the water once your skin starts to sting from the force of your touch.

The orange-scented soap doesn’t seem to get rid of the stench of blood.

A week ago.

“I don't understand your obsession with Mr. Heo,” Christopher Bang calmly removed his glasses, placing them next to the shiny placate reading ‘Editor in Chief of Seoul Press’.

“He is corrupt.”

“As all politicians are,” he spoke matter of factly, and it angered you how unfazed he seemed before your, you admit, far-fetched request.��

“You don’t understand, sir. He’s different.”

“Did he do something to you?” Chris asked, leaning back against his chair. You felt exposed all of a sudden, like a flower left bare without its stem.

“Would my answer change anything?” You inquired tentatively.

“It would explain many things, yes actually,” he got up from his chair, before sitting on the one right across from you. “You are a talented journalist, Yn.”

“Thank you—“

“But you are utilizing the company’s resources to conduct your personal investigation on San Heo.”

He knew.

“You’ve been working on his case from the day you joined our media. Which was exactly 389 days ago. I know that you’ve managed to uncover quite some dirt, one that would make an explosive case if you get more information. That’s why I turned a blind eye to everything you did because I trust your skills and integrity.”

You remained silent.

“But now, you’re asking me to completely disregard my deontology by finding a way for you to break into Mr. Heo’s mansion. That is a crime.”

“Not break in. I want an invite to his party, it is the first time he organized one in his home, probably the last time, it is my only chance to—”

“Details,” he waves a hand disinterestedly in the air, cutting you off. “Your intentions aren’t to mingle with politicians, it is to dig in his office and find something of substance. While I admire the lengths of what you want to go through, I must stop you here.” He leveled his eyes with yours. “This can land you in jail, he is the most important man in our country right now.”

“What if I tell you he did something to me, that he ruined my life? Would you help me then?” your voice was hoarse, tears pricked your eyes as you tried your best not to avert your gaze. You hated displays of weakness, despised them even more in professional settings.

“What did he do?”

You bristled at the question, ugly memories flashing before your eyes like a blinding light, your body begging you to flee away from this question and the heavy response it entailed.

Still, you spoke.

Christopher remained silent as you recalled what happened on your doomsday, the night in which your world ceased to spin, and simultaneously, the reason why you joined his company, to begin with. When your sniffles subsided a few minutes later, he gently handed you a napkin, a silent invitation to wipe away the tears that had escaped.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his weary face before finally speaking.

“I’ll give you the invite tomorrow. Say that you are Kang’s niece, her name is Julia. She went to Paris for architectural studies, and that you are back for a vacation. Kang is ill these days, he won’t attend the party, and his brother is out of the country, no one will question you.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I know them,” he toyed with his lower lip lightly before a tiny smile drew upon it. “An eye for an eye, right? I’m Kang’s cousin. I changed my last name because I didn’t wish to deal with them anymore.”

“So Bhang isn’t your real last name?”

“No.” He ran his thumb across his lower lip, seemingly debating adding something. “San’s office is on the far end of the third floor.”

You heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

13 minutes.

It was one thing to stare at photographs of San seared behind your reddened eyelids or to stand at the far end of his press conferences. It was another to step foot into his mansion, to stand amidst powerful people who are capable of ruining your life had they known of your motives.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on your personal feelings. Fear, nerves, all of those feeble emotions pale before the chance you have today. So, you nod at your reflection in the mirror, count to three in your head, and finally head out of the bathroom.

“Five minutes, were you crying?” Sam’s bored voice startles you as soon as you set foot outside. He’s leaning on the wall across from the door, hands deep into the pockets of his suit.

Not again.

“I know that I’m very pretty but don’t you have better things to do than to follow me?” you ask, pausing right in front of him.

“I’m not following you, I just happen to be particularly fond of the architecture of this corridor,” he jokes and you ignore his words, walking past him with a renowned determination. He pushes himself off the wall, only to grasp your wrist once again, spinning you around until you’re facing him.

He chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side. His icy blue contacts pierce through your skin like a puncture needle. “You know, I’m curious, Julia. You seemed very eager to get away from me.”

You take a step forward, closing the distance between you two. “Have you considered that I found your company utterly boring?”

“You wound me,” he places a hand on his heart, any trace of humor absent from his voice. His grip tightens on your wrist for a millisecond. A warning. “I need you to leave.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

“And why should I listen to you?” you challenge and his eyes darken further.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then let me go,” you mutter, slipping your hand away from his grasp.

“Julia,” he says sternly, pulling you back till your back is against the wall, his hands rooted on either side of your body.

It is a dimly lit hallway, and the sound of the orchestra barely reaches you. Your worry intermingles with a new kind of nerves, all orchestrated by his proximity, and the way his gaze brushes against your body like a skilled painter.

“I’m not joking, leave.” His voice is much softer when he adds, “It’s for your own good. What will happen later doesn’t concern you.”

He knows something that you don’t know, something that, from his tone, none of the guests are aware of. You see something human in his eyes, in the slight crease doting his eyebrows. He seems genuinely worried for the innocent civilian he thinks you are.

Your eyes turn to look at his hand near your head, only to notice his faintly bruised knuckles, shades of purple and green doting a delicate porcelain skin. They have healed well, then.

Should you unearth the memory from two weeks ago— pleas for mercy, a deafening gunshot, and an excruciating silence afterward, the quiet after the murder that you remember most?

Then, another scene rings in your head like bells of an ancient church— a bruised hand brushing against your own in an art gallery from two days ago, raven locks, and familiar, melancholy-tinted eyes.

Could it be?

Your voice turns sweet, tender, “should I trust you for the night?” your thumb brushes against the skin underneath his eye, wiping away the concealer you knew you spotted.

There it is, the eye mole you thought he covered.

It clicks in your mind in an instant, pieces of a puzzle falling into place, there are still a few missing but you manage to grasp the bigger picture.

If he’s not letting you go then he could be of good use.

What other choice do you have but to gamble with a killer?

Your sharp nails drag across the nape of his neck, before settling right beneath his jaw. You mimic a gun, his eyes narrow in response.

“Is this how you killed Jung Cho, Hyunjin?”

You feel a cold barrel instantly press against your stomach. “Police officer?” he asks.

“No.”

“Journalist ?”

“Yes,” you slowly mutter.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t wish to tell you.” The gun only presses further onto your skin. You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your exposed spine.

Breathe.

“It’s Yn.”

“What do you know?”

“It’d be easier for me to talk if you removed the gun,” you smile lightly and Hyunjin only leans further, a distance as thin as a blade between you both.

“Speak.”

“You killed the only candidate that stood a chance in front of San. You drove him to the empty deposit near Inwangsan Mountain, tortured him for three days, filmed his confessions, and then sent them to many media outlets. Ours included. I know it because I followed you.”

“Why did you follow me?” he questions. Your eyes flee to the end of the corridor where an impossible staircase sits. You are wasting your time.

“Because I am investigating San. And through following him I ended up getting to know you. You are different from everyone he meets. Very secretive. So I figured it’d be worth a shot following you too,” you explain as calmly as you can. You’re sure the barrel of the gun will leave a bruise on your skin.

“And why didn’t you write a piece about me? Everyone is dying to know who I am.”

“I have, I just haven’t released it. If I don’t come back home in an hour my head chef will post the video of you murdering Mr. Cho on every SNS. The public loves you for what you’re doing. But the politicians will come together to kill you. They have a price on your head. You are threatening everything they ever built.”

Hyunjin drags his gun up your stomach slowly, trails it across your collarbones before it settles on your jaw.

“I could kill you too, right now.” His tone is cold, evil. Very different from the man who asked you to dance. You know that I can.”

“My death would only sign yours.”

Hyunjin’s forehead rests on the wall right next to your head. You can hear him inhale deeply, hear the gears turning in his head. “Fuck, you are driving me crazy.”

He drops the gun and takes a step back. “Why didn’t you expose me?”

“You are not the one that matters to me.”

“What do you want from me then?”

“Three minutes. Open San’s office, and then I’ll go. No one will ever know of your identity.”

He remains silent.

“Hyunjin, please.”

“Fuck, fine. But whatever happens next you’ll have to trust me, okay?” his hands settle on your shoulder, his eyes leveling with yours, “if you’re not leaving then you’ll have to trust me enough, for tonight.”

8 minutes.

“After you,” Hyunjin bows slightly as he opens the door to Heo’s office. You step in first, and he steals a quick glance behind him—no one’s here, for now.

“That saved me the hassle of breaking the door.”

“You know how to do that?” he asks, slightly impressed.

“One of my hobbies,” you shrug before walking directly to the desk. Hyunjin leans against the wall, watching as you lift your dress slightly, revealing a small packet tucked into your garter. The sight drives Hyunjin a little crazy, and he closes his eyes for a second.

He really, really wishes he hadn’t met you here tonight.

You take out a listening device, tapping the bottom of the desk until you find a suitable spot, and then you stick it in place.

“Another one of your hobbies?” he smirks.

You giggle. “Mm, aren’t I the most fun?”

“You are,” his eyes drag across your figure, and he notices a slight falter in your posture, “the most beautiful too.”

You blink, and he’s suddenly in front of you, trapping you between the auburn desk and his toned body. You don’t seem intimidated, placing a palm on his chest as you tilt your head to the side.

“Aren’t you curious why I’m going after San?”

“No, he angers a lot of people.” His thumb caresses your cheek, a touch so soft in contrast to his next words. “A lot of people fantasize about his death.”

“Are you one of them?” you question, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Right now, all I’m fantasizing about is you.” His voice is husky, and he finds it comes out much easier when he actually likes the person he’s attempting to seduce.

It takes you a few seconds to speak again. “Is that so?”

“Mm, let’s dance.”

“Didn’t we dance downstairs?”

“That was Sam and Julia dancing,” he says as he entwines his fingers with yours. “You see, Hyunjin is a different kind of dancer.” His hand presses against your back, snaking against your bare skin. “Can I pull you closer?” he asks, and you simply nod, eyes fleeting widely all over his face.

His chest presses to yours, so close he’s sure your hearts are syncing with one another, his inhales alternating with your exhales.

“Yn,” he whispers your name, as you look up at him through the curve of your eyelashes.

“Yes, Hyunjin?” His name sounds soft as it stumbles from your ruby lips, innocent from all the blood that drenches his soul.

“I like the way you say my name.” He glances at his watch above your head. 9:57.

“Hyunjin,” you repeat, as your hand drags up his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gently dragging it backward, exposing his enticing neck to you. “You are always looking at your watch, what are you waiting for?”

He chuckles faintly, grabbing both your hands and spinning you around till his chin rests on the small of your shoulder. “You’re perceptive,” he mutters, as his fingers drag down your bare arms. “But so am I,” he says coldly as he grabs both your hands, bringing them behind your back. “Look, your hands are shaking just from my proximity. I don’t think you have it in you to film me killing Jung Cho. I don’t think you have it in you to watch me torture someone for three days.”

Click. Cold metal wraps around your wrist in an instant, handcuffing you to the leg of the table before which you’re standing.

“I think you lied to me, Yn. I don’t like being lied to.”

“What are you doing?” you ask disoriented, panic spilling from your being like an overflowing cup.

Hyunjin pays you no mind, taking out his phone and dialing a number. “Boss, we have a problem. I caught a journalist trying to get into your room,” he taps his chin slowly as he looks at you. “No, no need for security. Just come alone. Don’t alarm the guests.”

2 minutes

“Are you serious?” you ask as soon as he hangs up, a prominent lump in your throat. “You told me to trust you.”

“Did I say I was worth that trust?” he pouts, seemingly mocking the vulnerable ordeal you found yourself in.

A loud chuckle escapes your lips, your head thrown back as if before a hilarious spectacle of sorts. Hyunjin frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest as your giggles slowly quiet down.

“You’re a peculiar person, aren’t you Hyunjin? You need to hide your identity but you crave normalcy still, so you open your art gallery. You go to crazy lengths to cover your moles and wear contacts because you wish for people to look at you with admiration in their eyes, kindness. But you don’t deserve it.” There is a fire lit in your eyes, flames latching into his black suit and burning his already scarred skin. “You’ll always be as evil as them.”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond for a while, his eyes simply softening at your words.

“I know,” he whispers.

“Who’s this?” San’s voice booms loudly as he sets foot into the office. Hyunjin’s eyes break apart from your figure to look at San, bowing slightly to greet him.

“Julia, she infiltrated the party,” Hyunjin explains, stealthily locking the door behind San. “She’s been investigating you for quite some time now. And… She knows about the murders.”

“Mm, she’s clever. Should we hire her?” San jokes and Hyunjin smiles politely, dragging his eyes over your face. You simply roll your eyes, seemingly more bored than scared.

Cute.

“Anyways,” Heo stares at you for a fleeting second before tapping Hyunjin’s shoulder. “She looks easy to kill. Just get rid of her. But don’t stain my carpet though, it's expensive.”

“Sure thing,” Hyunjin nods, taking out his gun and pointing it at your temple. He steals a final look at his watch— 9:30 p.m. he reads.

Time’s up.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go?” Hyunjin mocks, cocking his head at you. In a split second, a bullet ricochets loudly, but not at you. It grazes San’s ear, making him pause near the door, his back towards you both.

“Right boss?” Hyunjin’s tone is slightly whiny, annoying is the best way to describe it. You can hear police sirens blare loudly outside, see the red and blue hues reflect off the window. Loud shouts erupt downstairs, Hyunjin leisurely reloads his gun, one hand deep into his pocket, San’s posture slightly falters, his fingers digging into the skin of his palm.

“Do you hear that Heo? Your mansion is surrounded. All your filthy dirt is exposed. The police officers are arresting everyone downstairs right now. And they’re coming for you. The man of the hour.” Hyunjin makes a show of curtsying deeply. You stifle a giggle at his theatrics.

“You dare turn your back on me?” San yells, pivoting around to face Hyunjin’s barrel, the latter simply yawns as if it’s a regular Saturday activity for him.

“Oh, don’t get emotional on me,” Hyunjin pouts, before his eyes narrow down coldly. “Now kneel. Let’s end this without staining your carpet.”

You see San slowly lowering himself to the ground, Hyunjin’s gaze sets on you for a millisecond, his pupils dilated in apology, in concern, you don’t know, you don't get to decipher his look because San is taking out his gun from his back pocket, aiming it at Hyunjin. “Watch out”— is all you manage to shout, and hyunjin ducks in an instant, propelled by the sound of your voice to the ground.

He could have died, he could have died because he looked at you.

It all happens so fast, Hyunjin diving into San to take away his gun, both their weapons flinging into the air, San punching Hyunjin’s mouth and the latter retaliating by flinging his fist up against his nose. You’re struggling with your restraints, trying to reach out for the lone gun that fell to your right.

A bit more, tune out the sirens, tune out the punches, slowly, only a few centimeters left, your wrist is on fire but that is the least of your concern, almost, there, you grab it.

You fire the gun.

It’s quiet once again, for the first time in two years, it is quiet in your head.

It’s over.

You close your eyes, tilting your head back into the desk. The sound of your mother’s laughter floods your ears, her airy giggles as she brushes your hair and tucks you into her chest, her being a vision of beauty underneath the sun’s caress.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin kneels before you, wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks with his bruised knuckles. He is worried, even behind those icy blue contacts, you can still grasp his worry.

You nod, swallowing the sob that is lodged within your throat. Hyunjin is quick to unlock your handcuffs, entwining your fingers with his as he pulls you off the ground.

You slightly push him aside, your eyes set on San’s bleeding figure. He’s still alive, rugged breaths escaping his chest, his palm pressed to the bullet that punctuated his stomach.

“I want him dead,” you mutter, grabbing Hyunjin’s forearm to support yourself, “but I want him to rot in prison too.”

“He will, for all his crimes. I have it all documented. The police have it too,” his palm rubs soothingly against your back, you lean further into his touch.

“He’s a monster.”

“I know. They all are. That’s why I killed them,” he simply says, before guiding you back to a couch on the right of the office. He shrugs off his suit, draping it over your trembling shoulders.

“Give me a minute.”

You watch as he grabs the gun you fired off of the ground, before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wipes your fingerprints, making sure to leave his all over the gun. He then walks to the table, taking away your listening device and crushing it to the ground.

He’s calm and collected as he rearranges the scene to his liking, it looks like he has done this a million times before, as if this is the element in which he thrives— a sunflower turning to face the sun, at long last.

He kneels before your freezing figure one last time, tilting your chin to the side so you’d look at him.

“I fired the gun. You had no idea any of this would happen, you’re just an ambitious journalist who wanted an insider scoop.” He senses you’re somewhere far, pulled by the ropes of memories that had long haunted your dreams. His warm palm presses to your cold cheek, your eyes are glossy as they rest on him.

“You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who used you as a scapegoat to bring San up here, just like I agreed with the police. Alright? You did nothing.You know nothing.”

“Alright.”

Hours pass in a cold blur, the weight of time lost on you as three police officers take turns questioning you. You repeat the lines Hyunjin taught you, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. Even as you step out of the police station, with Hyunjin's hand resting gently on your back, you feel nothing. A slight tremor runs through you when he mentions that San survived and will be transferred to prison once he's healed.

You don’t know why you’re disappointed you didn’t become a killer.

You don’t know anything, don’t feel anything as Hyunjin drives you home. You don’t question how he knows your address or the code to your elevator. It’s only when you unlock your door and he starts to pull away that reality snaps back.

Without thinking, you grab his wrist, suddenly aware of the loneliness that awaits you inside, an uninvited guest preying on your vulnerable heart.

“Would you like some tea?” you ask, your voice tinged with hopelessness, knowing just how silly you sound. Why would he stay? He has so many loose ends to thread after his finishing blow, you know he’s part of something far larger than you.

As if mocking your question, his phone buzzes for the tenth time in the span of five minutes.

But then, to your surprise, he turns it off.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I’d like some tea.”

As you bring the water to a boil, Hyunjin rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, casually wandering around your apartment as if it’s not his first time setting foot in here. He’s always at ease— with a gun pointed at him or while looking at the souvenir magnets on your fridge.

His calmness helps instill some peace in your heart too.

“I like your apartment,” he says, accepting the cup of chamomile you hand him. “It’s cozy, feels like a home.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as you sink into the couch, your head hung low. So much has happened in just half an hour, too much for you to fully comprehend and process.

“Let me see,” he says a few sips later, as he gently removes the cup from your clutch, before sliding his thumb across your right wrist. The bruises have already begun to form, the red marks from the handcuffs clear evidence of your struggle to reach the gun.

“I’m sorry I involved you in this,” he murmurs, frowning as he avoids your gaze, staring intently at your wrist as if he could will the blue hues away. “I didn’t plan for you to be at the party.”

“I involved myself,” you chuckle softly. You’re not one for physical touch, but you don’t feel the usual urge to pull away from his grasp. His hands are warm, the roughness of his fingertips a stark contrast to the softness of your skin.

“You’re a stubborn journalist,” he says with a small smile, finally meeting your gaze. you suddenly yearn to look into the rich brown of his eyes once more. Was its shade as deep as you remember?

“And you’re an excellent painter,” you retort, eliciting a surprised laugh from him. The sound is unexpectedly endearing, and you’re caught in a whirlwind of contradictions. Is this really the same man you saw taking a life? The same man now holding your wrist as if it were made of porcelain?

“Right, you figured out my identity. What gave me away?” he asks, still smiling.

“I heard about this new gallery where the artist’s only clue to his identity was the name signed on his paintings. So, I decided to see for myself. While everyone else was captivated by the artwork, I noticed you, standing in the corner, observing the reactions of everyone around. You smiled when someone smiled, and your grin grew wider with each compliment. That’s when I started to suspect that the artist was you, all along.”

“I remember it now. I bumped into you as you were leaving,” he says, and you nod.

“What stood out to me were your sad eyes. That’s what I remember most. Well, besides your bruised knuckles.”

“And that’s how you connected the dots.”

“Yes, and your eye mole, too. Even though you tried to conceal it with makeup, it still showed.”

“Very perceptive,” he says with a grin.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll expose your identity?” you ask, as his hand gently slides into yours, his fingers resting lightly on top of yours. A simple, innocent touch, yet it stirs something unknown in the pits of your stomach.

“I trusted you when you said I’m not the one who matters to you.”

“Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I miss putting my faith in someone, even if they end up failing me. Isn’t that the most human trait of all?”

How could an assassin create such heartfelt paintings, overflowing with emotions too hard to explain with words, let alone colors? Perhaps because this isn’t the life he always wanted.

“Did you choose this?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the interrogation, or the near brush with death, or perhaps the relief that this chapter is finally closing for both of you. But something compels you to keep talking, to ask, to hold on to Hyunjin just a little longer.

“Being a killer, you mean?” His voice carries a tenderness that seems at odds with the weight of his words. He’s a walking contradiction, balancing two identities within himself—Hyunjin and Sam. One feels heavier on his bones than the other.

“I grew up in this world,” he continues. “My parents run a large network of assassins—or vigilantes, depending on how you see it. Some people hire us, and sometimes we act on our own when we see injustice or corruption festering for too long. We conduct thorough background checks. We only kill those who truly deserve it. We always make sure of that.”

“An eye for an eye.”

He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I always feel good in the midst of a case. One less evil in the world. But after, there’s just this emptiness. Now what? I always wonder. So I try to fill the void with painting.”

“Now what…” you repeat, your voice trembling as a lump forms in your throat. “Now what? What should I do now?” Tears well up and spill over suddenly, streaming down your face in an unstoppable torrent. “San is behind bars, but my mom isn’t coming back. So what now? What was all of this for if I can’t get her back?”

You find yourself burying your head in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close as if he could contain your sadness, preventing it from seeping from your soul and reaching your mother, wherever she may be.

You haven’t allowed anyone to hold you like this in two years, denying yourself any comfort until you could bring your mother’s killer to justice. It was a promise you made to yourself after San drunkenly ran her over and fled the scene, leaving you alone to hug her cold body in that sterile hospital room.

“It drove me crazy,” you sob, your words broken and incoherent. “He bribed everyone—the doctors, the paramedics, the stores nearby. Everyone acted like my mom didn’t d-die because of h-him,” you hiccup, and Hyunjin only holds you tighter, closer, enough to stitch your wounds with time, only if he remains this close to you. If he wishes to, if you allow him to.

“But now he’s behind bars, and I still don’t have my mom. What do I do now that I can’t bury myself in revenge? Hyunjin, what should I do when I miss her so much and I can’t see her?”

Five hours later.

“The article is perfect, no corrections needed,” Chris says, removing his glasses and looking at you with approval. “Excellent work, Yn.”

“Thank you,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief, but mostly exhaustion. “I stayed up all night working on it.”

“Goid, it’s only 6 a.m. so we know that no other media outlet has touched this yet. Our article will be the one to shape public opinion. This is a big win for us. It’s a thorough investigation, and I’m confident you’ll get the recognition you deserve,” he writes something down onto his notebook before looking at you once more. “Take a few days off—you’ve earned it. I’ll reach out if anything urgent comes up.”

“Thank you, sir.” You bow slightly before turning to leave the suffocating office. Or maybe it’s your own mind that’s suffocating you. You don’t have time to dwell on the question before Chris speaks again.

“Oh, Yn?” Chris calls out just as your hand touches the doorknob. “One last thing, did you ever figure out who was behind all those tapes?”

Your grip on the doorknob tightens imperceptibly. “No sir, no clue.”

One month later.

It’s a few minutes before the art gallery closes when you walk in. Hyunjin spots you before you see him, your distinctive walk etched in his memory as vividly as if it were only yesterday that he had seen it.

He approaches quietly, stopping behind you as you gaze at the newest addition to his collection.

“Is this us?” you ask, not turning around. Hyunjin’s eyes follow yours to the abstract painting of a couple waltzing in a ballroom, their hands intertwined just like yours were, four Saturdays ago.

“Yes,” he replies softly.

“It seems I left an everlasting impression on you,” you tease, he can hear the smile in your voice without seeing it.

“You did. You looked beautiful.”

“So did you.”

“I’m glad you came,” he says sincerely. “I missed you.”

“But we only spent a day together,” you giggle quietly, and Hyunjin wishes he could capture your laugh and tuck it away in the veins of his heart.

“Didn’t that day feel like a year, though?” he muses, resting his chin gently on your shoulder. You lean back into him, closing the space between you.

“It did,” you admit before nervously clearing your throat. “Are you free right now? We could grab a drink, if you’d like?”

“Chamomile tea?” he chuckles, and your laughter vibrates through his being.

“No, something stronger this time.”

He hums, hesitating as he despises the words that would stumble out of his mouth. “I have some things to handle tonight. Urgent matters.”

“Ah,” your voice dips slightly, the disappointment clear in your tone. “Well, it’s okay. I’ll see you another time, then,” you say, finally turning to face him.

He really missed you.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Okay.”

“Congratulations on your award, by the way,” he says, watching your expression soften, a delicate smile forming on your lips.

“You saw it?”

“I did. I read your piece, too. I’m sure your mom would be proud of you.”

Tears of gratitude well up in your eyes, and you squeeze Hyunjin’s hand tightly as you whisper, “Thank you. Really. Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s words linger in your soul, echoing through your mind for the rest of your day, his voice the only sound that seems to fill the silence within you. That is until three loud knocks resonate through your apartment, just minutes before midnight.

You open the door to find Hyunjin standing there, a fresh bruise marring his jaw, his knuckles freshly scraped and bloodied.

“Let me guess, you had nowhere else to go?” you joke, trying to regain your composure at the sight of him once more.

“No,” he replies, his tone earnest, “I wanted to come to you.”

Your smile falters at the sincerity in his voice. You can’t quite place what it is about Hyunjin that pulls you toward him, how amidst everything that’s happened in the past month, the most vivid memory is how he held you gently as you cried and cried.

“I forgot something,” he says, pulling a tube of cooling cream from his back pocket and offering it to you. “I meant to give this to you for your bruised wrists.”

He’s a month late, you both know your wrists have long since healed.

“I… yeah,” he sighs before your silence, turning to leave, a light blush tinting his cheeks. But before he can, you drop the tube and grab his hand, spinning him back around.

“I forgot something too,” you say quickly before pressing your lips against his.

You don’t fully understand what draws you to Hyunjin, but you know his lips taste as sweet as cherry chapstick, that his hand around your waist feels like water flowing gently over your skin, warm and encompassing. That his brown eyes remind you of sunlight dancing on autumn leaves, that no one has touched your soul as deeply as he has.

You know you wish to make him feel as human as he makes you.

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #skz imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz au #skz reactions #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin angst #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz fanfic #skz fluff #hyunjin fluff

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axelsagewrites · 15 days

Note

Hey can I request a Aegon x Hightower!aunt reader?

where she's got this holier-than-thou attitude but secretly enjoys seeing Aegon lusts over her (even doing stuff on purpose to fuel his desire). And ultimately she humiliates him in some pleasurable way.

Aegon Targaryen*Pray For Me

Pairing: sub!aegon x f!reader

Word count: 1694

Warnings: a lot of blasphemy, religion, face riding, p in v sex, teasing, m!recieving oral, f!recieving oral, orgasm denial (male), sub aegon, dom reader, good boy, smut 18+

Masterlist here

Your sister was at her wits end, and you couldn’t blame her when you visited court for the first time. Your father was very determined to keep his youngest daughter away from the antics of court but when Alicent requested your presence as the Queen, he decided it was best not to argue.

“Impropriety is a sin, you know,” your voice was quiet, but it shut the whole table up when you spoke.

It was your first family dinner with the queen and her children. Aegon had arrived already tipsy and was being exceptionally loud. “You think me immoral? For having some fun?” he asked, drunkenly smiling as he leant forward.

Alicent let out a sigh and opened her mouth to speak but you spoke before she could, “I think punishment will find those who deserve it,”

“Whatcha gonna do?” he slurred, putting his elbows on the table which you glared at, “Spank me?” he teased.

You smiled sweetly at him and just as he went to sit back in you gave the table a quick jerk causing the wine, he reached for to spill across the table. The red liquid instantly covered his frame, “You bitch!” he jumped up as he tried to shake the wine of his tunic, “This is new!” his whines were almost drowned out by Heleana’s giggles and Alicent’s attempt to hide her laugh.

“If you squandered your money less this wouldn’t be a problem,” you said but it fell on deaf ears as he went to storm out the room.

You weren’t shocked when the guards informed your sister Aegon had taken to the silk streets after dinner. He was shocked to find you leaving his room as he got back, “You’re waiting for me?” he smirked when he saw you, “Need me that badly?”

“You’re driving your mother mad,” you sighed, crossing your arms.

Aegon ignored you, his gaze instead lower to how your breasts threatened to spill from your dress, only exaggerated by your crossed arms. You glowered at him as you lowered them, “If you’re worried, pray for me,” he said as he stumbled to his chamber door.

You rolled your eyes as you walked away. However, you still vaguely heard his cries of ‘what the fuck’ when he discovered you’d taken all the wine from his chambers.

Each day went the same. Aegon did something that would make a septa blush, you reprimanded him, he hit on you, you made him regret it. “As if you’re perfect,” he’d scoff at you when no one else could hear, “Bet you’re up to all sorts when no one’s looking,” You internally smirked but would just remind him of the sins of the flesh eating away at his soul. He didn’t need to know the truth. Not yet.

Slowly he was beginning to learn, beginning to behave better, but no amount of your scolds would stop his eyes from wandering your frame. Hell, the one time he came to the sept Alicent nearly leapt for joy. You didn’t want to break it to her he’d knelt beside you and kept looking down your dress when he thought you couldn’t see.

You also weren’t willing to admit you’d enjoyed it.

One-night Aegon came to your chambers. He was drunk and begging for your touch, so you sent him away. Your blood went Firey hot however when Aemond later confessed to seeing Aegon in a brothel with a woman who may as well be your twin.

Maybe it was time to punish him on his level.

You wanted him to be sober for this. You wanted him to remember his mistakes. So, you waited in his chambers while he was out to morning sword practise. He opened the door with a heavy sigh and let out an even heavier. “What did I do now?” he groaned as he made his way to his wine.

“Leave it,” you said, your voice calm, “And sit down,”

“I’m really not in the mood for a lecture,” he huffed as he grabbed a chalice.

You tutted as you crossed the room, grabbing his wrist gently. Aegon span around, ready to argue, but you stepped forward. Your lips ghosted over his and his breath got stuck in his throat, “Don’t make me ask again,” you said slowly before sleeping back, pointing at the bed.

He nodded softly before slowly making his way to sit on the edge of his bed. His eyes stayed glued to you as he took his place. You followed him slowly, standing between his legs as he gazed up at you, “Better. It’s good when you listen,”

“What are you gonna do?” he mumbled as his hands went to reach for your hips.

You grabbed his wrists softly before he could, “I’m going to give you what you deserve,” you smiled, pushing his hands back to step away.

Before Aegon could protest your hands found the ties of your dress. He swallowed thickly as you unlaced them, allowing the heavy fabric to pool to the floor. Left standing in your thin shift you felt a rush of energy go through you as his eyes drank you in.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled.

“Blasphemous,”

“I don’t care,” he was too distracted by your figure to notice your smirk.

You stepped closer, lifting his chin with your finger. You smirked as his cheeks tinged pink. Your hand stroked gently over his cheek. A quick glance down and you could see he was ready. “Get rid of those,” you instructed and instantly he obeyed, “And lay down,”

Without moments Aegon was laying naked, on his bed, an excited look on his face. You moved to straddle his lap, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. He tried to follow them when you pulled away, but you kept a hand on his chest.

“Patience,” you chastised, “Good things come to those who wait,”

“I don’t think I can wait,” he mumbled.

You ignored him as you leaned down to kiss his cheek, then along his jaw. Just as you began to kiss his neck you lowered your hips, pressing your clothed core against him. He moaned softly as you began to grind against him.

You felt his hands on your hips and pushed them away, “Not yet,” you said, pinning them softly down onto the bed.

“Sorry,” he moaned, gasping when you pressed harder.

After all good behaviour got rewarded. You released one wrist, taking him into your hand. He moaned softly; eyes fluttery shut as you worked your magic. You enjoyed the little sounds he’d make as your kisses moved lower.

Eventually you released your grip on his other wrist as you kissed softly down his chest. However, when you felt his hand move to your hair, you let him go. “What?” he whined as you moved back up his frame.

“You haven’t earned it yet,” you smiled softly, running a hand over his soft locks.

“What do you want?” he asked, his eyes desperately searching yours as his body craved release.

You let your fingers trail down his face till they graced his lips, “I think you know,” you said, and his eyes turned hungry.

Slowly you moved further up till you hovered over his face, “Can I touch you?” he asked, his cool breath fanning over you making chills run down your spine.

“Yes,” you said as you gently lowered yourself down. You couldn’t help but gasp when his tongue began rubbing over your clit. His hands found your thighs, pulling you further down as you grabbed onto his headboard.

Curses fell from your lips as his tongue worked wonders on your bundle of nerves. He moved his head, his tongue now curling inside you as his nose nuzzled your clit. Your hips began to buck, grinding against his face. He let out a low groan, vibrations shooting up your spine.

“Good boy,” the small whisper seemed to egg him on as his movements grew faster. His moans grew louder. It was becoming impossible to hold on as a knot tightened in your belly.

your nails dug into the wood of the headboard as you let out a loud gasp when your peak crashed over you. You kept riding his face till you milked every drop of the pleasure.

Slowly, once you could move your legs again, you moved down his frame again. “You’re amazing,” he said, face wet as his eyes gazed at you with stary like wonder.

“I think you’ve earned a reward,”

Fire sparked in his eyes. He watched with bated breath as you positioned yourself over him. You lined him up, rubbing him against your slit and watching his eyes flutter shut. “Fuck,” he groaned as you slowly sank down.

Your hips moved slow at first, riding him at a tortuous pace. He went to grab your hips but stopped himself. He looked up at you, silently asking permission. You gave a curt nod, a simple smile, and suddenly his fingers dug deep into your hips. “you feel so good,” he mumbled in bliss.

You felt him start to twitch and just as quickly as you brought him to the brink, you pulled away. “What-?” his eyes shot open, searching the room as if someone had caught you, only to discover you’d stopped for seemingly no reason, “Why-?”

“Do you really think you’ve earned that yet?” you chastised, “After all your stunts?” your hand brushed against his cheek as his eyes went wide. You smirked gently, “Oh sweet one, I want to enjoy this,”

You moved down his body till you were between his legs. Your hands reached for the edge of your shift and Aegon watched with bated breath as you pulled it off. “You better not forget what happens to boys who don’t behave,”

You took him in your hand again, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his tip. Aegon hissed at the feeling. He groaned loudly as you began to kiss down the shaft, “Don’t worry,” you told him, “I’ll let you finish,” you licked up the side making him moan, his eyes shutting involuntarily, “eventually,”

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#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen smut #aegon ii smut #hotd #hotd smut #hotd x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon smut #hotd imagine

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the20thangel · 2 months

Text

The Labor of Our Fruits

Summary: Tumblr Request!: A Targaryen reader. She and Benji didn't get off on the right foot because it was an arranged marriage, but Benji loves her but is scared to show it. The reader is pregnant, and because Benji has been ignoring her when she goes into labor, she begs Benji to not let her die, and he feels terrible thinking she would think something like that. But ending happily with their little baby boy.

tags: childbirth, angst, fluff

Word count: 2005

(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)

Daella grimaced, feeling immense pressure as the maester pressed down on her stomach. She wished her mother’s healers were here instead of this maester, but she was far from home, far from her mother and brothers and step-sisters, far from the comforts of Dragonstone and the sounds of dragons roosting around the island. She realistically knew all she needed to do was ask to get what she wanted, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Since their marriage night, she hardly spoke to her husband, Lord Benjicot Blackwood. How can she just go up and ask him to tell him to send for the healers from Dragonstone?

Her marriage… was strange; that was the only way she could describe it. To ensure House Blackwood kept their alliance with her mother, Daella was brought to Raventree Hall to marry its new lord. He was not cruel, her lord husband, but distant. She did not know if having a distant husband was better or worse. In some cases better, because he never forced himself on her or commanded her to do things that might have made her uncomfortable. She greatly appreciated him for doing that; he was already better than her uncle Aegon.

On the other hand, having a distant husband was worse. She was lonely, growing a babe of a man she hardly knew, proudly doing her duty for her mother and husband but drowning in her isolation. She laughed at the gods' cruel joke. Was she turning out to be like her ancestor Daella, daughter of Good Queen Alysanne, who bore her grandmother Aemma only to die without holding her babe?

Daella groaned quietly as the maester finished evaluating her. She sat up as the doors of the bed chamber opened, revealing her husband, Benjicot. Walking into the chamber, he saw the maester packing his bag. Benjicot quickly walked to his wife, pausing before her, unsure if he should hold her hand. Ultimately, he stood by her, watching her fidget with her dress.

“How are they?” he asked the maester.

“Both mother and child are progressing wonderfully, my lord; we should expect the babe to come any minute now.” stated the maester, bowing to the lord and princess as he walked out of the room.

Daella swallowed; she did not know what to do now, such was most the case with her. She mainly floated around the castle, careful not to be in anybody’s way. Knowing that made her seem weird, she heard the whispers as the people spoke about the odd Targaryen girl their lord was forced to marry.

Benjicot stared at his beautiful wife, wishing he could know her thoughts. His marriage was a quiet one. Both hardly spoke to each other, only short sentences here and there. His aunt urged him to make more effort to express his love to Daella, but he just didn’t know how. He was not good at romance, feeling more comfortable in battles. He also never wanted to be the husband who would force his wife to do actions she may not like. So he tried to give her space, allowing her to grow accustomed to her new home.

Swallowing away his nervousness, he decided to try to make a small conversation.

“How are you feeling?” asked Benjicot, seeing how Daella jumped in surprise, looking at him with her soft purple eyes. Oh, how he could get lost staring at them all day.

“Tired… my lord,” whispered Daella, smiling at him, not wanting to seem rude at his genuine worry.

Benji smiled back, “Would you like to rest before supper, or could I have the servants bring supper to the chambers?”

“I think I will rest a little and then meet you there,” Daella said, looking at his nervous smile.

Benjicot nodded. Feeling awkward, he turned to leave, but before thinking about it, he turned back to Daella.

“Should you want or need anything these last few days, all you need to do is ask, and I will try my best to provide it to you,” Benji promised as he reached to caress her cheek, only stopping mere inches away. Again, feeling unsure if she would accept his touch, He chose to walk away and leave the room.

Daella, with great sadness, watched her husband leave her alone again in the chamber. Once the door closed, she let a small tear flow freely down her cheek.

“I wish to go home,” whispered Daella, closing her eyes as she stroked her belly. Only allowing a smile to softly stretch on her face as she felt her babe kick her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, Benji woke up earlier than previous ones. He had to ride out for a few days and needed to check in with the village. As he turned, he could not help but smile at the sight before him. He loved seeing his wife sleeping, seeing her in the most relaxing state. She always wore a smile on her face as her hands lay on top of her stomach. She was a beauty, and he wished he could show more of his feelings towards her. He wants to build his relationship with her but always becomes too nervous to act anything out. Leaning down to provide a small kiss on her forehead. He made a vow that once he returned, he would start to show more effort in his marriage so that when their babe entered this world, they would have parents who were openly affectionate with each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daella grew restless. Benji had been gone for a few days and was not due to return for another two days. She was trying her best to take over the castle duties, but she kept having cramps. Her babe was not due yet, so Daella started worrying. Was there something she was doing wrong? Was she harming her baby? She groaned from another cramp as a passing servant, recognizing the signs of labor, gasped and ran to the princess.

“My princess, how long have you been feeling these pains?” questioned the servant girl as she led the princess back to the chambers.

Daella exhaled, feeling the cramp alleviate for a second, “Since last night… I think..” groaning from another wave of cramps.

“Princess, you are in labor, we need…. Someone fetch the maester. The princess is in labor!” shouted the servant girl to the nearest guard, who frantically nodded, running to do his bidding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The castle was in chaos; the pained screams of Daella echoed in the halls as servants entered and left the princess’s chambers. Daella was lying in bed, watching the maester and midwives converse quietly. Her babe was taking too long to leave her body. She knew what the maester wanted to do… he wanted to cut the babe free from her body. She shook in fright; she did not want to die in the labor bed. She did not want to follow the path of her namesake and her grandmother, Aemma. She wanted to live, not ready to enter the realm of Balerion.

“We need to wait for Lord Benjicot to decide…” whispered the midwife, trying to stall the maester from doing anything drastic.

“If we wait too long, there might not be anyone left to save.” argued the maester, looking back at the bleeding princess.

Daella closed her eyes as she wept; she wanted her mother, she wanted Benji, and she prayed to the gods to have mercy on her and her baby.

As if the gods were listening, the doors opened with a bang, and people gasped. A muddy Benjicot ran into the room, scanning for Daella, and saw her breathing heavily on their bed.

“My lord, the birthing room is no place…” began the maester as Benjicot ignored him, running to take his wife’s hand in his.

“Daella..” whispered Benji, moving some white hair away from her face.

Daella smiled painfully at her husband. She needed to be a dragon, and she would fight for her life.

“Benji, please, please don’t let him do it to me…” pleaded Daella as she let tears stream down her face.

Benjicot looked at his wife in confusion. What was causing her so much stress?

Turning to the maester and midwives, he asked them what was happening to his wife. The maester walked up to the lord as he explained that the babe was taking too long to leave the princess's stomach. Proposing that the best option to save the future heir of House Blackwood was to cut the babe out of the princess's body.

Daella, sobbing, reached for Benji's hand as she pleaded, “Please don't let them cut me. I do not wish to die yet.”

Benjicot, heartbroken at seeing her in such a state, leaned down to kiss her forehead and whisper comforting words to her.

“Shh, my love, I would never do such a thing to you…”

“My lord, if we don’t, we risk losing the ba-”

“Remove this man out of my sight before I turn and run my sword across his stomach,” growled Benjicot, shooting daggers at the gaping maester being led out by the guards.

Benji turned to the midwives and pleaded, “Please, is there any way to save them both?”

The midwives nodded, “It’s the princess’s first, babe. She has grown tired of using all her energy to push out. We can help her by pushing on her stomach as she pushes herself. It will be painful, but it is the best chance to save both mother and child.”

Benjicot nodded, letting himself be led to sit behind her, pressing his hand on her stomach as Daella continued to sob.

“When we ask the princess the push, we will need you, my lord, to push your hands downward with all your might. Even if she screams in agony, you push down. We cannot risk the babe getting stuck.” commanded the head midwife, waiting for him to agree.

Once the young lord agreed, the midwives all went to their positions. Looking at him, they started to command the princess to start pushing. Benji, in turn, also pressed his hands on her stomach, feeling her body warp. Daella screamed in agony, feeling like her body was ripping in half. She wanted them to stop but knew that if she wanted to live, she needed to continue to push. Praying to the goddesses Meleys and Shrykos, she pleaded for them to hear her, asking for a safe, open road for her babe’s birth.

Benjicot continued to press down as he kissed Daella's crown, feeling proud of her courage and bravery during this upsetting situation. She was indeed a dragon princess, not letting herself falter. He decided to express his thoughts as he continued to help her push.

“That’s it, my love, you are doing wonderful; you are almost there, Daella, don’t give up… I know you can,” he whispered to her ear, his heart breaking at every scream she let out.

Daella, even though tired, felt empowered by her husband’s words, inhaling she gave one last push. She will live, she will not die in this bed, and she will get to see her child grow up.

With one last scream and push, the baby boy left his mother’s body, wailing to the world. Daella started crying at seeing her son. He was beautiful, with his father’s black hair and pale skin like hers. He was placed on her chest as she wrapped her arms around his tiny body. Benji, too, started crying at seeing his son, something that showed a promise of the love he was willing to show to his wife.

As the young heir nuzzled his mother’s chest, he briefly opened his eyes, showcasing a beautiful purple color—the very ones Benjicot adored on his wife. Feeling overwhelmed, he rocked the baby and mother into his arms.

“You did wonderful, Daella. You were amazing,” he praised his princess, kissing her cheek and continuing to rock them.

Daella smiled as she leaned into her husband’s embrace, feeling she was finally home.

#benjicot blackwood #fanfic #hotd #hotd fanfic #benjicot x reader #house of the dragon

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arthenaa · 9 months

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my love mine all mine— mizu x f! reader

synopsis: marriage is nigh for someone your age and with society's expectations of you, how long will you have to keep waiting for him?

content: 18+ nsfw, mdni, angst w comfort, fluff, she/her pronouns for reader, he/she pronouns for mizu, patriarchal views on women, arranged marriage, jealousy, use of sex toys, idiots in love

a/n: part 2 of nocturne (interlude)!! this is for that anon who was on their finals week (ur req got deleted i h8 tumblr) and to those who requested for a part 2 !!! a reward for your hard work

Your relationship with Mizu was ... interesting.

After what happened that day, your relationship progressed into a deeper sense of connection. He was attracted to you as much as you were attracted to him. A fact that made your fingers tingle with anticipation every time he came down to your village under the guise of getting more medicine.

Your father had no complaints as business is business and provided him with what he needed, although you could see the occassional side eyes that your father gives him every time he stays longer than he was supposed to be. It was a comical sight indeed.

Mizu helped you out as much as he could—whether it be mundane house chores or taxing ones that require hard labor or a change of locations, he was down to accompany you in any way.

While yes, his efforts of providing you aid sent a surge of butterflies down your stomach, what ultimately led you to hammering a nail in the coffin was the subtle touches that he gave you.

You knew he knew and he knew that he was being smug about it. While it didn't show on his face, his eyes told it all. Whether it be passing by and gently placing a hand on the small of your back to excuse himself out of your way as if there wasn't a 2-meter space to your right or the brushing of fingers when he lent you something or if he's being bold enough, especially when your father's not looking, outright pretending that there was a fabric stuck on your hairpin and so he leans in close to you only to place a kiss on your cheek—he always has to have some sort of skinship with you during the day. It often left you struggling for words or having a flushed face.

"Dear," Your father furrows his eyebrows as he eyes your flushed cheeks. You tense in his gaze as he glances at Mizu who appears calm as he takes a sip of his drink. The blue-eyed samurai had done it again—saw an opening and took it like he was meant for it. He fooled you into thinking that your hair was out of place and offered to fix it. Your father had stepped out to get the food and you had hoped that he stayed somehow so that you wouldn't have to deal with all this bullcrap. Mizu took the chance to grab your chin and place a kiss on your lips. Your father came back shortly and you haven't relaxed since. "You don't look alright. Do you want me to—?"

"I-It's fine, Dad!" You intercept, hands raised as you shake no. "The soup was just... hot."

You glance at Mizu who looks at you from the side of his eye. He smirks over his cup.

It was safe to say that Mizu was also mischievous by nature. Despite his usual calm and cool demeanor, you didn't expect the man before you to be quite playful when it came to just between the two of you.

You did all these things, said all those things, looked at each other with things unspoken of and you're quite sure that your relationship was susceptible to the one thing you're quite sure would lead to.

Marriage.

A want for some, a necessity for many. You'd think that in your years of living in this town that you'd find a partner suitable for marriage and you did! Just a little bit later than others.

You had expected that... Mizu would propose. After all, what comes after dating but marriage? Your father and mother did that, your aunts, uncles, cousins, hell, even your friends already got married albeit some of them out of their own will.

You dreamed of having a true love marriage. One that you could be yourself and never have to be ashamed of loving someone despite their stature in life. One that you could coexist with and that could never demean your existence as a woman. You knew those things were far fetched from reality but everyone wishes to dream right?

You had tried discreetly asking about it, curious as to why he barely mentions anything but he only casts you an unreadable look on his face then a soft smile.

He kissed the back of your hand with a gentle touch, softness mirroring that of a snowflake's descent.

"... I can't," He says. You're not sure as to why he sounded in pain, like something was troubling him but you knew better than to pry. "Not right now."

So you let it go.

It was times like this that you felt the other half of the relationship. Like there was still a barrier you couldn't decipher between you. Why he often looks secretive with your father at times or why he falls silent at the most random of moments. There was something you didn't know and it often aches you that you couldn't be able to understand him unless you knew the inner workings of his mind.

The first instance that brought up the onslaught of problems that would soon arise was the arrival of a proposal from the south. It came in the form of a letter, writings neatly imprinted on fine parchment—rolled with the delicacy that of a noble.

You could see your father's nervous glance as the messenger read what was sent to him. You could hear bits and pieces of the arrangement, hands wringing each other in anxiety as your eyes trained on your father's back. Mizu had not arrived that day and normally, you would fret over such things but your father casts a glance at you over his shoulder and suddenly everything seems to have changed its course.

"Father," You pant as you gather the ends of your kimono, trying to match the pace of your patriarch as he travels all over the house. He seems to not be at rest from the talk with the messenger—a perpetual stone-cold look plastered on his face. "Father!"

He enters the part of your house you haven't gone to in ages. Not because you despised it but because you were afraid that the spirit that once dwelled in its abode would arise and look at you with those same eyes that once held all the love and memories when you were but a wee girl. You hesitate at the entrance but decide to follow him through.

"Not right now, Y/N," He mumbles, agitated as he crouches over a chest and begins digging through the array of clothes. Your eyebrows furrow.

"What—What did he say?" You stammer as you stand to his left, eyes watching his every move as he frantically rummages through the fabrics. "Father, I have—I need to know."

Your father pauses, defeatedly slumping against the chest as his fingers tap against the wooden surface in thought. Silence ensues between the two of you and suddenly he turns to you with a sympathetic look on his face. Your blood runs cold.

"Lord Shimizu—" He pauses, catching himself stammering as he looked into those eyes that were fruition of shared dreams and a love he hasn't forgotten in ages. "He asked for your hand in marriage."

You stare at him with a shaky gaze, breath going in and out as you tried to process his response.

"Then-Then tell him no," Your eyebrows furrow. Your father falls silent at your words. "Tell him like you've always told the others."

"I can't, Y/N," He whispers, tone shifting into despair. Your shoulders are low as he lowers his head in shame.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't," He emphasizes his words once more, eyes darting up to meet yours. "I have always tried to protect you but I can't this time."

Your face falls in desperation as you kneel down with him. You grab his hands in an attempt to convince him once more.

"Father, please, I can't—I don't even know him!" You plead as your grip on his callous fingers tightens. He looks at you with sadness. "Please Father, I'll do anything, just don't—"

"Y/N," He cuts you off with a stern voice. You fall silent as you wait for his response. "This man is from Kyoto. While the men here fear my stature as a medic, this man has access to professionals far greater than me. He doesn't regard me as someone important and if I dare raise my voice, we might as well be dead."

Your figure tenses at his words. He grabs your arms in an attempt to comfort you. In a last attempt to get him to decline the offer, you say the thoughts that have been at the forefront of your mind.

"I'm in love with Mizu," Your voice comes out in a whisper, eyes wide and tears welling up. He tenses at your confession, eyebrows furrowing at the implications.

"You—"

"Father, I love him." Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt to get him to see you. Your hands raise to touch his arm but he suddenly raises to his feet, taking a few steps back. Your heart speeds up at his reaction.

"Is that why he—?" Your father whispers out in thought. You're not sure if he was angry or disappointed, but you're quite sure that this was a bad thing. His face contorts into a look of anger as he continues to look at you with a hardened gaze. "When was this?"

"You told me you wanted me to have a true love marriage, Father—This is it!" You look up at him with a defiance so strong that it almost gives your father a whiplash of how similar it looked. He falters in his stance but remains rooted to his cause.

"I know but not to—!" He catches himself at the end of his sentence. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. He runs a hand through his face before sighing. "Not like this. Not to him. Not Mizu, Y/N."

Your eyebrows furrow in anger at his words. "You can't dictate what I feel for him."

There's a moment of silence as your father casts you an unreadable look on his face. You thought that your father might approve of Mizu. They after all started at the same steps and eventually grew to the path they were destined for, albeit in different fields. You're not quite sure as to what led to this defiance against your choice for marriage but it already has you intruiged.

"The messenger talks of praises of Lord Shimizu," Your father diverts the conversation. "I also hear that he is a general and part of the Emperor's Kingsguard. He is of noble stature and earned his keep. He is a man fitting of your deserving."

You fall silent at his words before finally rising to your height and dusting off your kimono. You glance at the chest, eyeing the white fabric that pops out of an array of multicolored ones. You turn back to your father.

"You raised me to not be a hypocrite," Your voice is stone cold. Your father flinches at the tone. "I expected you to not be one as well."

With that you left.

The days were grueling.

Presents after presents were sent to your doorstep and while you wish that you could throw them all away, your father accepted them and kept them in the storage, still neatly wrapped for you to open.

Mizu had also arrived less and less over the past couple of days. He usually stays for more than an hour but now he leaves within the 30-minute mark. You felt like your time had been severed into bits and pieces after your fight with your father. You saw them talking, hushed in the receiving area. You expected your father to berate him for influencing his own daughter but their relationship remained civil. In fact, after his talk with your father was what prompted fewer visits and only coming for business.

He also became distant. Little to no skinship—sometimes even none at all. He talks to you in that cold tone of his and even grunts in annoyance when you try to bother him into coming with you to window shop in town.

You thought they were being unfair. That they could freely do things like this beyond your knowledge. Watch you crumble into a pit of despair at the concept of what you believed was the essence of true love. How naïve were you.

The final straw came when Mizu stayed a little bit longer than usual. He was swift with his purchase but remained seated at the tree located just outside your humble abode.

You approached him with soft steps, eyes trained on his head devoid of his kasa and the usual orange tinted glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome.

"Why are you like this?" Your voice cuts through the silence, direct and swift as a breeze passes through you. You see the familiar curl on his forehead, swishing back and forth before settling down.

Mizu does not reply for a few seconds before finally responding. "Like what?"

Your breath shakes at his nonchalance. "Like everything's back from the start."

Mizu pauses before turning his head to look at you standing behind him. There's a long duration of silence between you, eyes only locked with each other as the breeze fills in the void.

"Y/N," Your name escapes his lips like a prayer. You will yourself not to fold. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?"

He rises up from his seat on the ground, grabbing his Kasa in the process. He examines the item, eyeing the material woven intricately to form its shape. You could tell that there were a lot of things in his mind. You could only wait until he decided to break down the walls he built up so high.

"I didn't mean it to be this way." He finally looks at you in the eye, those beautiful shades of blue hidden by a tint of orange. He pauses himself before a change of expression is plastered on his face. "I think it's best if we stop here."

Your breath hitches. "What?"

"I said what I said," He mutters in that neutral tone of his, devoid of emotion. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I... I am on a journey and I have wishes to accomplish. I operate on circumstances that prove to be unlawful. It's best that you don't associate yourself with me. I was too distracted to begin with."

Distracted? Is that what he thought all of this was about? Your hands shake in anger as your eyes darted any sort of giveaway that he might just be joking with you. The world was pinning its blame on your shoulders and now you have to receive the consequences of its actions.

You purse your lips, stopping yourself from bawling then and there. You can't give him the satisfaction of seeing yourself in a mess. You refuse.

You turn around without responding, making hasty steps towards your home before halting once more. You turn to see him putting on his Kasa, eyes in a daze. Upon feeling your stare at him, he turns back towards you. His gaze falters.

"I'm sorry." He says.

You could never will out the words you should've said.

Lord Shimizu came on the 3rd day of the week. He wasn't what you expected him to be.

Naturally, nobles of that standing would appear to be egocentric maniacs who dabbled and flaunted their wealth in various entertainment establishments. They act crass and speak crass as if their authority gives them the pass to be an asshole to everybody.

You thought to yourself, this man could have anybody that he wanted. He was a general, a skilled warrior, and a candidate for marriage to Japan's array of elegant and noble women. Why would he pick a humble medic's daughter all the way from Takayama?

Well, the answer finally came to you in flesh instead.

"L-Lord Shimizu!" Your father stammers over his words as a young man, your age enters the establishment. You take a step back towards the panel of the receiving area, slightly shielding yourself from the onslaught of 3-4 men entering the place. "I didn't expect you to be here."

The man does not respond yet, his eyes wander the interior of the establishment before finally settling on you. You flinch back at the intensity of his stare. Your father notices his attention on you before clearing his throat.

"Y/N?" He calls over, eyes meeting with yours as he beckons you over. You grumble under your breath before making hesitant steps to your father's side. "Ah yes, this is Y/N Gojo. My daughter. Y/N, this is Lord Shimizu Kaito."

Your eyes peer up at him underneath your lashes, trying to take a peek at his face. Shimizu flashes you a soft smile before bowing in greeting.

"Apologies for not having been able to meet before. The Emperor had requested me to attend to several cases in various cities. I hope that you and Y/N can forgive my tardy appearance." His voice is proper and elegant but you could only scoff at his words. Apparently, it was loud enough for him, your father, and the two other guards stationed behind him to hear. Your father elbows your waist.

"Apologies for my daughter," He sheepishly smiles. "She seems to have a... cold."

He eyes you with a strict look on his face which you turn to look away at. Just as you wished for all of this to be over, a wave of a hand catches your attention. You turn to look at Shimizu who softly smiles at you once more.

"I know this proposal is sudden but I hope you can give me a chance." He says, voice and tone genuine. You hesitantly purse your lips at his words. "I'll be staying around this time. I hope I can get to know you."

Lord Shimizu stayed true to his word. The past few days were nothing but him trying to get to know you as an individual. He was nice, accommodating, and even dare say, a proper friend you could talk to.

He helped you out in chores, got you gifts, had tea with you, learned your ways, and walked with you in town. If you were the person you were before, you could've deemed this man the perfect match for you.

While you appreciated his eagerness in wanting to get to know you, you also can't help but be reminded of a certain blue-eyed boy every time he did something remotely similar. He talks of his travels, his blade, his peers, his interests, and you're brought back to the time Mizu let you hold his blade in your palms, brought you trinkets from his previous adventure, talked to you about his annoying apprentice, or that he prefers his soba to have a little bit more soup in ratio to his noodles.

Everything remind you of him.

Mizu had not visited in a while. You tried asking about him to your father if he ever came to get medicine but your father denies every question.

Sometimes you catch glimpses of a familiar Kasa roaming the town streets but is only mistaken by a wandering traveler. You're not too sure how long it would take for you to lose your wits about everything.

Sensing the troubling thoughts that plagued your mind, Shimizu offered for you both to take a stroll in town at night and shop for trinkets that you might find interesting to place in your room. He tried his best to keep you entertained, asking about your interests, making you laugh, all that stuff.

The question that prompted you at the start of his arrival began to urge you to put forth a topic for conversation. You wait for Shimizu to finish his words before finally dropping the question.

"Why me?" You ask, eyes gazing into his as he halts at the question. He blinks a couple of times, not able to process the question.

"What?"

"Why me, my lord?" You repeat, hands clutching your satchel. "I am but a mere servant's daughter. You could have anyone."

He licks his lips eyebrows furrowing. "But you are someone."

You raise your eyebrows, urging for him to continue. The man takes a breath, looking around before finally settling his eyes on you.

"I..." He starts off, words trailing as he gazes into your eyes. He continues. "I came here before. As a child."

Your eyes widen at the revelation.

"People talk of a man named Gojo-sensei who was able to remedy almost all illnesses. I was sickly and my condition was worsening." He responds. The city lanterns glow beautifully behind his figure, laughter of children, men, and women alike provides solace in the void of silence between you. "I remember coming in there and seeing you. Seeing your father then..."

He trailed off like he was remembering something painful.

"I remember a lady," His face softens at the thought. Your eyebrows furrow. "While your father did the aiding, this woman had brought me comfort. I was never really coddled and treated with such gentleness back home. I was an only child—a firstborn son. Being soft and dependent was out of the vocabulary."

You fall silent at his words as he looks down at his hands.

"She... she stayed by my side. Fed me, clothed me, made sure I was okay." He looked up at you. "I saw you sometimes, clinging to the ends of her kimono."

A chilling realization surges through your veins. Your silence prompts him to continue.

"I heard the news that she passed away years ago. I wasn't able to come due to my duties but I am indebted to her." He says. "Then, when I visited a month ago. I saw you—a spitting image."

Your breath shakes at the words. "You proposed to me because I looked like my mother?"

Shimizu looks down in shame, hands wringing in nervousness. "I thought that if I married you, I'd be able to receive that same love again."

You let out a breath of disbelief. While the topic of your mother wasn't something you detested talking about, her memory still was something you were quite hesitant to approach. You remember her sickly figure, her weak smile, the day your father broke. It was as if you threaded lightly along the edges of her carved path, wanting to preserve what was left of her image.

You take a step back, eyes looking at him in disbelief. Shimizu falters in his stance.

"I'm sorry, this isn't going to work." You softly mutter, shaking your head. Just as you take another step back, Shimizu panics and tries to grab your hand.

"Y/N, let me explain I—"

A swift change of air alerts you of a new presence and suddenly you feel deja vu. You turn your head to meet the familiar stance of a man you didn't expect to see again.

"I believe she said no." Mizu's voice is authoritative and deep, hand encasing Shimizu's wrist. The man furrows his eyebrows at Mizu who squints back a glare.

"Who are you?! Your jurisdiction?" Shimizu demands. He tries to pull his wrist away only to be met by a steel force. Mizu scoffs.

"I won't let you go until you promise to stay 10 meters away from her." Mizu threatens. Shimizu sweat drops, eyes glancing down at the hand gripping his wrist to the eyes shielded by tinted glasses. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two, afraid that a fight might brawl out and you're not in the mood to see blood spilled.

Shimizu was also a general and if word comes out that one of the Emperor's trusted military aides got injured by someone lower of his stature, your father will definitely pay for the consequences. You rush towards them and grab Mizu's hand to break them apart.

"Let him go," You say. Mizu turns to you with furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes soften, and you nod softly in reassurance. "Let him go, its okay.

Mizu hesitantly lets the man go and Shimizu stumbles back, holding his wrist. Mizu turns to you in concern, hand grabbing your arm as he examines you. "Are you alright?"

You nod, flustered by his attention. "I'm fine."

Feeling Shimizu's stare on you, you look back at the man to see hurt and a realization spread across his face. Your gaze falters.

He clears his throat and fixes his stance. "Apologies, Y/N. It seems that I have miscalculated my approaches. Forgive me for my behavior."

"It's alright, my lord," You respond. Mizu stands menacingly beside you, eyes trained on his figure. Shimizu glances at him and then at you. He smiles.

"It was nice being your friend," He says. He bows as respect. You curtsy back, albeit shaky. "I'll leave as requested. I wish you luck."

He leaves without turning back. You watch as he gets lost in the crowd, the breeze gently swinging your clothes back and forth. The lanterns dazzle the streets—performing a pretense of joy. You take a breath before finally facing the last of your problems.

Mizu stands there, eyes already looking at you with an unreadable look on his face. Your eyes soften.

"What are you doing here?" You mumble, lacking the energy to even be angry. Mizu shifts in his stance.

"I came back." He answers vaguely.

"For what?"

There a pause of silence before he moves to remove his Kasa. You can see his face clearly now, albeit those beautiful eyes of his still covered by his glasses.

"For you." He says. He gulps as if nervous and your eyes widen at his confession.

"But I thought you said—"

"I was a coward," He says. He heaves a breath. "I have loved before and shown them everything and yet I have ruined them. I was afraid that I might—that I might ruin you with what I am."

You fall silent at his words. You were confused, you had already seen what others claim to be the worst of him—in fact, that was what you loved most about his features. Eyes that seem to hold the waters—a depiction of nature. Just as he is about to continue, cheers erupt from the central town, you flinch as the others begin to gather to watch the amusement happening. Mizu, sensing your uneasiness, pulls you towards a nearby alley—dark and hidden from the public eye. He places you against the wall, eyes watching for passersby that might lurk in while your eyes are trained on his face.

You watch with admiration as his eyebrows furrow in their usual curl, those eyes that squint into a glare, chapped lips, and the glasses that begin to slowly fall down the bridge of his nose. Unable to resist the urge, you give in.

"Coast is—"

Mizu's eyes widen at the feeling of your lips against his. You cup his cheeks, pulling him down as you encase your arms over his neck. Mizu wastes no time in reciprocating the kiss. He kisses back with the same fervor, hand dropping his Kasa in favor of encasing your waist as he pulls you towards his figure. You whine as you feel his tongue intertwine with yours.

After a few pecks and kisses, you both finally pull away. There's a hushed silence of panting as Mizu places his forehead against yours.

"I am not being truthful," Mizu whispers, breath hitting your lips. "But I want to try. With you."

You smile, hands cupping his cheeks as you rub your thumbs across the surface of his skin.

"I want you as you are," You reassure him. "No matter the flaw, no matter what you tell me. I'll be here with you."

Mizu lowers his head and drops it to burrow against your neck. He hugs you close as bells and instruments begin playing. He pulls back softly before facing you with vulnerability.

"I..." He starts off. "I am not what you think I am."

You tilt your head in confusion as you encase his hands in yours. Your thumbs run over the scar that you've bandaged from before.

"I'm not a... a man." Mizu finally reveals. You pause, eyes blinking as you watch his reaction for any sort of context. Mizu purses his lips before pulling his glasses away, tucking in the side of his clothing before reaching up to pull at his top knot. You watch as his hair—no, her hair flows to her shoulders and then suddenly everything makes sense.

Mizu's breath shakes at your silence. "I-I cannot give you what you want—"

She falls silent as you lean forward to take notice of her features. The flush that adorns her cheeks and the eyes that entranced you from the start. A smile bursts from your lips.

"You're just as I dreamed of," You whisper in awe. Your arms make their way to wrap around her neck as you press yourself close to her. Mizu's face flushes at your words.

Your eyes trace the edges of her features, face contorted in a soft expression. There's a moment of silence before you finally continue. "My father wanted me to have a true love marriage. All my life, the idea of falling in love has always been my dream as a child."

Mizu blinks softly at your words, listening to your every thought.

"And now that I have it, I can understand why my father wanted me to do so," You smile, leaning your forehead against hers. "Marry me, Mizu. I just want to be yours."

The blue-eyed girl erupts into a smile, leaning forward and capturing your lips in hers. You reciprocate with the same intensity, fingers burying in her raven locks. Mizu then pulls away.

"I'll always say yes to you."

"Do we really have to do this?"

Mizu eyes your figure seated on the tatami, eyes peering up at her as she stands in front of you. You giggle at her hesitance.

"Of course!" You grin. "Consummation between man and wife is a must tradition after marriage—well in our case, wife and wife."

Mizu rolls her eyes as she sits down in front of you. She props her knee up and places her arm on top of it. She grabs the cup of tea perched on the small table beside her and takes a sip. "Consummation is done with the idea of children, love. I'm sure you're well aware of that."

You pout before an idea arises in your mind. You lean forward, going on your knees as you crawl towards her. Mizu pauses mid-sip as she watches you with careful eyes. You grab her cup, placing it down on the table as she continues to watch your every move. You settle on her lap, the slit of your kimono revealing your thighs. Mizu's breath shakes.

You take her glasses off and place them on the table before finally focusing on her, arms propped on her shoulders. You feel her hands cup your hips as you stare down at her with a smile.

"What?" You taunt. "You don't wanna fuck me?"

Mizu pauses, eyes widening before she lets out a groan and lowers her head to your clavicle. You giggle as she takes a few moments to calm herself down. Finally, pulling away to face you, Mizu looks at you with her blue eyes clouded with lust.

"You are one dangerous lady, know that?" Mizu leans forward. You grin as you rub your nose against hers.

"Mhm," You say. "My wife told me so."

"Ah fuck! Fuck!" You whimper as you grab the sheets behind you, trying to find some sort of stability from the onslaught of ministrations Mizu's giving you. "W-Wait—Mizu-Wai—Ngh!"

You're afraid that the toy one of your close friends gave you as a congratulations gift to your marriage would be too crass for your night with Mizu. You only brought it to tease her after all. You just didn't expect how much she'd be turned on by it.

"Where are you going?" Mizu's voice is deep and taunting as she watches you claw at the sheets, trying to get away from the intense pleasure. She grabs your waist and pulls you back down towards her, folding your legs to your chest. "You wanted this, why are you backing out, hm? You wanted to consummate so here we are."

She watches as the thick girth and length of her strap pushes in and out—coated with your essence. The noises from it are slick and noisy, causing you to flush in embarrassment. God fucking damn.

"So fucking pretty, aren't ya?" Mizu chuckles as she pushes her hips. She lets out a moan, feeling the other end of the dildo pushing deep with her. You whimper as Mizu presses deep, the tip of her cock bumping against that spot of yours. "So so pretty for me, aren't you momma?"

You shiver at the nickname, hands coming down to grab Mizu's lean arms—its muscle flexing as she speeds up her thrusts, making sure that it's the right spot.

"You've been adamant about this all morning. Especially, after the wedding." Mizu growls, slamming her hips against yours. "You want my kids that bad?"

You're too lost in the pleasure, moans, and garbles of her name only coming out of your mouth. Mizu smiles, hair falling down her shoulders and framing her face as she props herself up on top of you.

"If you want it so bad, I'll give it to you," Mizu leans down to bury her face on your neck, sucking a few marks as she begins to speed up her thrusts.

"Oh! Oh!" You whine as the spot inside of you becomes more sensitive with each bump. Mizu pays no mind to your sounds, reveling in the way your nails rake through her back. She smirks against your skin, licking down until she encases your nipple within her mouth. You moan at the feeling, hands reach up to bury itself in her raven locks.

"I'm close! I-I—please!" You plead as her constant torture of your cunt begins to teeter at the edge. Mizu pants heavily as she places a soft kiss behind your ear.

"I am too." Her breath shakes as her hips falter. It doesn't take long before you climax, body arching and shivering from the intensity of the pleasure. Tears begin streaming down your face as you twitch with each thrust she gives you. She smiles placing a soft kiss on your lips. "Good girl."

Mizu follows shortly behind, coming in grunts and low moans before slumping down against you. There's a moment of reprieve before Mizu props herself up once more to take a look at your afterglow.

You smile up at her, hand coming up to brush her hair over her ear. Mizu leans against your touch.

"I love you." You mumble softly. Mizu gazes into your eyes with a love so true that it warms your very being.

"I love you too."

a/n: mwehheheheheeh hope yall enjoyed that <3 not proofread will do it later mwehe

#arthenaa #mizu #the blue eyed samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu smut #Spotify

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obscuretobyfox · 10 days

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The recent UNDERTALE/DELTARUNE Newsletter revealed a TON of concept art for Queen!

"It took me a very long time to figure out Queen's design. I wanted her to be intimidating and cool. Inspirations included, Hexadecimal from Reboot, the alien queen from Alien, Power Ranger bad guys, and Rosemaster from Cucumber Quest.

I wanted her head shape to be unique so that it wouldn't overlap with those other existing characters too much. But, it was difficult..."

"After I began writing her dialogue, she shifted into being a more humorous character. I decided to reflect this in her design."

"Realizing simple might be best."

"Initially I was trying to draw her sprite with her head facing straight-on, but it was ultimately lacking in personality.

Here are also some last-ditch attempts at a different head shape.

I thought a handkerchief-like head shape with giant hoop earrings would make her seem more like a crazy aunt / crazy mom type character. I still don't dislike it.

In the end though, simple is best (and easiest to draw.)" - Toby Fox

#toby fox #deltarune #undertale/deltarune newsletter #deltarune queen #queen deltarune #deltarune concept art

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nattikay · 8 months

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...hmm...just thinkin' about an Avatar "no angst" AU, y'know, like an AU where the characters who died in the first movie just...didn't? For example...

• Tsu'tey and Sylwanin are both alive and well. They officially tied the knot not long after the point when Sylwanin would've died in canon, and already have a child together by the time Jake arrives on Pandora.

• Eytukan also lives and therefore he and Mo'at are still leading the clan, though of course Tsu'tey and Sylwanin are next in line.

• Because the schoolhouse incident never happened in this AU, Grace was never kicked out of the village; her school is still running and she is on good terms with the Omatikaya.

• The RDA is overall less psychotic than they are in canon, and the Avatar Program has been largely successful in establishing diplomacy with the local clans. There is still some level of tension between the humans and the Na'vi of course, because the humans are ultimately still there to mine unobtainium and the Na'vi would prefer there was no mining at all, but in this AU the RDA is at least principled enough to not do things like bulldoze the Tree of Voices or bomb Hometree etc. (so, Hometree is still standing). Jake was never asked to spy on the Na'vi.

• Grace is actually the one to introduce Jake to Neytiri when she brings Jake and Norm along to the school one day. Neytiri is intrigued by the goofy non-scientist "warrior" dreamwalker and Jake finds himself equally intrigued by her; they begin spending more and more time together, and when Jake expresses curiosity about her way of life Neytiri just naturally kinda takes it upon herself to teach him the ways of the clan.

• Because Neytiri is neither tsakarem nor engaged to Tsu'tey in this AU, her romance with Jake is not quite as ~forbidden~ as it was in canon (and honestly they make zero effort to hide their feelings; the whole clan knows lol). The only remaining barrier is the fact that he's a dreamwalker and how that may affect things.

• Jake and Neytiri fall head over heels for each other about as fast as they do in canon; after three months Jake is already fully convinced that he wants remain with Neytiri and the clan for the rest of his life rather than ever go back to Earth, where there is nothing left for him. Even getting the spinal surgery to fix his legs no longer holds any interest for him, since of course his avatar body can walk just fine.

• By that point Neytiri begs Mo'at and Eytukan to let Jake do the coming-of-age ceremonies and become part of the clan so they can become mates. Mo'at and especially Eytukan are hesitant, but Mo'at consults Eywa and Eywa sends a sign of approval, so they allow it. Jake spends about an extra month preparing more specifically for Iknimaya and Uniltaron, and soon after completing those he and Neytiri actually get to have a proper mating ceremony. Jake does go through the permanent consciousness transfer at some point, though I haven't yet come up with the exact circumstances there...

• The Sully kids get to have more extended family! Grandpa Eytukan, Uncle Tsu'tey, and Aunt Sylwanin are all still around, along with a handful of cousins (Tsu'tey's and Sylwanin's kids).

• Quaritch never shot Grace in this AU, which means she never had to undergo the attempted consciousness transfer, which means Kiri wasn't conceived the way she was in canon. Buuuuuut I still want Kiri as part of the Sully family, so in this AU she is Jake and Neytiri's biological daughter and Neteyam's twin. She doesn't have the special Eywa powers that she has in canon, but does still have a spiritually-minded personality, and is a strong candidate for next tsakarem after Sylwanin. Grace still adores and dotes on her, especially when she shows interest in botany.

• Norm and Trudy are happy in a long-term relationship.

• There was no Battle at the Hallelujah Mountains, therefore Paz didn't die and was still around to raise Spider (undecided on how involved Quaritch was though).

• I like to imagine that in this AU Paz and Trudy are good friends, both being pilots and all. It's through Trudy that Paz and Spider become involved with folks from the Avatar program and Spider meets the Sully kids.

• Because she doesn't have the RDA-related traumas she has in canon, Neytiri is totally chill with Spider in this AU. She is mostly just curiously amused by the strange little human boy running around with his Na'vi friends.

• Spider is semi-trilingual English/Spanish/Na'vi. English is his go-to since everyone he knows can speak it, but he can also do some Spanish (Paz and maybe Trudy's influence) and quite a lot of Na'vi (Omatikaya influence, though Norm was thrilled to help when he caught wind that Spider was interested in learning). Sometimes he (subconsciously) mixes up a combination of any two or even all three and spews out mishmash sentences no one else understands immediately and has to stop and re-word.

• Because Quaritch is not the Big Bad Evil Guy the way he is in canon, Spider isn't really bothered by being called Miles. However, the nickname "Spider" somehow just stuck when he was very young so most people still call him that; it's mostly just Paz (and Quaritch) who call him Miles.

• Jake is not Toruk Makto in this AU, because with the RDA being more cooperative/less aggressive, he never needed to be. He and Neytiri are just normal (albeit well-liked/respected) hunters in the clan. Perhaps eventually a day will come when Toruk Makto is needed and Jake will have some reason to step up...but not yet. He's perfectly content being just a regular clan member.

• This has the side-effect of lessening Neteyam and Lo'ak's dramatic stunts as teenagers, because the legacy they're trying to live up to is simply "strong respectable hunter" rather than "legendary olo'eyktan Toruk Makto"

#avatar #''but without all that conflict there's not much of a compelling story so the movie would be boring'' SHHHHH #that's why this is only a just-for-fun ''what-if'' AU and not the the actual movie!!#also yes i know i said ''what if no one who died actually died'' but then Tommy is still implied to have died since Jake is on Pandora...😅#sorry about that one; tommy's death is the inciting incident for jake leaving earth in the first place so. i left that one as-is #couldn't think of a good way to work him in #maybe another time :P

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 month

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Six: Salt and Blood

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Alright, everyone. This is the last time you'll see baby Aemond and the reader, so let's cherish it. In the next chapter, we will start where the show did with the characters aged up in Ep. 8. I'm very excited to write for adult MC. I'm not going to lie; I'm a bit worried about writing Aemond's inner dialogue, as I've never written for a male character who isn't obsessed with the reader, but I'm sure I'll do fine. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Alicent being delulu, parentified sibling trauma, and watch me make you feel even worse about Driftmark.

As you journeyed from the gloomy corridors of the Red Keep to the sulfuric atmosphere of Dragonstone and now to the sandy shores and scattered shells of Driftmark, an air of sadness seemed to cling to you wherever you went. You stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the tranquil sea, overlooking the stone coffin that cradled your late Aunt Laena. Two deaths, each carrying its weight of sorrow, yet only one mourned.

You wondered what it would be like to die choked in flames like Ser Harwin and Lyonel Strong did. Would it be the same as suffering dragon fire like your Aunt? Most likely not. Hers was a swift burning of flesh from bones, while theirs was hours of agony and suffocation.

Despite what your family claimed, the idea of dying to your own dragon’s flames wasn’t an appealing end to you. It didn’t seem noble like how stories explained it to be. It was horrifying to have your skin torched from your body, to feel the power of a thousand suns on your flesh. It would be excruciatingly painful, and you wished it upon no one, not even those you despised most. You would much rather meet the Stranger in your sleep.

You barely settled into your new home on Dragonstone before your mother received the two ravens. One bringing news of Ser Harwin and the other of Laena, containing death in the ink. You consoled your mother and father as best you could, hugging and kissing and telling them that you loved them and were sorry. It was an impossible task to do, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hated seeing them so distraught and wanted to make them feel better.

At night, you cried into your pillows in your now isolated bedroom until Jace and Luke entered, watery eyes matching yours. As the eldest, it was your job to hold your family together when your parents couldn’t, and it left you no time to properly grieve the loss of an Aunt and a father figure.

You felt terrible for your cousins Baela and Rhaena. To go to bed one night and wake up the next without a mother was a depth of grief you couldn’t imagine. You didn’t think you could live a life without your mother; you would die with her, and the ability of your cousins to continue without her was admirable as you observed their sullen faces streaked with tears.

Your Great Uncle Vaemond spoke his sermon in High Valyrian, which was too fast and practiced for you to understand. You could decipher some words here and there, but ultimately, you were lost listening to a man you rarely met. You felt your mother straighten her stance from behind, her arms coming to circle the three of you in a protective embrace.

Vaemond’s eyes were on yours, Luke’s, and Jace’s, but everyone else was focused on him—on the coffin with Lady Laena’s face carved into it.

As your eyes wandered to the other people surrounding the funeral procession, fear struck you as you caught your eldest uncle’s eye. It wasn’t very comforting to see Aegon so soon. You had set it in your mind that you wouldn’t have to see him for many years, and yet, here you were, dressed in an obsidian and red-sleeved gown, pearls adorning the collar and your veiled headpiece. Quickly, you turned away, instinctually taking Jace’s hand in yours.

An air of stiffness surrounded your family that you weren’t blind to. It was always there, but now, more than before, you felt it. You thought it was childish to be so locked into familial drama when someone lay dead inside a casket. Though you didn’t remember much of the times you met your Aunt Laena, she still deserved the respect of putting these grievances aside. You knew you were part of it, but more important things were happening than what you suffered.

The cries of your father sent waves of sadness into your heart, and with the sudden urge to get him to stop, you left the safety of your brother and clung to your father’s waist. He lifted you into his sea-worn arms and clung to your frail body as if it was the only thing that kept him from sinking into his grief. You rested your temple onto his shoulder, tears of empathy falling from your eyes as he pressed your head closer.

Afraid of what would become of your father if you let go, you allowed him to crush you in his embrace for as long as he needed it as a scornful laugh broke through the tense atmosphere. You peeked from your position to see Great Uncle Daemon chuckling to himself with a shake of his head at what Vaemond said. You felt annoyance bubble inside you, solidifying your distaste for the man as the Velaryon guards clad in silver armor and blue seahorse sigils lifted the ropes and lowered your Aunt into the roaring sea.

You didn’t leave your father’s side for the remainder of the day, not even when he slowly lowered himself into the sea with his sister as the cold, salty breeze swept through the evening. You wanted to speak with Aemond, if just for a small moment, but your family came first. They always came before anyone else, a fact that your mother instilled into the very fabric of your being.

Sitting atop one of the rock ledges near your father, you dipped your feet into the saltwater, dragging your toes to watch the water ripple and allow time to pass. It didn’t feel right to leave him alone. The image of him falling into the ocean as your Aunt played repeatedly in your mind’s eye. You were afraid in his grief, he would follow her. Only when your father’s squire, Ser Qarl, took your father from his place with his sister did you leave, joining the rest of the goers for the wake late in the evening.

Searching through the crowd of people for your mother and your brothers, you couldn’t find them. Alone with none of your family for protection, you felt fear pull at your chest. Your hands began to scratch at your arms and scalp, attempting to quell the insatiable itch. The fabric prevented you from doing so, and tears of fright soon began to collect at your lashes.

From across the balcony, you saw a flash of green, a color that had never offered you comfort until now. Yet as quickly as you saw it, it vanished, leaving only a head of white promptly running down the stairs. You felt your heart drop into your feet as you watched Aemond run across the sandy dunes like he was running from you.

The call of a dragon you never heard before screeched through the gray skies. It was mournful as if it were calling for a lost pet or child. In this case, it was a rider. As you looked up, you could see the vast shadow of Vhagar’s silhouette soaring through the clouds, flying in the same direction your uncle went. You felt your eyes grow wide with worry at the realization, wanting to chase after Aemond and warn him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” a tender, feminine voice came from behind you as you jolted in surprise. The tall figure of Queen Alicent stood before you, curly auburn hair pinned back into a magnificent updo and clad in her usual green and gold as she put a hand on your back. “Your mother already sent your brothers.”

“Where is she?” you hastily asked. Aemond was no longer on your mind.

“I’m uncertain. Your father is off drowning his sorrow in his cups with his squire,” she answered in the same velvet voice you remembered her having, bitterness you didn’t understand laced in the undertone.

You felt offended by how the Queen spoke about your father. He was grieving. He was allowed to spend time with whomever he wished, doing what he wanted.

Alicent lifted her arm, wrapping it around your petite frame, and led you inside Hightide. It was not as cold or formidable as Dragonstone; its dark magic melted into the walls, yet it didn’t hold the warmth of the Red Keep. Still, you felt unwelcomed here, either by the place or its people. The pale stone walls were filled with bits and pieces of shells from clams, mollusks, and other long-dead shell creatures mixed into the mortar to make it stand the test of salty air.

The Hall of the Nine, where you passed as Queen Alicent, led you to the guest chambers, where you held the Driftwood throne where your grandfather Corlys reigned. You recalled when you visited this place many years ago and how he went on about the many treasures from his sieges and conquests that decorated the room in all its glory. He and his wife, Rhaenys, sat in a heated discussion in front of the hearth.

Once you reached the door to your shared bed chambers with your brothers, Alicent turned to you. It was the first time you had seen her since what Aegon had done to you, and you felt tension. It seemed as if she wanted to speak, to say everything that had been bottled up since the revelation of her son’s transgressions, but she was unable to do so as tears choked her. Instead, the only words that came out were those she couldn’t say to her children.

“I hope you can find the time to visit the Keep. Helaena asked when you would be returning, and it broke my heart to tell her you wouldn’t be,” she confided, stroking the thin black fabric covering your dark hair. “Aemond has turned inwards since you left, and Aegon has become crueler to him. It makes me wonder if he’s always been this way and that my love for him has blinded me from his transgressions.”

You said nothing. The mention of Aegon’s name still felt like a blow to the stomach. “I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive my son for what he did to you and that we may yet be the family we were always meant to be.” Your tongue felt like lead as your breathing began to race, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as Alicent kneeled before you, a sad smile on her supple lips as she tenderly swiped your tear-stained cheeks with her smooth thumbs.

“I love you, my shining light, my dream.”

Leaning in, she took your small frame by your shoulders, kissing your forehead as one would do to their babe. You felt sick, nausea churning in your stomach as you quickly opened the bedroom door, hastily shutting it behind you in fright.

It was all too much—Lady Laena’s death, Ser Harwin’s, seeing your father in shambles, and Queen Alicent’s steadfast belief that you should become a part of her family no matter what happened to you. The Queen desired to wed you and Aegon despite the horrors he committed. The realization that she genuinely didn’t see what your eldest uncle did to you as something that would permanently bar you from joining the union pierced your heart. You would much rather marry Aemond or Helaena, but having no ties to her seemed better.

Your brothers peered at you curiously from their beds as you clutched your chest, looking as if you ran the entire way here. They didn’t ask any questions, and you didn’t move to speak, loosening the ties of your gown and shrugging it off until you were only in your smock. You didn’t feel like changing into your nightdress in front of your brothers, deciding to climb into bed and shove your face into the pillows, refusing to cry in front of Jace and Luke as you fell into a dreamless sleep.

When Aemond learned of Lady Laena’s death, he knew it was a sign from the Gods that his time had come. The Seven had deemed this the moment to prove himself to everyone who doubted him and thought him useless without a dragon.

Vhagar.

The largest, oldest, and strongest dragon in the world was riderless.

Aemond believed that once he gained the only thing he lacked, life would finally be what it should have been. He would make his father proud, shove all the taunts and jests from Aegon and his nephews back into their faces, and finally become a man you deemed worthy—your Mors Martell.

As Aemond fled from the wake when the candles had long melted, he thought only of the ichor coursing through his veins. Dusk was upon the island, and the night’s wind blew harshly, strands of his silver-blonde hair covering his face as he climbed over the dunes. Vhagar was further from the castle than he initially thought.

“Fuck.” Aemond released a sigh of exasperation and scrambled across the uneven ground.

When he came upon the dragon, he was in awe. Vhagar was as frightening as she was enormous—a giant, green-scaled, moving mountain that shook the ground and blew sand with every movement and breath from her powerful lungs.

Taking advantage of Vhagar’s resting state, Aemond crept along the sparse grass, feeling each gust of air she created with her wide nostrils, blowing the sand into his face and ears. Anxiety was present in his gut, feeling a slight tremble in his limbs as he closed the distance, wrapping his hand around one of the many ropes draped across Vhagar’s scales. Suddenly, he felt the ground underneath him quake, and the head of the dragon lifted with a low rumble.

Vhagar observed Aemond with tired yet calculating amber orbs, double eyelids blinking. She grumbled as she bore her teeth to him. They were the size of a fully grown adult, sending a shiver down his spine. As if it were an act of divine intervention, Vhagar laid her enormous head back down, seeming disinterested in the young boy before her.

If Lady Laena’s death wasn’t proof enough Aemond was fated by the Gods to claim a dragon, the most powerful beast in the world, laying its head in acquiescence certainly was. Blinded by his small victory, nerves still in his mind, he reached for the rope ladder again, only for Vhagar to raise her head and growl, low and deep. A snarl formed on her great maw as Aemond stumbled back in shock and saw the light of orange flames gather at the back of her throat.

“Dohaerās!” (Serve!) he shouted instinctively, recalling the many lessons he observed in the Dragonpit as he felt the heat of fire on his countenance. “Dohaerās, Vagus! Lykirī!” (Serve, Vhagar! Be calm!)

With Aemond’s commands, the she-dragon relaxed, recalling her flames and closing her mouth. She purred to him like a cat, a sign that she approved his merit while standing in the face of death. Vhagar would allow the Prince an attempt to claim her, but he must prove himself before the eyes of the Gods, before the eyes of a dragon.

Aemond took the ropes and climbed atop the mighty Vhagar’s back, positioning himself in the saddle and grabbing the reigns.

“Sōvēs!” (Fly!) Aemond ordered, and Vhagar rumbled, raising her legs and shaking the sand from her scales. “Sōvēs!”

She obeyed, taking a few giant steps and flapping her great wings, pushing off from the ground and leaving a sandstorm in her wake. Though Aemond told Vhagar to fly, he still had yet to control her as she took to the night sky in a near-vertical position, catching him unaware. The force knocked him from the leather saddle, leaving him dangling in the air with just the reigns for purchase. Aemond screamed with fear, feeling as if his stomach lurched out of his body as he struggled against the whipping wind to regain control.

She tested him as he grabbed the pommel, sat upright, and pulled the ropes to balance her. He felt like he was on a bucking horse, loosening, tightening, twisting, and turning to the left and right to steer her safely. Vhagar ignored Aemond’s movements and continued to fly like he wasn’t there, diving into the dunes of Driftmark before he reared her upwards, dragging her claws across the sand. He squealed in terror, blocking the debris that scratched his face as she soared over the sea.

Aemond knew he needed to prove himself to her, to show the war-hardened dragon that he deserved to ride her. Her chirps and groans from the day earlier called to him like nothing before, singing to the Prince in her dragon song of forlornness and isolation. Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to claim her. They both shared that feeling of loneliness deep within their souls, that same oddness in their families. The dragoness was too large to be held within any structure, leaving her in forced solitude, her only companions being her rider. Aemond was the only one, despite his Valyrian features, not to have a dragon.

That would no longer be his story.

Aemond fortified his mind and will, putting his soul into his movements as he lifted Vhagar higher in the sky. He could feel the blood of Old Valyria coursing through his veins as the mighty dragon obeyed, leveling out her vast wings and soaring over Spicetown and back to Driftmark. He screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him in the skies, a bright smile he was sure you could see in Lannisport.

Aemond had proven himself. He had shown himself and all who doubted and bullied him for not having a dragon that he was capable, that he was worthy.

Everything was as it should be.

Perhaps you would allow him to kiss you again and spend the night in his embrace. Aemond had no doubt you would be proud of him as he listened to your assurances that he was brave, a dragon knight who you could trust with your secrets and protect you from enemies, and that he deserved your heart.

Aemond landed Vhagar with a grace he hadn’t possessed before, climbing down the rope ladder on her side with windburnt cheeks. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he ran straight to the underground caverns of High Tide to wake you and explain everything.

“Jace!”

You faintly heard a voice calling, sounding distant in your dream state. Ignoring it with a groan, you rolled over, trying to return to sleep.

“Jace, wake up! Someone stole Vhagar!”

This woke you from your sleep. You sat up to see Baela and Rhaena hovering over your brother’s bed.

“We need to stop them!”

Jace and Luke quickly threw the covers off and stuck their feet into their slippers as you observed them curiously. Rubbing the sleep from your face, you yawned, begrudgingly following them.

“You cannot steal a dragon,” you countered after a long silence in the pale stone halls, your voice laced with sleep. It felt like you had hardly gotten a wink.

“She is my mother’s dragon! I was supposed to claim her,” Rhaena countered, tears collecting in her dark eyes.

Yawning again as you followed a few paces behind your siblings and cousins, you rolled your eyes, wanting to bite with the remark, “Why didn’t you?” But you didn’t say it. The reason was apparent why she didn’t, and Rhaena didn’t need any more reason to be distraught.

They led you to the caverns of High Tide, stumbling in your sleepless state. They led to the beaches lit only by dim torchlight, your movements groggy and slightly annoyed. On the other end of the tunnel, Aemond appeared before you with a proud grin and windswept hair. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression, a contagious self-satisfaction that spread to you.

He needn’t say it aloud. You could tell by how he carried himself, shoulders back, chin high, and a slight lift to his cheeks, that your uncle claimed a dragon—the mightiest one in the world, Vhagar.

“It’s him!” Rhaena exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Aemond.

It didn’t deter him, countering with his head high, violet eyes flicking from you to your cousin. “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!” she yelled, hurt as if this reasoning would change Vhagar’s fate. As you moved to Aemond, Jace grabbed your hand, stopping you with an anxious yet demanding look on his face.

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now,” your uncle replied, and you felt your brows raise in shock. You knew better than most of the cruelty he could commit, but after spending time with Aemond and seeing the softer, gentler, and kinder side of him, it took you off guard.

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena argued, charging toward him in a challenge. Your skin began to itch, and your breath quickened.

The hatred felt at the funeral carried over into your brothers and cousins. Tension in the air crackled like a fire in a hearth, watching the yellow and orange flames slowly dwindle into embers until someone threw tinder to spark it.

“Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride,” Aemond sneered. “It would suit you.”

Your lips parted in empathetic offense as you looked from your uncle to Rhaena, tears of guilt and shame pricking at your eyes. You apologized about the pig, and you thought Aemond forgave you, but it seems he couldn’t let go of the hurt no matter how close you were. The feeling of joy for your uncle’s feat was as brief as your friendship.

With a surge of rage, Rhaena charged forward, attempting to push Aemond, but he swiftly countered, and she fell to the ground. You jumped back in shock as you covered your mouth, Luke standing beside you. Baela screamed, protecting her sister as she punched him across his face and Aemond yelped in pain. Without thinking, you went toward your uncle, fearful for his well-being in your heart, but he swiftly stood before you could reach him, returning the same swing to Baela. You gasped in horror and moved to the side, narrowly missing your cousin’s body from colliding with yours.

“Come at me again, and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond snarled at the twins, and without warning, Jace ran to him with a shout, shoving your uncle in offended anger and smacking him across the cheek.

You screamed for them to stop as you watched Luke try to join the fray, but you held him back, scared that he would get caught in the crossfire. He was the youngest and the littlest, most likely to get hurt. You needed to protect what family you could. Aemond brought this upon himself with his words of arrogance, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to defend him, too.

The scene before you was violent, a flurry of white, black, and red running atop Aemond as Luke slipped from your grasp, all pummeling, kicking, and screaming at him as you cried for them to stop. He was helpless as he suffered blow after blow, and you felt your heart splinter. This wasn’t a fair fight. Without worrying for yourself, you jumped on top of Jace, pulling him back from your uncle and giving him a chance to defend himself. You felt like a betrayer, turning against your twin to save your uncle. Your brother grunted as you both fell to the ground, his body on top of you as you struggled to keep him from fighting.

You and your siblings had fought before, but nothing like this. It was so vicious, filled with violence and want for pain, as Jace whipped his head back into yours, causing it to slam against one of the many jagged rocks across the ground, having you see stars. He went back into the brawl with no worry for your safety as you heard the unsheathing of a knife, your eyes blurry as you struggled to see the scene before you.

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Aemond yelled, suddenly holding Luke by his neck with a rock in his hand.

“My father is alive!” Luke gasped in protest, flinging his arms and blood running down his face.

You needed to get up to protect Luke from physical harm and the threat of discovering your lineage. You didn’t believe Aemond would kill Luke. He was capable of violence, but he wasn’t a murderer. As you tried to move, your skull felt filled with sand, pulling you back down to the ground as you felt the warm trickle of liquid run down your neck. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your sight and mind.

Aemond spoke again to Jace, seeming to forget your existence and holding a sense of superiority. “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?”

You forgot how cruel Aemond could be. Your stolen moments of reading and kisses in the night had closed your eyes to it.

“Aemond, don’t,” you mumbled, skull pounding as the excruciating sounds of your brothers and uncle’s shouts pierced your ears like needles.

You blinked your eyes into focus, seeing Jace wildly swinging a knife at Aemond as you managed to kneel. Your brothers didn’t realize how dangerous what they were doing was, that a knife wasn’t something to use against someone who was armed with only a stone in hand. While Aemond was bigger and had more combat experience, a dagger would kill him. Being upset because someone claimed a dragon wasn’t worth murdering over.

Reaching your arm out with a soft grunt, you grabbed Jace’s ankle as Aemond pushed him over, holding the same rock above his head as he did for Luke. You thought Aemond knew better than this. You gave him the perfect opportunity to run and get help now that Baela and Rhaena huddled into a scared, crying mess, but he was too far gone into his anger to see reason, blinded by it.

“Aemond! No!” you shouted hoarsely, trying to stand but failing as your head pounded like a drumbeat.

He turned to you then, lowering the rock to his side as he stared at you with the sudden realization of what he had done. Your uncle was filled with a surge of superiority inside him. He couldn’t think straight, and when he happened upon the five of you, people he was always told that he was above, something inside him that lay dormant finally broke free. He knew he was always capable of violence, but felt remorse when he saw your bruised nose, tear-streaked cheeks, and blood dripping down your throat.

Did he do that to you?

Suddenly, Aemond was blinded, sand thrown into his eyes as he stumbled back and heard the yell of Luke, unimaginable pain soon following. You watched in horror as your brother savagely sliced into your uncle’s left eye, blood pouring and splattering across the ground.

Aemond couldn’t remember if you were amid his attackers. He surveyed the bruised and battered bodies before him and realized what he had done as his stomach fell to his feet.

He hurt people, just like Aegon. You would never entrust your secrets to him. His hands committed violence, but his heart desired to tell a different story—one of a strong and noble prince who went through many trials and tribulations to prove himself worthy of the princess's heart.

All you could hear were screams. Screams from you, screams from Aemond as you crawled towards him, sobbing.

“Aemond!” you cried as he doubled over, falling into your body as he screeched in pain.

“It hurts!” he wailed into your chest, his free hand clawing into your back. “It hurts! Help me!”

You trembled, arms struggling to keep yourself upright against his weight as the flurry of guards rumbled inside your skull like thunder. Unable to make out their words as they moved, it seemed like you were watching the world from outside your body, from the lenses of another, as Ser Harrold pried Aemond from your embrace.

It hurt. Everything hurt—your heart, stomach, muscles, and head. You weren’t sure who led you, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, and Jace to the Hall of the Nine as a flurry of people gathered, pushing and shoving as you clutched your skull. The room was so bright, so loud, as you heard your uncle’s screams. You felt sturdy arms grab you by your shoulders, roughly moving you as if you were nothing more than a doll, as it felt like your eyes were about to burst. Steel blue fabric blocked your eyes as you saw the hazy image of a seahorse stitched into the fabric.

“Father?” You reached out, small digits feeling along the fine silk until the texture of scruff scratched at your skin. Blinking, you saw the aged face of your grandfather, Lord Corlys, as he gathered you and your brothers behind him.

Where was he, and where was your mother?

You felt sick as people scattered around you like seagulls when they discovered a bloated whale carcass, all trying to see the injured Prince, who cried until the Maester poured Milk of the Poppy down his throat. It felt like when you accidentally drank the water from Blackwater Bay, like a cold, nauseous sensation that sent beads of sweat rolling down your spine.

“I don’t feel good,” you whispered to Jace as you leaned into his side, clutching your head and gut. He paid you no mind, peering behind your grandfather to see your other one appear, bearing total weight upon his dragon-head cane.

“How could you let such a thing happen?” Viserys questioned Ser Harrold, examining Aemond as you heard the sickening squelch of flesh and rattle of metal tools. “I will have answers!”

Despite it undoubtedly being a harrowing sight, you wanted to be by your uncle, to hold his hand through it, to feel his pain with him, but you couldn’t. You needed to be with your brothers. What they saw and experienced would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Luke had taken Aemond’s eye.

“The princess and princes were supposed to be abed, my king,” the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard explained, shame woven in his words.

Viserys wouldn’t allow his knights to show such carelessness, surveying each of them with critical eyes. “Who had the watch?”

“The young prince was attacked by his cousins, your grace,” Ser Cristion nonchalantly replied. His words angered you for reasons unknown, and you felt a lump rise in your throat.

Viserys turned to the room, looking between the two Kingsguards on opposite sides of the family as he hobbled on his cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” he boomed in a way you hadn’t seen before. You were afraid he would direct his anger at you, Jace, and Luke, wrapping your arms around them like you were in any state to protect your brothers.

“I’m very sorry, your grace,” Ser Westerling said, head hung low in unimaginable disgrace. You felt bad for him. There was no way he could have stopped this. He was doing his duty and serving his King. It was Ser Criston who should be blamed.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes before, your grace-”

“That is no answer!” your grandfather yelled at Ser Criston, causing a clap of pain to thunder inside your skull.

You wanted to go to bed, sleep for eternity, and be awake to everything as it was yesterday. Your brothers and cousins unbloodied and Aemond dragonless and with an eye.

“Where’s mother?” you noiselessly questioned Jace, leaning into his ear and almost losing your footing. You needed to stay strong for them.

“It will heal, will it not? Maester?” Queen Alicent asked, velveteen voice quivering with pain for her poor son. Maester Kelvyn finished stitching Aemond’s skin, throwing the needle and thread into a bowl with your uncle’s fleshy, viscous eye.

“The flesh will heal. The eye is lost, your grace,” his nasal voice replied matter-of-factly.

You were going to be ill.

Quickly, you ran through the multitude of people, pushing past Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, who tried to stop you before you vomited all the contents of your stomach onto a person’s unsuspecting shoes. The crowd gasped in revolt, those not close to you jumping back and clutching their chests in shock. You found yourself before the fireplace, basking in its comforting warmth as you leaned onto the hearth and looked at the unlucky soul you retched on.

Perhaps the Gods had a twisted sense of justice as you saw the disgusted face of Aegon before you. You didn’t hide your amused smirk.

“Tend to the Princess!” the King shouted to the Maester, seeming to forget about his injured son and throwing his cane in your direction.

A flurry of green came before pale gray, tenderly cradling your visage in her palms as if you were her child, inspecting it. You grabbed the Queen’s wrists and attempted to push her away as if her touch burned, but she resisted, struggling against your childish strength until she grabbed your shoulders. Her touch reminded you of Aegon as you burst into tears, muscles going limp and at Queen Alicent’s mercy. She turned your head in her grasp, examining you with the utmost care that made another wave of nausea through you.

The crowd observed in anxious silence as Aemond turned to watch his mother treat you with the affection he wished to receive. Familiar hatred bloomed inside his heart, swallowing his dry mouth as he thought resentfully. He would still have his eye if he hadn’t been so concerned with you.

“I want my mother.” you whimpered, lips quivering in fear as the Queen lovingly wiped the blood from your neck.

The Queen released you from her grip as if you had struck her, chest heaving and wide brown eyes watering as she turned to her eldest son. Your mother was here; you didn’t realize it.

“Where were you?” she interrogated Aegon, smacking him upside down before he could answer.

“Ow! What was that for?” he questioned, incredulously rubbing at the afflicted area grimly. You held no sympathy for him as you hugged your sides.

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your siblings suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she whispered heatedly so only he could hear, shaking his gangly body in rage. You looked at the Queen with confusion, thinking she had gone mad with grief when she said “siblings.”

As the grand Hall doors creaked open, a shaft of golden light spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the marble floor. With an air of elegance, your mother swept into the room, her silk gown trailing behind her. Following closely was Uncle Daemon, his formidable presence filling the space. Amidst the whispers and murmurs, your name and that of your brothers floated through the air, drawing your attention. Without a second thought, you moved toward her, the sensation of fingertips brushing your bicep as if a ghostly hand had tried to hold you back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Show me, show me!” your mother ordered you and Luke, softly running her digits across your body as you sobbed with relief. “Who did this?”

“They attacked me!” Aemond yelled before you could get a word out, leaning from behind his chair.

You saw his wound on full display. An ugly crisscrossed row of stitches lined up his eye socket and onto his forehead, the flesh puckered and pink as it fought the infection. Your mother moved your face before you could stare any longer as a chorus of accusations from your brothers and cousins sang. You couldn’t get the image of his gash out of your head.

“He was going to kill Jace! I didn’t do anything!” Luke loudly shouted as you scrunched your eyes with a painful wince.

“Enough!” you heard your grandfather yell, and you looked at him with helpless, watery eyes, but no one listened.

“It should be my son telling the tale!” the Queen protested, fist pounding against her chest with conviction over the voices.

You continued to look at your grandfather in anguish, the King of The Seven Kingdoms, whom everyone ignored except you. “Silence!” he yelled, voice rattling inside his hollow chest as flem flew from his decaying mouth.

The Hall went silent, quieter than the Stranger himself, as everyone looked at one another, stunned at the turn of events. People came here to mourn the loss of a daughter, an aunt, a niece, a wife, and a sister. Viserys looked at you and then at his son, his ivory staff sounding with every movement as you swallowed, the taste of bile strong.

“He called us bastards.” you silently whispered to your mother, wiping the tears and snot from your face.

“Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened.” The King approached your uncle as he slumped into the armchair, stepping swiftly and with a newfound curiosity. “Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Alicent questioned, clutching at her neck as tears threatened to spill. “Your son has been maimed, and her son is responsible.”

“Twas a regrettable accident,” your mother countered, moving her body to shadow the three of you from the onlookers.

“Accident?” the Queen repeated, astonished. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush! He meant to kill my son!”

You realized the truth didn’t matter now. All that did was what people perceived it to be.

“Twas my children who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!” your mother argued as she placed a comforting hand onto Luke’s shoulders. “Vile insults were levied against them!”

Your grandfather turned from his son to the four of you as you inhaled a shuddering breath. “What insults?” he questioned, a dangerous lilt to his tone that you had never heard before as the Hall went silent. It raised the hairs on your arms.

“The legitimacy of my children’s birth was put loudly to question,” your mother replied, her chin high yet holding a nervous waver to her voice.

As she turned towards you, your mother’s eyes conveyed a silent but insistent demand to verbalize what you previously whispered. She wished everyone to hear these words from you—the compassionate and considerate eldest daughter known as The Gods’ Light among the common folk. With tears streaming down your cheeks and your chest heaving with emotion, you gazed at Aemond with a sense of guilt. You knew the words you were about to utter would carry an extraordinary weight. Both sides sought someone to bear responsibility for the turmoil, but you recognized the unspoken truth.

At that moment, honesty seemed inconsequential. Aemond had suffered the loss of his eye due to Luke’s actions, and you keenly felt your failure to shield your brothers from harm. You would never fault at your duty again.

“He called us bastards,” you confessed, lacking the anger and conviction of your siblings as you sniffled, refusing to look at Aemond.

You watched as the Queen’s auburn tresses bounced with the slight affirming nod of her head, a look of disbelief and recognition crossing her face. At that moment, it became clear that she had informed Aemond about the deception, hardening your heart with betrayal. You had believed that she was different and loved you like family, and it stung to realize that she didn’t hesitate to spread lies that would hurt you.

“My children are to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace. This is the highest of treasons,” your mother reasoned, stepping forward to her slouched father as you attempted to reach for her hand to keep you hidden. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such awful slanders.”

As you gazed at your mother, her expression eerily mirroring that of Alicent’s, your lips began to quiver with unease. Was your mother implying that he should be subjected to torture? It seemed unfathomable. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Over an insult?” the Queen asked, shaking her head in disbelief. You knew she was trying to protect herself as you glared at the woman you once thought held the moon. “My son has lost an eye!”

“Tell me, boy. Where did you hear such lies?” the King seethed, face a hairsbreadth from Aemond as you whimpered.

“The insult was training yard bluster,” Alicent swiftly reasoned, eyes flicking desperately from her son to her husband. “The lot of boys. ‘Twas nothing-”

“Aemond,” your grandfather interrupted, ignoring his wife’s explanation. “I asked you a question.”

Your uncle sat in solemn silence, his lone violet eye unwaveringly fixed on the ground while his father awaited his reply. Before he could utter a word, the Queen unexpectedly interjected.

“Where is Ser Laenor, the children’s father? Perhaps he would have something to say on the matter,” she jeered.

Your grandfather turned, sparse brows scrunching together as he turned to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, your grace. I… could not find sleep and decided to take a walk,” your mother answered for them, smooth palms wiping across her crimson skirt.

The Queen let out a derisive laugh, her disbelief evident as she shook her head at her old friend. It was impossible to ignore the precise timing of Daemon’s arrival into the Hall of the Nine, trailing just moments behind Rhaenyra with her tousled strands of golden hair. Alicent bore the knowledge of her friend’s calculated machinations, even as Rhaenyra’s children stealthily slipped out of their beds to perpetrate the heinous act of maiming her son. She couldn’t dismiss the nagging suspicion that Ser Laenor was likely engaged in equally treacherous activities.

“Entertaining his young squires, I presume,” Queen Alicent sneered like before, making you feel the same deep-seated ire.

As no one dared to voice their opposition to her words, a glint of silver caught your eye from the corner, revealing Ser Criston Cole’s silent laughter. Like Ser Harwin, you felt the urge to wipe that smug grin off his tanned face, even though you knew it was impossible.

“Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer,” your grandfather began, staggering before your uncle. “Who spoke the lies to you?”

Everything went silent; the roaring of the fire and the crashing of the waves in the darkness were all that could be heard in the Hall. You understood that whoever Aemond implicated might not live til the next morn. You felt your throat grow tight and struggled to breathe, clutching at your throat as you swallowed the acrid taste in your mouth. Queen Alicent told him as you recalled the time in Helaena’s room. It confused you at first why she would spread such gossip as she seemed to hold a tenderness for you. Claiming your brothers were bastards went without saying you were, but you realized that whatever contempt she had within her heart weighed far more significant than any affection for you.

Some of you wished to shout that it was her, but you realized that was something Alicent would do without a second thought if the roles were reversed, and you did not want to be like her. She was wicked and cruel, just like her eldest.

“It was Aegon. He told Aemond to call us that,” you answered as every pair of eyes flocked to you. You didn’t like how close your grandfather was to him, afraid that he might strike him for the consequences of his mother. You felt your heart lurch into your throat as you gained the courage to speak the words aloud of all the bad things he did to you. “And he… he”

Before you could finish, your mother tucked you into her waist, kneeling and pushing your face into her shoulder. You tried to pull away from her when his hand rested on your head, the welt sensitive to touch.

“Don’t,” she whispered into your hair, disguising it as a kiss. They deserved to know. Everyone needed to know what awful Aegon did to you. You wanted to move against her, but your mind was foggy and muscles weak.

“Me?” Aegon exclaimed with shock, wide amethyst orbs looking at you with a broken expression.

“And you, boy,” your grandfather crept towards him, the rhythmic tapping of his cane piercing your skull like an ice pick. “Where did you hear such calumnies?” Your uncle refused to answer him as his gaze bore holes into your being. There was no remorse in your heart for him. “Aegon, tell me the truth of it!” Viserys shouted, causing you to flinch and cover your ears.

“We know, father,” Aegon replied fearlessly, refusing to remove his stare from your quivering form. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Feeling the stares from the guests, you admired your uncle for not implicating his mother like a coward, removing your body from your mother, wiping the snot from your lip. Let them look, you thought, inhaling a deep breath as you felt your mother bring you closer. They would stare at you for the rest of your days. It was best if you grew accustomed to it now.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” the King declared, banging his walking stick off the pale stone floor. “All of you! We are family! Now, make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it.”

You grimaced at his words, and though you loved your grandfather, having been his favorite granddaughter, you disagreed with him. You refused to apologize for your family trying to defend themselves, and the Queen couldn’t help but agree more.

“That is insufficient,” Alicent said, gesturing to her son. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my King. Goodwill cannot make him whole.”

Aemond’s fingers dug into the wooden framing of the armchair, and your chin quivered at the thought of what he might be feeling.

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys sighed, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken,” she sobbed, clutching at her chest, flicking her hair back in a manner that reminded you of Aegon. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have the hand of her eldest to one of my sons. To mend the rift and unite the House of the Dragon once more.”

“Alicent,” your grandfather breathed in a warning, yet still turned to his daughter, having a hint of hope in his violet eyes.

You looked at your mother, shock overcoming any sadness you felt as she shoved you behind her skirts like a hen would do to her chick, too stunned to speak. “I refuse.”

The Queen shook her head, a sneer curling her plump lips and wet cheeks. Rhaenyra was a selfish, wicked woman with no inclination of decency. Why couldn’t she see this would be solved if she returned Alicent’s rightful daughter to her? The Queen steeled herself to the belief that she would have to fight for her right to have you. She knew deep in her bones that you would one day be by her side.

“Then I shall have one of her sons’ eyes in return. The Princess is innocent,” the Queen declared with a desperate wave of tears.

Aemond looked to his mother, face impassive, and senses dulled from Milk of the Poppy. He didn’t recall telling her about what you did for him, though it was very little. It felt like he was becoming a second thought to his mother, who seemed only to be scheming on how to insert his niece into their lives. Aemond realized then that he would always be second in his mother’s heart to you, and he felt hollow at the thought, the love that once filled it for his niece ceasing to exist.

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” your grandfather warned Queen Alicent. She said nothing as her chest heaved, brown orbs flicking between her husband and old friend.

Believing the matter finished, the King backed away, but Alicent wouldn’t allow this to be the end. She looked to her sworn protector, an apathetic expression on her visage.

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Ser Criston looked to the Queen with a startled expression as Luke cried for your mother. “He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” your mother steadfastly declared, ensuring the three of you were behind her.

“Stay your hand,” the King commanded as the Queen shook with rage, desperately looking between her husband and sworn protector. She reminded you of a deer cornered in a vast forest, listening to the distant howls of wolves closing in for the hunt.

“No, you are sworn to me!” she yelled, finger pointing to her chest indignantly. All waited for the knight to respond, the Lord Commander slowly bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“Protect your brother,” your mother whispered, never straying her eyes from the Queen. Without further instruction, you stood before Luke, gradually backing him away from the group of people unnoticed. You understood Alicent would not hurt you, as did your mother.

“As your protector, my Queen,” Ser Criston replied with a wary head tilt.

“Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?” your grandfather declared, seething, his face centimeters away from his wife before he addressed the room. “And let it be known that if anyone’s tongue dares to question, the birth of Rhaenyra’s children should have it removed.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let go of Luke, coming to take your place beside your mother as she thanked the King. The unsheathing of a blade cut through the room as the form of Queen Alicent charged toward your family, startling you, the King’s ancestral dagger in her grasp. Luke screamed as she reached the four of you, but your mother stepped in her path before Alicent could enact her rage.

Suddenly, a person shoved into you, disregarding your existence as you found yourself on the floor. You noticed how the stone seemed to ebb and wave like the flow of the tide. Lord Corlys appeared beside you, lifting you into his arms, securely bound around your torso as he took you into the circle of your cousins and brothers, your mother struggling against the Queen.

“You’ve gone too far!” your mother admonished the Queen as tears burned her eyes. She pushed against Alicent, and she jerked against her, trying to get to your brother.

“I?” Queen Alicent exclaimed, voice thick with anguish as you attempted to push out of your grandfather’s arms, kicking your legs into his side. “What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, and the law while you flout to do as you please?”

“Alicent, let her go!”

The Queen still poised the dagger to strike, its new path being that of the heir to the Iron Throne as your mother looked helplessly to the onlookers. No one made to separate the two as they all stared in shock, the fire illuminating their faces like wraiths of death. Landing a hard smack to Lord Corlys’s neck, he dropped you as you shoved through the onlookers toward your mother. She put her life for yours and your brothers, but who would put hers before theirs?

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? My happiness and dreams? It’s templed under your pretty foot again!” the Queen sobbed, her form trembling with hurt and rage, everything that she bottled inside her for years.

“Release the blade, Alicent,” Lord Otto commanded, a man you hadn’t met until this morn, but she paid him no mind, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed against her old friend.

“Wasn’t taking her, my only light, enough for you? And now you take my son’s eye, and to that, you feel entitled,” she confessed, tears making the Queen’s mouth thick with wetness as you shouldered your way to the inner circle of people.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness,” your mother interrogated, a bitter grimace on her sharp lips. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent stared at your mother with an enraged offense that wrinkled her brows as she felt fire surge through her, and with a loud cry, she unthinkingly swung your family’s ancestral dagger. You screamed, running to your mother as you pulled her back, seeing a gash on her inner arm that gushed with blood.

“Mama,” you wept, tenderly holding her limb as if it would break.

Dropping the dagger, Alicent took an instinctual step toward you, a blanched, horror-stricken expression across her round face. She longed to go to you, to dry your tears and stroke your head against her bosom like your true mother would, but she could not. The terror and fear in your wide brown eyes that resembled her own sliced through her chest and laid her heart and soul bare as she felt a small hand slide into hers. The Queen hoped to see you standing beside her and thought herself mad before she securely took her son’s fist.

Much like you, Aemond knew his parent needed him. “Do not mourn me, mother. ‘Twas a fair exchange,” he expressed with a maturity beyond his years. He turned to you, a violet gaze once filled with joy now devoid, hollow, and one less eye. “I may have lost an eye but gained a dragon.”

You wished Aemond hadn’t claimed one this way and felt a hiccup wrack your lungs as you cried into your mother, Jace, and Luke coming beside you. You sadly realized this was the end of the fleeting companionship you cultivated with your uncle. All the stolen moments of reading, ideas, philosophies, and aspirations you shared under the cover of privacy were nothing more than air the moment he ran across the dunes. You would have still cared for him without a dragon, as before, but his pride wouldn’t allow it, and now he stared at you with an eye that you knew far too well.

Aemond hated you. He loathed you and your brothers with a fire that would never cease. This was your fault. He lost an eye because of you—because he cared about his bastard niece and had the foolish dream of becoming the man you loved. You did not deserve it. You were nothing more than a common girl born from sin, undeserving of your station. He would despise you for the rest of his days no matter how his heart screamed to have you by his side when darkness fell and all that was left was the ghost of your touch.

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Happiness never lasts in ASOIAF. I'm going to miss writing for baby Aemond and reader. They were so cute! From now on it's going to be messed up young adults with severe mommy uses and mental illness. I'm not going to say who has which XD. Thank y'all so much for reading and I hope to see y'all in the next chapter!

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