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axelsagewrites · 6 months ago

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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astraystayyh · 7 months ago

Text

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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the20thangel · 8 months ago

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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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ all my life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

jon snow x f!arryn!reader headcanons

╰┈➤ in which lady catelyn's niece is brought to winterfell as a ward, and grows to care for her misliked stepson.

a/n : I put jon's birth year as 283 ac, whereas in the show he was born in 281ac - so I struggled a bit on which to choose, but ultimately 283ac suited my outline for the story a bit better. the characters are still aged up as per their show versions. I've also aged down robin arryn, implying that both jon and reader would be in their adolescence during his birth, whereas in the source material, jon is only a few years older than robin.

massive, massive shoutout to @angelseraphines for being my greatest support as always, and I'm not sure if I would've gone ahead and published this if not for her encouragement 🩷

╰┈➤ in 285ac, lord jon arryn and his lady wife lysa welcomed the first of their living children.

╰┈➤ you were a beautiful babe, bright-eyed with a lovely smile, truly the apple of the hand's eye. lord arryn had been married three times in his lifetime, and you were the first of his children to live to term. the graying man was enamored with your newborn-self, and he wished for nothing but your safety and joy.

╰┈➤ for all his love for you, the hand of the king knew how venomous the environment of the royal court to be. the halls were dripping with the schemes of those who wished to advance their positions, and a man of his position knew that the only living child, let alone a girl, of his would be treated as no more than a tool of the court's most cunning.

╰┈➤ your father wished to see you happy and contented, and he wished to keep you safe from the treachery of red keep. and so, on the eve of your sixth nameday, your father wrote to the boy he once fostered in the vale, now a lord paramount in his own right. eddard stark was possibly the only man jon arryn trusted to the same extent he trusted his grace, the king. it was a difficult decision to make, but he was acting in your best interests. life at winterfell would suit his little falcon better, for you would grow strong and you'd be well-looked after. you'd be far away from the glances of power-hungry, lecherous men who wished for nothing but power. you would be with family as well, as the lady catelyn was your mother's only sister - and her children your closest blood. it was a great honour in westeros, to be trusted with the upbringing of one's child, and it was an honour lord arryn would bestow upon lord stark.

╰┈➤ lysa was resistant to the idea of sending away her only living child - the years of losing babe after babe had taken their toll on her, but she eventually relented. you would be safer in winterfell, and catelyn was still her sister - for all the distance between them.

╰┈➤ mere days after lord stark accepted your father's offer, you were sent to winterfell as a ward with a kiss on the forehead from your mother and an unusually tight hug from your father.

╰┈➤ the first couple of weeks were rough - for you were often coddled by your parents. you missed tugging on your mother's skirts and resting in your father's arms. you weren't used to the absence of them, and while you tried not to cause trouble for your caretakers - they could tell you had a hard time adjusting.

╰┈➤ there were two people in winterfell whose presence brought you comfort during that trying time. the first was your aunt, lady catelyn stark, your mother's only sister. you knew little else of winterfell, but you were comforted by the familiar shade of auburn that cascaded down her shoulders and the unique cadence to her voice that could only be ascribed to a woman born of riverrun. she wasn't your mother, but she was the closest to her anyone could get. she sung you lullabies only your mother knew, and the gentle manner in which she treated you was that of a mother towards her child. the second was the boy named after your father, jon snow. you latched onto him early on in your stay in winterfell, and nobody was quite sure as to why. perhaps it was for his name, for you often called for him - at first you were calling for your father, but jon always answered. he was two years your senior and still a boy unsure of his place in his own home - for all the love of his father and the acceptance of his siblings was matched evenly with pointed looks and whispers of bastardy, as well as lady catelyn's cold distance and her decision to ignore his existence the best he could. some would say that it was your insistence on seeking him out that helped reassure the dark-haired boy of his place. of all the nobles and commonfolk at winterfell, you gravitated towards him.

╰┈➤ at first you were content to spend your time with him in silence, and he never appeared opposed to that. within a few weeks, you were talking to him about your life back in the crownlands. you talked about your mother, and her watchful, protecting eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. you talked about your father, and his insistence on making time for your regardless of how pertinent his responsibilities may have been at any given point. you talked about the king too, and his tales of the valour and glory he experienced side by side with jon's own father. he spoke to you too, of how lovely his father and siblings were, of winterfell's hidden gems and it's most well-known attractions. he promised to take you to the weirwood tree in the godswood when the opportunity arose, and he followed through on his promise. jon snow had become, aside for the lady catelyn whom you'd grown to love as you loved your mother, your dearest person.

╰┈➤ your aunt catelyn was not fond of your budding friendship with the reminder of her husband's indiscretion - that much was plain to see by the harsh manner in which her brows furrowed and frown of her lips, and yet she made no move to disallow it. she could see that his presence helped you get used to your new home, and soon enough you were playing with sansa, teaching arya and bran how to say your name and often fetching robb to speak with him on the way to break your fast. it pleased to see your aunt to see you and her own children bond so quickly, and she kept her dissatisfaction of your bond with jon to herself.

╰┈➤ jon was there for many of the major moments of your life, with the most notable being the first letter you'd written your parents. you had just started learning how to read in the red keep, but lord stark made sure to place you with septa mordane alongside his daughters and he kept an eye on you to make sure your education was advancing. not to mention, lord and lady stark were adamant in ensuring that you remained in touch with your parents - making sure you became literate was the most important factor in that. early on, you would ask jon to re-read your letters before you were to show them to lord stark, and your friend was always glad to do it. the faint red hue that enveloped his cheeks as he read the parts where you mentioned him to your father went unnoticed by you, too focused on making sure that your letter was presentable to lord eddard.

╰┈➤ you remained close through your childhood and closer into adolescence, but it wasn't until one fateful evening that somebody changed between the two of you.

╰┈➤ the letter you received from your parents was unlike any other you had received in the past. the words seemed to swirl on the yellowed paper, and you could feel a headache in coming. your mother had given birth to a son - a proper heir to the vale. you should have felt happy, overjoyed even. a part of you, unfortunately, felt overwhelmed by misery and you could not quite understand why. you were content in winterfell, loved even - and you knew you were never to be heir to begin with, for you were a daughter and your father had plenty of nephews to choose from. so, why did you feel so unhappy? you couldn't quite figure it out, at least not until you spoke to the one person who understood why you felt the way you did, even when you yourself could not.

╰┈➤ you'd skipped supper in favor of spending the evening by the godswood, and truthfully, you expected aunt catelyn to send robb to retrieve you when it was due time for you to return to your chambers. instead, you were surprised to see that jon came for you instead. as you rose from beneath the weirwood tree, red leaves giving way to a darkened sky, you walked side by side with jon towards the great keep. he spoke to you quietly then, of things you never dared ask and he never dared to say outloud. he spoke to you of the mystery of his mother, of wanting to know who she was and if she had wanted him, of wanting to know what kind of person she was. it was only then that the truth of your misery dawned on you. you wished to truly know your parents, and your brother - but you never truly could. for all the letters in the world cannot bring you the closeness of having your family near. robin would know your parents in the ways that you never would, and they would know him in ways that they never knew you. it was a bitter pill to swallow, but you felt as if you could breathe easier - with the realisation clear in your mind.

╰┈➤ you were grateful to jon as well, for his vulnerability with you and for his kindness. you thanked him for walking you back to your chambers, and left a chaste peck on his cheek before retreating. "I am grateful... for you, and all that you are" were the words you spoke to him. a silent acknowledgement hung in the air between the two of you. he was still your dearest friend, and you were his - but something had changed. the way in which you regarded one another had changed.

╰┈➤ it was as if the wall that you two had carefully placed between yourselves had found itself with holes in it. you were still careful, chaste even - but it was apparent to those around you that you two loved eachother. you'd make handkerchiefs for him in your embroidery classes and he'd gently hold onto your hand in the privacy of the godswood.

╰┈➤ none were truly aware of the extent of your affections for one-another, for you were both aware of your positions. you were a noble-man's daughter, entrusted in the care of jon's father who was meant to find you a suitable match and marry you off well. you were considered a bride for theon greyjoy or willas tyrell, but not jon. not a baseborn son of your noble caretaker, with no titles to his name and no inheritance to claim. furthermore, were you to rebel and marry jon without anyone's knowledge - you would soil not only the reputations of your fathers, but the goodwill and bond they shared, for lord arryn entrusted lord stark with your upbringing.

╰┈➤ you two grew closer over the following year, and it was apparent to both of you that you would not have the time to properly court one another before pursuing a way to convince your fathers to allow marriage. you were a woman grown, of marrying age. not to mention, you were lord arryn's only daughter, and a marriage to you was the most effective manner in which a noble house could strengthen its ties to the vale. lord and lady stark, with minor interference from your parents, were close to making their decision - and your aunt made sure to consult you often in subtle manners, asking whether you'd prefer to remain in winterfell when you marry, asking if you'd like to return to the red keep once you are to have a family of your own. you could not avoid your fates any longer.

╰┈➤ you pondered over what to do for a couple of days, but you knew you had no time to wait. without informing jon, you decided to plea your case to your aunt catelyn - the person you'd always felt closest to in winterfell, from the day you arrived to the present. you knew of her mislike for jon, there wasn't a singular person in winterfell who wasn't aware of it - and yet, during all these years, she hadn't said a word to you of your closeness. you asked for an audience with her in the evening, and you told her everything as you sat with your hands in hers atop the fur carpets by the roar of the fire. you confided in her about how precious jon had always been to you, of how you felt the evening of robin's birth and of how you had love for jon in a way a lady should only have love for her husband. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you spoke to her of how you feared a betrothal, as you didn't think you could bare being married to anyone else. she listened to you as you spoke. when you finished, she leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead and exited the room. you never got an answer from her.

╰┈➤ lady catelyn's heart ached from the weight of what she had to do. she resented jon, but she could never truly hate him as a person. she feared what his existence, and the way he looked, may mean for her own children but she could never begrudge you for befriending him. this, however, could be disastrous for all of you - and she needed to put a stop to it. she sought jon out the following morning, before it was time for the family to break their fast. she warned him of what his involvement with you could do to your reputation, and of how marrying him would cause you to lose all that you were born with. a woman has little choice in this world but to marry well, and your singular status as lord arryn's only daughter provided you with a privilege not many women could afford - a privilege you would lose were you to marry him. she urged him to put distance between the two of you, if he cared for you as you claimed he did. it was the first time she'd really acknowledged him, and her words stung - perhaps nearly as deep as her resentment and distance once did.

╰┈➤ you were unaware of the fact that this conversation had even taken place to begin with, and jon's insistence on ignoring you came as a shock. you couldn't tell what you had done wrong and you were unsure of how to reason with him.

╰┈➤ it wasn't easy for him to keep his distance from you either, but he took lady catelyn's words to heart. he truly believed that if he kept his distance from you, then you would have an easier time accepting a potential betrothal - as you were always meant to do. now that he was at a distance from you, he was free to confide in robb - and he found comfort in his brother. it was difficult, keeping his feelings from the man he trusted most to begin with and robb's brotherly teasing, as well as his unspoken understanding helped him cope with his decision. for a time at least.

╰┈➤ this tense situation and the distance between you was broken by the most tragic news of your life - your father and the hand of the king, lord jon arryn, had passed away. in addition to your grief, added pressure was placed upon your shoulders as the news of the royal family's impending visit to winterfell reached you. all of this proved to be too much for you, and you crumbled once again, for the first time since your arrival to the north. it was jon whom you turned to once again, and he couldn't find it in him to turn you down. he held you in his arms as you wept, and as you turned to look to him - you made the bold move you'd never dared to make. you leaned upwards and planted a kiss upon his lips, the salty taste of tears staining both of you. he gave in for a split second, before pulling away - remembering lady catelyn's words. "I intend to promise myself to the night's watch. I've already made my father aware of my decision" he confessed to you, his tone gentle yet final. it was then that you asked him why, your voice on the brink of shattering. he spoke to you of his conversation with lady catelyn, and of the steps he took to make sure your reputation wasn't soiled - of the steps he took to make sure you could still have a good life.

╰┈➤ you left him wordlessly then, anger coursing through every inch of your body. you were angry for a multitude of reason - at your father, for sending you to winterfell to begin with. at the world, for taking your father from you before you'd had the chance to see him once more. at your aunt catelyn and jon, for making decisions that concerned you without even thinking to consult you.

╰┈➤ you withdrew to yourself, simply going through the motions as you prepared for the king and his family to arrive at winterfell. you felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him once again, and the thought of his visit served as nothing more than a reminder that you were truly never going to see your father again. you were courteous but curt in all your exchanges, but you exchanged nothing more than pleasantries with all those around you. jon tried to speak with you often, to ensure that you two weren't going to go your separate ways on such poor terms - but he was unsuccessful. you had switched places, with you now ignoring his attempts to speak with you as he had done weeks before.

╰┈➤ the issues between you two and your pointed attempts to ignore him are once again put on hold with all the madness that follows the royal family's visit - bran's accident, your mother's letter to catelyn and the king's offer to lord stark all become topics much more pertinent than jon's upcoming departure and your potential betrothals, and the two of you settle into a peaceful coexistence within the last few days of his stay at winterfell. in truth, as you came to accept your father's death and the unfortunate fate that befell bran, you came to the conclusion that the short time you had with one another was a precious thing, not to be wasted - and you sought him out often, just as you once did.

╰┈➤ the morning he was set to leave for the night's watch, you rose early in the hour of the nightingale- and you sought him out. you walked to the godswood once more, your arm brushing against his. "I believe that I have loved you all my life. I believe that I will love you for the rest of it" you admitted to him as he reached out to grasp your hands in his, a sad smile making its way across your face. "I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for the rest of it" he vowed to you as he leaned down to press his final, gentle kiss upon your lips. you needn't have spoken words of forgiveness or talked much of anything else. you were overcome with a melancholic contentedness in that very moment. jon left his home with his uncle benjen within the next few hours, but he left his heart in winterfell with you.

╰┈➤ that very same evening, you wept in your aunt catelyn's arms. her kiss upon your forehead felt the same as your mother's on the day you last saw her - on the day you left your home behind.

a/n : and that's where I think I'm going to end this! if I ever feel like it, I may revisit jon and arryn!reader later down the line - perhaps with a quick rewrite of season and a happier ending than I gave them here. the original version of this fic is still in my drafts, but I legitimately hated the pacing and the dynamic between jon and reader felt rushed so I rewrote the whole thing - I'm still not fully happy with it, but I much prefer this version and I'm more comfortable publishing it. I hope you enjoy reading this, and please be sure to leave some constructive criticism as I do think there are some parts here that I think can be improved. please do forgive me if the pacing feels slightly off, I struggled quite a bit with this prompt and I legitimately could not write this fic a third time nor expand on it more to try and make it more sensible.

as always, I'm tagging several different characters to help get the post out to as many people as possible, but I do write for all of the characters tagged below so please feel free to request something for them.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #jon snow #jon snow x reader #x reader #oneshots #preferences #imagine #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house of the dragon #robb stark #robb stark x reader #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy x reader #sansa stark #sansa stark x reader

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arthenaa · 1 year ago

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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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serahadmoni · 2 months ago

Text

A Case for Bodhi Durran

Criminally underused and oft-sidelined, Bodhi Durran deserves…more. More attention. More consideration. More love. While plenty of fanon exists surrounding his character - including presuppositions of what his life was like before the apostasy, what his dreams for the future were before the Rider’s Quadrant - for this commentary I will try to focus primarily on the text and evidentiary proof of his virtues. So, let's talk about how Bodhi Durran...

Is Loyal

“When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls

I feel like all the Marked Ones who populate Xaden's inner circle have loyalty written indelibly on their hearts - loyalty to not only Tyrrendor, but specifically to Xaden. They understand the sacrifice he made then and the sacrifices he continues to make for them. Even when being loyal to Xaden means hauling dead bodies out of his not-girlfriend’s room at two in the morning. Or making clandestine smuggling runs . Or continuing to manage the operation in Xaden’s absence when the Navarrian leadership has begun to catch wise. Or when you take pains to ensure he’s left to his grief on the anniversary of his father’s death. Even when they sometimes butt heads over specifics, Bodhi ultimately defers to Xaden, because he…

Is Dutiful

[Xaden] dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides. “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.

Again, all the Marked Ones display this quality in spades. Even if they don’t always agree with the methods Xaden uses, they will forever carry out their duty, his orders. Liam represents the ultimate expression of this quality, but the way Bodhi protects Violet in Xaden’s absence, even going so far as to risk his own reputation and command by constantly moving flight maneuvers to protect her is an undeniable expression of his sense of duty.

“You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi says. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.”

This speaks for itself. Both in the language of duty and loyalty, which only serves to accentuate the fact Bodhi…

Is Supportive

“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin.

Though he and Garrick (and Violet) share in this responsibility to some extent, I still think in a lot of ways Bodhi is Xaden’s ultimate hype man. Mostly because he understands Xaden so deeply and as such is well aware how much Xaden needs it sometimes. He’s present for Xaden in difficulty. Willing to advocate for him, stand up for him even against the other Marked Ones as he does after Resson.

Bodhi grins, flashing a smile that looks exactly like my aunt’s used to. “Good to see you up and about, Sorrengail.” Then he smacks me on the shoulder as he walks off, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch the backup plan. Good luck.”

But it’s not just Xaden he supports…

When the Assembly wants nothing more than to toss Violet in a cell, he lends his voice to the arguments for her loyalty, her integrity:

She fought at our side at Resson.” Bodhi tenses as his voice rises as well.

AND

In another, quieter moment, which speaks not only to his naturally supportive nature but also how well he can read others needs:

“It’s a lost magic,” Bodhi says softly, appearing at my side. He rubs his thumb over his newly mended, scarless palm. “Maybe there’s a reason this stone never worked. It might be broken.”

He can tell how thoroughly the failed attempt at raising the wards shatters Violet’s self-confidence and even though he doesn’t know her as well as Xaden, he understands she needs reassurance, offering it freely. He also supports Violet in her burnout and when she’s crazed after hearing Xaden was injured.

Bodhi Durran is a man who desperately wants everyone to be okay. Actively. Daily. Trying to not only keep everyone alive, but sane and grounded, because Bodhi…

Is Brilliant

The distraction Bodhi engineered in the flight field bought us time to meet without teachers noticing, but not much, especially considering that Devera, Kaori, Carr, and Emetterio are among those on campus still.

Personally, I would love to know what he threw together with zero notice that managed to keep the instructors busy long enough for Dain to call the quadrant to formation and Xaden (coughVioletcough) to issue his invitation. My guess, there were explosives of some sort involved.

Also, when they are climbing the Cliffs of Dralor with the fliers and the wyvern attack, he puts together what it means that the wyvern felt the pulse of the Aretian hatching grounds being reactivated before pretty much anyone else. He understands the wyvern will have relayed to their masters that the fliers and Aretian riders joined forces and the implications of such a report.

“I… uh… think we’re going to have to make some modifications on that harness,” Bodhi remarks as Andarna struggles to maintain her balance. “That’s going to take a few hours.”

Without drifting into the land of fanon, it’s hard to elaborate on this point except to highlight that Bodhi has the skills and know-how to modify an elaborately designed one-of-a-kind dragon harness. Were I to drift into fanon, I would shout from the rooftops that he’s the engineer of the group - the one that made sure Violet’s daggers would work for her, who consulted with Xaden on the prototype and modifications to Violet’s saddle, who also helped design and proof Andarna’s harness. Where Xaden may be the ideas-man in these areas, Bodhi executes. He’s the one who fixes their pocket watches when they won’t keep time or helps troubleshoot why the damn trigger on that crossbow sticks when any of the Marked Ones can’t figure it out for themselves. Ultimately, Bodhi wants to help in a tangible way because he...

Is Protective

In this, I feel it’s best to just let Bodhi speak for himself.

When Varrish confronts Violet on the flight field before her first trip to Samara.

“You may leave, Cadet Durran,” Varrish says. Bodhi moves closer to my side, and the male lieutenant takes a step closer as well, the mage lights catching the signet patch—fire wielding—on his uniform. “As Cadet Sorrengail’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command. And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to cadre. I would be negligent in my duty were I to leave her in potential possession of… whatever it is you’re looking for.”

When Varrish pushes Violet to near burnout.

Bodhi’s warm brown face appears in front of mine. “Fuck.” He tugs the edges of the blanket closed around me. “This is because of Andarna?” “Yes.” Bodhi’s eyes widen. … “I’ll handle it,” Bodhi promises, capturing my gaze. “This won’t happen to you again.”

When Dain Aetos calls Violet to the mat because he’s pissed off that she won’t talk to him.

“You shouldn’t do this!” Bodhi shouts as he runs at us, skidding to a stop next to me. Imogen isn’t far behind. Ah, she’d run to find the closest person to Xaden possible. Makes sense. “She’s in a fucking sling, Aetos.” “Last time I checked, you’re a section leader.” Dain narrows his eyes on Bodhi. “And your cousin isn’t her wingleader anymore. I am.” The muscles in Bodhi’s neck bulge. “Xaden’s going to fucking kill him,” he whispers.

There are plenty of other instances where he protects others. Notably, when he steps in front of Carr to counter his signet as they are leaving Basgiath. And I’m certain there are hundreds of instances we don’t see since we are in Violet’s POV through the series. None of which detracts from the fact that Bodhi…

Is Principled

At the beginning of Fourth Wing, upon returning from a standard weapons run, he pushes Xaden and Garrick both, insisting:

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low…

And then again at the end of the book, when the cadets are faced with a decision to fight alongside the fliers to save the Pormoish civilians or flee for Eltuval, he’s the first to insist they help. Even coming into conflict with Xaden’s more measured approach to the impossible dilemma Col. Aetos has enforced upon them.

“How many people live in Resson?” Bodhi asks. “More than three hundred,” Imogen answers as another boom cracks through the valley. “That’s the post they do the yearly trades at.” “Then let’s get down there.” Bodhi turns and Xaden steps back, blocking his path with an outstretched hand. “You’re kidding me, right?” “We have no idea what we’re walking into.” Xaden’s tone reminds me of that first day after Parapet. He’s in full command mode. “So we should just stand here while civilians die?” Bodhi questions, and I tense. We all do, watching Xaden.

As much as I love Xaden, and I do. I believe equipping the drifts with weapons is a means to an end for him. They are the thin, brown and feathered line between the venin and Tyrrendor. He wants to continue helping them, but I don’t believe - other than from an abstract “we don’t condemn innocents to death” perspective - he’s overly concerned with the preservation of individual Poromish lives. Bodhi, for better or worse, appears to be invested in the preservation of life in general. A grounded, guiding principle that thankfully he values because Bodhi…

Is Powerful

He sighs. “Yeah. Second time someone tried to jump me in the bathing chamber this week.” My eyes widen as my heart hammers in my chest. “Are you okay?” He has the gall to grin. “I completely eviscerated some asshole out of Second Wing while naked and only got a bruise. I’m fine.”

I mean, besides the litany of weapons certification patches Violet observes early in Fourth Wing, Bodhi is just as skilled in unarmed hand-to-hand. While he’s never described as “on-par” with Xaden (since Xaden spars with Garrick almost exclusively unless he’s trying to make a point), Bodhi clearly knows how to handle himself. In the buff. With no weapons. And accruing no serious injuries.

Which doesn’t even touch his signet…

“What have you done?” Carr shouts, running for us, his wispy hair flying in all directions as he lifts his hands. “You’ll end us all, over who? People you’ve never met? I won’t allow it!” “Bodhi!” Xaden orders as Carr reaches Third Wing. Fire erupts from Carr’s hands, streaming toward the dais, and my stomach drops. Time seems to slow as Bodhi steps forward and twists his hand like he’s turning a dial. The fire dies, extinguishing like it was never there and leaving Carr staring at his hands. “You taught us well, Professor,” Bodhi says, holding his hand in place. “Maybe a little too well.” Damn. “He can counter signets,” Xaden tells me. Well, that’s fucking terrifying.

And though people have questioned Brennan's assessment:

“By our best calculations,” Brennan says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, “the six most powerful riders currently in Aretia are Xaden, Felix, Suri, Bodhi, Violet, and me.”

When you consider the potential of his signet…

Yes, he extinguishes Carr’s flames without blinking. But he can also smother Xaden’s shadows. Dispel Violet’s lightning. Destroy Mira’s wards. Keep Brennan from mending. He could have calmed Lilith’s storms. And while it seems like largely a defensive signet, there are offensive elements to it as well. Such as - and I’m not saying this would happen - he could remain completely invisible to Melgren, even without the benefit of three other Marked Ones. If such a thing were in the cards, he would be able to easily assassinate Melgren, undetected.

And that’s if we don’t consider what, if any, mind signets he can counter. Can he reverse Imogen’s memory wipe? Or merely prevent her from performing one? Can he fool a truthsayer by offering them nothing to read? Based on the text, it appears Xaden is unable to read his intentions. Which would imply he’s impervious to not only inntinsics, but memory readers and erasers, truthsayers, etc.

Considering we don’t know precisely how his signet works, it’s difficult to say for certain where the boundaries lie. Is it only as Xaden says, “He can counter signets?” Or is he interrupting the channel between dragon and rider entirely? Which would have far more wide-reaching implications since he could theoretically also break the channel between gryphons and their fliers as well as venin and the earth.

Just like we really don’t have all the information about Violet’s “pure power” signet, we don’t have nearly enough hard information about Bodhi’s to say for certain where the potential expression of it may end.

Despite his physical and magical prowess, though, Bodhi…

Is Pragmatic

“I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons,” Bodhi mutters.

As principled, honorable, loyal, and dutiful as he is…same. He wants to help, but it’s hard. And dangerous. And running weapons is easier. I don’t blame him at all.

His pragmatism is reflected in the text a hundred different ways, but it’s also simply stated by both him and Violet.

“And I thought you were the most reasonable of the group.” I sigh. “Look, if I can help, then maybe we can prevent what I’m assuming are… supply runs.” Talking in code is ridiculous, but anyone could be listening. “Give me a job.” “Oh, I am the most reasonable in the group.” He flashes a grin, leaning back on his heels. “I also don’t have a death wish. Survive second year and strengthen your shields, Sorrengail. That’s your job.”

He is a man who gets things done. Which is not to say he’s not in touch with his emotions. But he understands the balance between necessity and diplomacy. Not that he’s a staid, stoic mission only guy either, because Bodhi…

Is Quick-Witted

“Hey, I hate to interrupt what’s obviously a moment,” Bodhi whispers loudly from my left. “But that was the last bell, so that’s our cue to get this nightmare started.”

AND

Bodhi wrinkles his nose. “What?” “You smell like dragon ass.” “Fuck off.” I chance a whiff and can’t argue. “I’m using your room.” “I would consider it a personal favor.” I extend my middle finger and head toward his room.

Much as I appreciate and adore Bodhi’s quick wit, I could also write volumes about how his dry, sarcastic sense of humor operates as a defense mechanism. A lens through which he can deal with the intensity of his circumstances and the impact of these weighty decisions they are all making.

Like Xaden himself says, Bodhi always lightens the mood. To help himself deal? Yes. But (like Ridoc) also because he can tell everyone desperately needs it, a virtue that serves him well because he…

Is A Leader

”Shouldn’t you all be in Battle Brief?” Bodhi asks, his voice booming as he comes up behind us. One look sends the other squads scurrying for the door.

Though a lot of space on the page has been given to Xaden, Rhiannon, and Violet’s obvious leadership qualities, Bodhi sprang from the same genetic line as Xaden. While the expression of the Riorson magnetism may be tempered by his natural demeanor, he possesses the same it-factor as Fen. Were I to lay bets, I expect his mother was similarly charismatic and it was expressed in her much the way it is in Bodhi.

“…Flame Section has the unique honor of being completely intact.” Brennan looks down at Bodhi. “Durran, you brought every single cadet. I guess that would make you the Iron Section.”

He inspired such loyalty from his section, they all defected. For so many reasons, including those already expressed above, I believe Bodhi to be a servant leader. Servant leadership rests on three pillars: compassion, character, and competence. All of which Bodhi has in spades. He would not run a section the way Garrick did. Or the way Xaden ran his wing. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those philosophies necessarily. But he would pull with his squads, encourage them, equip them, support them, and push them gently to be their best. He would need to make certain they’re ready to face what he did in Resson, but he would do it with a deft, deliberate, more delicate hand than I think Xaden is willing or able to extend, because Bodhi Durran…

Is A Caretaker

So much of what has already been outlined above also represents an expression of this quality. From him helping Garrick protect Xaden’s solitude on the anniversary of Fen’s death. To him stepping between Aaric and Xaden when they start throwing barbs about Alic (which is also pragmatism, because hey, there’s a job to do). To him waiting with Xaden in the hall while Violet cleans up after Resson. He takes care of people both physically:

“Whoa!” Bodhi throws up one hand, the other clutching his rucksack. “I don’t want you to freeze to death on the flight there.” He yanks his flight jacket out of his pack and hands it to me.

Bodhi helps Aaric out of his [disguise], careful with his blistered hands. … “That’s a rebound burn,” Bodhi says. “It will clear up overnight if treated.”

”And tell Bodhi to track down whatever antidote she and the rest of her squad need.”

And emotionally, which leads me to the fact Bodhi…

Is Emotionally Attuned

An hour later, I’m bathed and impatient as I wait outside my room in a fresh set of leathers with Bodhi, who’s doing his best to lighten my mood just like he always does.

Bodhi reads people. Easily. He understands what Xaden’s saying without it being said . After Resson, he knows what Xaden needs from them - not questions, not reason, just action. He knows that Violet and Imogen need to run. And even when he can’t contradict Xaden’s orders, I believe he sympathizes with Violet’s driving need to do something to help, because it’s a drive he shares. Later, he knows not to carry Violet back to the quadrant after her burnout. And he’s the one that follows her into the courtyard to offer his jacket because he can see the panic plain as day. Just as he can see her disappointment when the wards fail. He can feel Xaden’s rage and terror as Violet lays comatose and poisoned (not that Xaden is overly subtle about it).

On top of all of that, Bodhi…

Is Beautiful

He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe?

…Bodhi has the same bronzed skin and strong brow line, but his features aren’t as angular as Xaden’s, and his eyes are a lighter shade of brown. He looks like a softer, more approachable version of his older cousin...

Even Violet, who only has eyes for Xaden, recognizes how attractive he is. Yet, as fair and fine the wrapping, I would heartily declare his character fairer still.

While this is by no means an exhaustive list of his virtues - he's also humble, adaptable, a peacemaker, a good listener, infinitely capable, empathetic, and hyperaware of how he should conduct himself in a given situation - I think the case for Bodhi Durran has been made.

(originally compiled for the Onyx Storm countdown days at the RQ Discord)

#the empyrean #fourth wing #empyrean meta #bodhi durran #fourth wing spoilers #iron flame spoilers

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superiorsturgeon · 2 months ago

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Jamie: (Arkos son) Hey mom…? I’m picking up on some weird tension between you and grandma Arc…

Jessie: (Arkos daughter) Yeah! What’s her deal?

Pyrrha: *sits her kids down* Well…when your father and I first started dating, your father had just gotten over a crush on a woman your grandmother liked much better because she was a beautiful singer and from a much wealthier family…

Pyrrha: …and when your father married me, she was concerned my celebrity status would lead to problems with our family and it took her a long time to forgive me…

Pyrrha: But eventually she decided that your father’s happiness was worth it and we came to terms.

Jessie: Wait a minute…a singer from a rich family…does that mean Aunt Weiss?

Jamie: Was grandma upset because she was a Whiteknight shipper?

Jessie: And she decided that she ultimately just shipped dad with happiness?

Pyrrha: WHAT-

Pyrrha: HOW-

Pyrrha: WHO TAUGHT YOU THOSE WORDS?! 😫

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #arkos #jaune x pyrrha #jaune arc x pyrrha nikos #rwbabies #Jamie Nikos-arc #Jessie nikos-arc #for the record I’m okay with canon whiteknight #Arkos is just my favorite

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 2 months ago

Text

Twelve Days: Part 2^**

In days 5-8 Y/N confronts her sister about her behavior. The tension between Harry and Y/N starts to grow as they continue spending more time together after hours until it's just impossible not to address it. READ PART 1 HERE

Warnings: infidelity, break ups, mentions of depression and anxiety and their symptoms, mentions and use of alcohol and drugs, breast/ nipple play, dry humping

WC: 7.1K

Day Five:

When you woke up the following morning you were alone in the bed which definitely was for the best because you felt really guilty for the night before. Yeah, you hadn’t actually gone through with anything terrible, but you two had crossed a boundary that shouldn’t have been crossed. Maybe it was because you were both a little heartbroken over the things that you were going through personally, but ultimately, that didn’t really justify anything.

Despite the very successful night of sleep you’d had, you felt a little unwell. Your stomach felt funky and your thoughts were going a hundred miles a minute. You didn’t want to get out of bed today even though you knew that a walk around the neighborhood would help you feel a little less gross, both physically and mentally. It seemed like a great day to just be lowkey and rot and then your door creaked open and you sat up to see your mom peering in.

“Sorry, I thought you’d still be asleep. Was just seeing if your sister had stayed with you or something.” She explained with a worried expression on her face.

“No. I was alone. All night.” You added with a nervous lump in your throat.

“Hmmm…did she say anything to you last night?”

“No. But she was out with Claudia, she’s not here?”

“Claudia is, but she said they came back together. She hasn’t responded to Harry.”

“Maybe she went out for a walk or a run. I saw her the other day when I went out.” You explained and she nodded and left.

The logical thing to assume was that she had spent the night with that guy she was sleeping with. Doing this on a family trip was a new low. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so bad for having the hots for Harry because she was out with another guy! That alone was enough to motivate you to get out of bed and you called your sister while you paced around your room back and forth waiting for her to pick up.

“Hello?” She hummed happily and you sighed.

“Where are you? Everyone’s freaking out!” You whisper shouted, trying not to sound too angry with her because you technically weren’t supposed to know what was actually going on.

“I went to have breakfast with a friend! I left a note by the door!” She said and you sighed, “I’ll be back in like an hour tops.”

“Why didn’t you text Harry back then?”

“I didn’t want to text him and wake him. You guys did a lot yesterday and he was pretty tired. I got back late and slept in Claudia’s room.” She fibbed and you hummed.

“Well just…hurry back.”

“Yeah. Bye!” She said and hung up quickly.

You got your slippers on and headed out to the kitchen where your mom was making coffee for everyone.

“She answered my call. She’s out at breakfast with a friend who’s also here, I guess.” You said and just like that, the crease between your mother’s brows was ironed out.

“Oh, thank god.”

“She said she left a note by the door.” You said and your aunt hurried over and was soon back in sight with a piece of paper.

“I may have missed it in my panic!” Claudia chuckled and your dad rolled his eyes.

“Well, what do you guys want to eat?” Your mom asked.

“I don’t care, I just want some mimosas.” Harry said and headed to the fridge to get the champagne.

“Excellent idea!” Your dad exclaimed happily and you smiled and started heading back to your bedroom.

“Hey, where are you off to?” Harry asked.

“Just gonna wash up and get dressed.” You informed and he smiled and got back to his task.

Despite her promise to return in an hour or so, your sister was not back until nearly two in the afternoon. Your parents were inside watching a movie with your aunt and you and Harry were pretending to play tennis. Pretending because you had no idea what you were doing, you were just winded from all the back and forth. It wasn’t as easy as it seemed. You and Harry were laughing about you accidentally hitting the ball over the fence when your sister came out to the back and towards the pool house. Suddenly the laughter died down and Harry headed towards you.

“I should go talk to her.” He said and you bit your lip for a second.

“Ummm…let me.” You said, “I can get her to tell me the truth and then talk a little sense into her.”

“You shouldn’t have to…”

“I know. But this is super fucked up and everyone’s all confused and she’s just going to yell at you, so let me try.”

“Alright.” He agreed and you nodded once before heading towards the pool house.

You did feel extremely nervous as you reached for the door handle but you had to talk some sense into her. It seemed that she was just over pretending to be happy and didn’t care how it all came out. However, you knew that your sister actually really cared for how she was outwardly perceived, so this was extremely out of character for her. As soon as she heard the front door open she sighed.

“Spare me the argument, Harry. He’s gone.” She called out as you rounded the corner.

“Who’s gone?” You asked and she quickly turned around from walking over to the bathroom.

“No one. Just a friend Harry’s jealous of.” She mumbled with a shake of her head.

“Mmm…some friend that must be because Harry’s not the jealous type.” You said as you sat on the corner of the bed. Showing her that you had no intention of leaving any time soon.

“And how would you know that?”

“Because I’ve known the guy for almost 10 years, Julie! It takes a lot to upset him. Him not being the jealous type was one of the things you really liked about him when you were dating. You told me about it many times.” You reminded her. “You’ve got everyone thrown for a loop with how you’ve been acting.”

“Oh my god…don’t make this a thing.”

“I’m not! This is very much a thing already. What is going on, huh?” You pressed and she sighed.

“Nothing, Y/N! Just mind your business.”

“What’s really going on?” You pressed and she groaned.

“You wouldn’t even understand so just stay out of it, Y/N!” she raised her voice.

“Try me.” You said simply and her anger seemed to dissipate and she just stood there for a second, genuinely giving it some thought. And then her eyes started welling up.

“I can’t.” She said and you frowned.

“Why not?” You questioned.

“Because you’re going to think so badly of me.” She said and you frowned.

“Jules, I’d never judge you.” You said sincerely and she sighed. “Look ummm…Harry, h-he told me about you.” You said carefully and her jaw dropped as her tears started to fall. She quickly sat beside you and started sobbing, so you pulled her into your side. It was strange for you but you wanted her to know that this mistake she had made wasn’t enough to make you not love her. Despite your slightly complicated relationship, she was important to you and you wanted nothing more than the best for her. “It’s okay…” you assured her.

After she calmed down some, you grabbed her Stanley for her and let her drink a bit as you grabbed some toilet paper so that she could blow her nose. She let out a long exhale and then let herself fall back onto the mattress.

“I’m a major demisexual and I’m in love with someone else and yes, I’ve been…having an affair with him.” She confessed.

“For how long?” You asked.

“There’s been three separate times.” She explained, “The first time Harry and I had been dating a few months and ummm…it happened after a work party and it went on for about a month. It ended because Harry caught us a friend’s wedding and he dumped me for a few days for it. Then again, right after Harry and I got engaged.” You frowned as you heard this, “And that one lasted like four months.” She explained and your jaw slightly dropped upon hearing this. “I know…and it just…it fucked me up! I started to doubt and was sort of on the fence until we were like three months away from the wedding! I just, I was trying to find the courage to end it with Harry.” she cried and you nodded as you listened, “And then it was the month before the wedding and I missed my period.” Julie explained and you nodded. “By that point Joey and I hadn’t seen each other for three months! Because he had given me an ultimatum and that’s what made me decide to leave Harry. But yeah, then that happened and I just…felt like it was a sign to stay.” She shrugged.

“So…what happened with that?” You asked carefully.

“Nothing. I mean, I was just late. Probably stress from the wedding and the decision I was making with Harry…and I think I had started on birth control a few weeks prior, so yeah, it was just late. But I still took that as a sign, you know and I stayed with Harry. I didn’t talk to Joey all this time until last year. I decided that maybe being friends on social media would be alright after all those years. Like we were such good friends and I did miss that. But obviously, that was a slippery slope and here we are… and I mean, I’ve loved him all this time. But I’ve also loved Harry enough to stay. But then when Joey and I started talking again that love for Harry was gone.” She said sadly. She brought her hands up to her face and groaned into them. “I’m such a horrible human being! I’m a piece of shit!”

“You’re not, Jules. You did a horrible and shitty thing, but you’re not that.” You assured her. “If you don’t love Harry anymore then why don’t you just get divorced?” You asked.

“This is what I hate myself for most!” She cried. “I just know that…leaving Harry is not the best option for me. Joey is flighty and kind of a fuck boy! But he still cares about me. So then I think if I show him that I am that committed to him he won’t be so afraid of trying with me for real.” She explained and you wanted to laugh. That was maybe the most delusional thing you had ever heard in your life. You felt so bad for her.

“I know how fucking delusional that makes me sound! Trust me, I know! That’s why I haven’t left Harry. Because logic is completely out the window right now! And I mean, m-maybe with time I’ll fall for Harry again? I mean, I did once before…” she explained as the tears streamed down her face.

“I’m sorry.” You said lowly.

“Don’t be…I did this to myself.” She sniffled. “And now I’m dragging one of the best persons in the world down with me.” She whimpered before she started to cry again. “I know I’m being selfish but I’m so scared!” She broke down again and you pouted.

“I know how scary it is to be alone, but you’re going to punish Harry for it and I don’t need to tell you how unfair that is. You get both things and he gets nothing? I mean, you both deserve the chance to be with people that make you happy.” You reasoned.

“Yeah…I know.” She whimpered before letting out another sob.

She continued crying for several more minutes before she had calmed down. You were gently rubbing her back as she was turned away from you. You could sense her shame, is was so great that it was suffocating the both of you.

“Look, I think you need to have a nice relaxing shower. Wash the day away, yeah? And I can make you a really great cocktail and then we can watch Mean Girls.” You suggested and she rolled over and gave you a confused look.

“That’s not a Christmas movie!” She exclaimed. Your family also had a rule that during the Christmas season you could only watch Christmas movies with another member of the family.

“I’m talking about the real, iconic version. Like it’s not entirely Christmas-y but it does contain one of the most iconic Christmas scenes in cinematic history and that alone makes it Christmas-y enough!” You defended and she smirked.

“You’re right. Love that movie.” She hummed and you smiled.

“I know.” You responded.

“Well, it sounds like a plan.” She said with a smile.

“Alright.” You confirmed.

“On your way out can you send Harry in? I should apologize.” She decided and you nodded and got up to go.

Harry was sitting on one of the pool chairs when you emerged from the pool house and he instantly sat up and glanced around to see you approaching. He looked a little nervous and you offered a small smile to reassure him some.

“She told me the truth.” You said and he looked surprised, “I know. And ummm, she asked if you’d give her a few, she wants to apologize.” You said and his features softened.

“Yeah, of course.” He said and immediately sat up.

“Good luck in there.”

“Thank you.” He smiled as you went your separate ways. Despite how badly you wanted to eaves drop in hopes for some indication of how the supposed apology was going, when you got to your bedroom you decided to have a shower instead.

By the time you were out and making the cocktails, Harry was also arriving at the kitchen from his bedroom, freshly showered.

“Can you add a bit more f’me? I’m gonna watch the film with you two.”

“Oh, sure!” You agreed easily. “So it’s good with you guys?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” He assured and you were pleased with that.

And truly, for the rest of the day everything was great. It honestly felt like the tension between them that you’d sensed this entire time had evaporated and you hoped that it would stay that way for the remainder of the trip.

Day Six:

It had been a really fun day with your family. You’d decided to go to the outlets, and on the way back stopped at the casino where you’d actually won nearly $1,200, just your luck. And then had an excellent dinner with everyone before you got back to the house. Despite your busy and exciting day, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling. To be fair it was only around 10pm, but you’d had a very long day. And then, the sound of a few quiet knocks on the door made you smile.

“Yeah?” You spoke up and Harry peeked into the bedroom with a smile on his face as well.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.” You mumbled. “Come in.” You said and he hurried in and closed the door quietly.“Wanna smoke a bit?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yes, please.” He hummed with zeal and you chuckled as you got out of bed. You tended to get hot in bed, so you always wore something more revealing on top and some long bottoms. It was currently cool in the room though and the thin, baby blue tank you were wearing was leaving nothing to the imagination, so it was no surprise that Harry did a double take before quickly looking down at his phone.

“I’m gonna grab a sweater, s’cold out. Can you grab the weed? There’s a little black bag from the dispensary in the bedside drawer.” You instructed and he nodded. You hurried into your closet and grabbed the first one you saw and grabbed your lighter from your purse as you hurried out. And soon you and Harry were positioning the chairs so that the edge of the roof didn’t obstruct the view of the starry sky.

“Just pick what you want.” You said and he started looking through the bag and pulled out a more indica heavy blend. “Ooh, good choice. But we’ll definitely need snacks. And water.” You said and he grinned.

You made a quick trip to the kitchen and grabbed some cereal and milk because you figured that it would satiate the munchies and also hydrate you to counteract the cottonmouth. And with that settled you were finally passing the joint back and forth and staring up at the sky. You had been talking about TV shows and things you’d read, music you were into at the moment, it was really nice and comfortable with him. And after a moment of silence Harry turned to you.

“I have to ask…” he said and you turned to look at him and nodded, “Ummm, the day when you…walked in on me?” He asked and you nodded nervously, “Did you see everything?” He asked and your groaned and looked away bashfully and he chuckled. “No point in lying about it…” he said and you turned back, face beet red as you faced him.

“I didn’t. I promise!” You insisted.

“Okay…” he hummed, still in slight disbelief.

“It’s true!” You pressed once more.

“I’m just teasing you.” He grinned.

“Well stop, it’s making me feel bad all over again!” You chuckled and he chuckled along with you.

“Don’t feel bad. I understand the curiosity just gets you sometimes.” He said and you hummed and shrugged in agreement.

“So…what’s next for you. I-if you guys end things?”

“I don’t know…I’ve been approached about a tenure track opening at the university and I’m trying to decide if it’s worth it.” He said and you nodded in agreement.

“I know I could go back home…work at my alma mater…be closer to my family…”

“But?”

“In a way, going back would feel like defeat. Like I just wasted all of this time.” He said and you felt sad for him as he confessed this.

“Well, you got offered a tenure track position! Clearly you haven’t been wasting your time.” You encouraged him and he smiled.

“That’s true…”

“But I mean, if you decide to go back then at least you’ll be closer to your family.” You said with a smile.

“Well, my family is kind of a mess so…things are better with us when we have some distance between us. That’s why coming here was an idea to begin with” He explained.

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Sorry.” You said.

“It’s alright.” He assured you. “Let’s talk about you… I know you’re a caring person but you’re just deflecting at this point.” he said and you smiled a bit and shrugged.

“It’s just…when I think about it I still get really sad.” You explained, with a sad smile on your face and his gaze softened.

“I saw the depression meds in the drawer. You know, you really shouldn’t smoke while you take them. You could get serotonin syndrome.” He said with concern.

“Oh, I haven’t started them. I was supposed to a few weeks ago and well, I had brought them to start on Sunday but I forgot.” You explained.

“Why haven’t you started them?”

“I don’t know…not any good enough reasons though.” You shrugged.

“Like?” He pressed and you sighed and just straightened out and looked at the beautifully starry sky. You hadn’t seen that many stars in a long time.

“My pride…” you chuckled dryly and he sputtered out a laugh as he tried to keep quiet.

“Okay…in what way?”

“Just in the most obvious way…like this person affected me so much that it broke my mind and unbalanced by brain!” You whisper shouted and then sat up straight and brought the joint to your mouth and took a small hit before blowing out the smoke. “How could I let someone hold so much power over me?!” You chuckled in disbelief as your eyes welled up with tears and handed over the joint.

“This is not your fault. You loved and trusted, that’s not wrong.” He reassured you and you sighed. You watched him take a hit and then sighed.

“You’re right. But I still feel weak for it, you know? So ummm…yeah, not taking those meds yet and still surviving and finding joy every now and again, it makes me feel a little bit better.” You confessed.

“And you feel alright?”

“Yeah and getting better too. Slowly but surely.”

“Okay. Promise you’ll take them when you start to plateau.” He requested as he handed back the dwindling joint.

“Promise.” You assured before taking the last hit and then smashing it against the ashtray to completely extinguish it. “Should we put something on and eat our cereal?”

“Yeah, lets do it.” He agreed and you smiled.

Before you knew it, the both of you were reclining against the headboard with your cereal bowls and watching SNL highlights.

Day Seven:

Once again, you had woken up alone. You had gone on your walk and when you returned Harry and Julie were already in the kitchen.

“Great, you’re back! Guess what!?” Harry exclaimed.

“What?” You asked as you put your AirPods back into their case.

“Save Ferris has a show at Pappy and Harriet’s tonight!”

“Oh, no way?!” You gasped in disbelief and your sister turned to you.

“You know who that is?” She asked and you nodded.

“I had a ska phase in high school.” You shrugged and she knocked her head back and laughed.

“Oh, right! God… glad you got through that.” She said and you flipped her off as you started to head to your room to shower. “So what? Do you want to go?” Julie asked and you stopped and turned towards her and then glanced to Harry who was smiling expectantly.

“Ummm…yeah! I’d like that actually.” You confirmed.

“Perfect! We’ll get the tickets, don’t worry about it. Merry Christmas.” She said to you and you smiled, “And well, I’m just going to get drunk because I don’t know what the fuck that band is.” She added and you chuckled.

“Well I think you’re going to have fun. And this is like a huge dream come true for me because I never thought I’d ever get to see them!” You said excitedly and she chuckled, “Thank you! I love you.” You said pointedly and then hurried off to shower.

All day the anticipation for this show was building up and building up. By the time you were leaving the house Julie was already tipsy. You were driving since they had paid, it was the least you could do, and you were actually glad you had driven, it was a nice distraction from just wanting to talk to Harry about anything and everything while your sister just laughed at TikTok’s in the backseat. You were also kinda worried that she might make herself car sick, especially as you started going up the winding roads to Pioneer Town.

You guys had intentionally arrived early to take a walk through the historical little western town. You looked through a few shops and then made your way to the saloon next door to the venue and had some tacos while you guys drank and chatted until it was time to make the short walk back to the venue. You guys waited in the merch line for a bit before heading over to the outdoor stage area and finding a spot to stand. Despite this not being a genre that your sister enjoyed, she was having a pretty decent time. And you and Harry had enjoyed the opener and also Save Ferris. You guys were bopping along and singing the songs. Your sister had a few more drinks during the show and by the the time it was all over she was draped around you as you guys headed to your car.

“Want me to drive?” Harry asked as he opened the back right door to help you get Julie inside.

“I’m alright.” You assured him. Your sister groaned as she dropped down onto the seat. “Jules, seatbelt on please.” You said and she hummed.

“M’going, m’going…” she slurred. Once she was all strapped in you and Harry got settled in and you were making the drive back. It had only been a few minutes before you heard your sister slightly snoring from the back.

“Did she pass out?” You asked Harry and he glanced back and smiled.

“Yeah, she’s out.” He confirmed and you chuckled.

“Thanks for mentioning this show. It was super fun.” You smiled at Harry quickly before turning back to the road.

“I’m glad you had fun. You deserve it!” Harry explained with a smile, “Also, are you generally this great to go to shows with?” He asked and you giggled.

“I don’t know…I guess?”

“It’s just so nice to be present isn't it?” He asked and you nodded.

“Definitely. I get what you mean.” You agreed, “But specially here. It’s such an intimate venue. We couldn’t haven’t seen Save Ferris in a better place.” You gushed and he nodded with a wide smile.

The rest of the way you guys were exchanging brief but charged glances. Even if you were just talking about the show and music, the air between you two was once again tense and you finally got a break from it when you arrived. You were giggling as you tried to get Julie inside as quietly as possible on your own since Harry had to pee. While you struggled with the task at hand, you had eventually made it to the pool house. She trudged in and just dropped herself on the bed and you chuckled before letting her be. When you returned to the main house Harry was in the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass of water.

“Want one?” He asked and you nodded.

“Please.” You confirmed and he handed the glass over to you before grabbing another for himself. You quickly drank it down and washed it before setting it back on the drying rack and then asking for his glass and washing his as well.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” You hummed.

Moments later you were both walking down the dark hallway to get to your bedrooms. When you reached his door you stopped and he turned towards you.

“I also wanted to say that you look very pretty tonight.” He said softly and you smiled.

“Well thank you.” You responded bashfully.

“Of course.” He smiled nervously. You both looked at each other for a moment, the tension from before was rising between you again.

“Ummm, well…I should get to bed. Thank you again for finding this. I really did have the best time. I needed it.” You stated with a genuine smile as your gaze met his own. It lingered for a few more seconds before you felt all bashful again and you blinked away quickly. “Anyway, good night!” You chirped softly before he bid you a good night and you hurried into your room.

You got changed and got ready for bed, but before you could get into it you felt a funny tug in your tummy. Yes, you had spent a whole afternoon basically with Harry, but having him in your room at night, it helped you sleep through the whole night. Which as you’d mentioned to him before, was a current struggle of yours. And more than that, you liked the warmth of him beside you. You loved how deep and raspy his voice got as you spoke late into the night. You liked that one of your pillows smelled like him from how much of a habit it had become to have him come see you and you were working up the guts to go ask him. You hurried to your bedroom door and swung it open only to see Harry already a few steps away from your door.

“Hi.” He smiled as he came closer.

“Hi.” You smiled up at him as he stood before you. “Wanna come in?”

“Yeah.” He smiled and stepped inside.

Before long you were propped up on the pillows side by side, TV on some old reruns. You were barely paying attention because you were using all of your will power to try and not turn to face him. If you did, surely you’d lose all self-control and do something stupid like lean over to kiss him. Already, the warmth coming off of him was enough to make you want to close the small gap between the two of you. But then, from your peripherals you saw him steal a glance quickly. Your heart started to race, you were buzzing from head to toe as you debated whether to glance over as well. Your heart won that battle as you turned towards him and he smiled slightly.

“What?” You asked and he shrugged.

“Nothing just…we get along too well.” He shrugged and you smiled.

“Too well?” You asked and he hummed. “Maybe our personal situations are influencing a lot of the…vibes, you know?” You asked.

“Why do you say that?” He asked.

“Because, we’ve both been a bit neglected and disappointed by the people we loved. Like…for lack of better terms I think we’re both a little…thirsty.” You said as you giggled away the nerves and he smirked.

“Yeah…That’s true.” He verified.

“And well, then with like the underlying sadness, sometimes you just aren’t thinking all that clearly about things that you’d normally just… push aside.”

“Like what?” He pressed and you sighed.

“Like why we suddenly have the hots for each other!” You whisper shouted and he chuckled. “Like I’m suddenly very aware of you.” You explained.

“I think that was from seeing me half naked.” He said and you groaned in embarrassment as you let yourself fall onto your pillows. “Hey, hey…” Harry giggled as he turned onto his side to face you, “I’m teasing you.” He assured as he glanced down at you.

“I know, but still not my finest moment.” You reminded him with a playful roll of your eyes. But then he reached for your face and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I almost kissed you the other day, which…is equally as bad so I’d say we’re both on thin ice. And well, it’s not like I don’t want to now or something…Like I know that no one would find out about it-”

“What if they do somehow?” You asked nervously.

“They won’t. But if they did, it’s not like I was gonna be around you guys for much longer any way, with the divorce an all…” he said with a small shrug.

“So you’re going to get divorced?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah. Gonna get it going when we get back home.” He said and you nodded.

Your eye contact with him didn’t waiver for another few seconds and before you knew it, you were both leaning in slowly. He exhaled shakily before you finished closing the gap between your lips. It was just a small and quick touch of your lips together before you both pulled away. Your noses were nearly touching as you just hovered near each other for a few seconds. But from one second to the next, his will power snapped and he was kissing you again gently. Over and over, in quick little pecks, lips smearing together for seconds at a time, both too scared to kiss with a bit more fervor as to not find out just how far it could go. But like he said, no would find out…

“Fuck it then.” You whispered as you reached around his neck and he pulled you in closer by the waist. Your kiss deepened quickly, you moaned at the taste of his mouth, feeling his tongue smooth over your own and for his teeth to nibble at your bottom lip… you were reeling. Falling blissfully into a state of non-worry as you sunk into the delicious mattress and were blanketed by Harry’s warmth and weight over you. His constant squeeze at your hip was telling you that his body was screaming to do more with his hands, but he was trying not to do too much. You pulled away from the kiss quickly, smiling as he chased after your lips, “Just wanna tell you that you can…” you trailed off as he smooched over your lips quickly, “Y-you can touch me more.”

As soon as you gave him the green light he slid his warm hand down the side of your thigh and to the underside where he hoisted it up around his own hip. Then he smoothed his hand back up your thigh, then up your waist, but from under your shirt. And slowly, he covered more skin until he was sliding his big, warm palm over your breast. You moaned as he gave it a gentle squeeze. The curiosity with which he was feeling you out was reminiscent of a very early sexual experience you had with some guy at a birthday party in the 8th grade, with all that seven minutes in heaven shit.

“So you’re a boobs guy…” you giggled as he swiped his thumb over your hardening nipple.

“Definitely a boobs guy.” He mumbled into your lips before kissing you a few more times. “Can I take your shirt off?” He asked and you bit your lip as you weighed out your options. But who were you kidding, the thought of having those same lips all over your breasts had you slicking up your underwear even more than they already were.

“Yeah.” You consented verbally and you sat up as he helped pull your body free from the shirt and then dropped it on an empty part of the bed.

Harry’s warm, smooth lips started to kiss down your jaw, nibbling a few times on his way down to the column of your neck. You held in your giggles from his stubble tickling your sensitive skin. He had both of his hands on your breasts now as he sat over you, he was teasing your nipples, being so light and airy with his touches, it had you squirming. You knew he’d get there soon, but soon wasn’t happening as fast as you wanted.

“Please!” You whimpered and he glanced up at you and smirked.

“I’m going.” He assured you and he lowered himself until he was face level with your breasts.

He wasted no time in parting his lips and sucking your nipple between them. You whimpered and wove your fingers into his hair. He sucked harder and you gripped at his hair harder. His other hand kneaded over your other breast as you writhed beneath him. And as you wiggled around trying to part your legs to wrap around him, he pulled one out from under him and lowered his hips a bit as you ground up and that’s when you felt the bulge in his pants. He was so fucking hard.

“Fuck.” He sighed as he kissed back up your neck and finally back at your lips as he started to grind his cock against you. One of your hands slid up his arm, feeling at his bulging muscles. The other slid down to his backside, encouraging him to keep going. It wasn’t so much the feeling of the dry hump as it was the desperation that existed between you two. It would feel wrong to fuck so quickly, but you wanted to so badly that you were both willing to settle for this. It was a little bit sick and a lot pathetic, a true reflection of you two as you made out sloppily while rubbing fronts.

You’d been struggling with your sex drive since the depression and you really hadn’t needed to be in tune with it, seeing as you had planned to steer clear of anything with another person for the foreseeable future. But now here you were, wetter than you’d been in months, feeling the fabric of your underwear clinging to the skin of your pussy. You needed more if you were going to come and you really, really wanted to come.

“Harry…Harry…” you mumbled against his lips, “Take these off.” you panted as you tugged at the band of his pants and boxer briefs.

“Sure?” He asked and you nodded.

“It’ll be easier to come like that.” You said and he smiled. “What?”

“I just…hadn’t really thought about that, I was just kinda happy to be here.” He chuckled and you giggled.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just got a little carried away, s’been a while.” You explained.

“For me too. I want to…I just want to make sure, you know?”

“Well, thank you for making sure.” You whispered and he smiled down at you before kissing you again. You two struggled for a bit as he tried to get his pants off without stopping the kisses, but eventually you had to and you watched as he knelt up onto the bed. His cock was so fucking pretty, it made you salivate. He wasn’t shaved clean but he was definitely trimmed. You also wanted to get his balls in your mouth and make him squirm with pleasure. You also started to get your pants off and he helped you pull them off of your legs. Your underwear matched with the sleep tank you had on, a nice baby blue color, but they did nothing to hide how fucking wet you were.

After tearing off his shirt, Harry had your legs spread, holding you down by the backs of the thighs as he slid his cock over your clothed crease. Back and forth, over and over, the head of his cock was colliding with your clit. His foreskin was starting to pull back to reveal his tip, meaning that despite how hard he already felt to you, he had more to go. You were trying to keep your sounds at a minimum, but you were starting to get close to the edge. The steady pace Harry was going at, plus the weight and warmth of his cock gliding over you and between your sticky pussy lips were all pushing you to fall apart quickly.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard…” you moaned and he groaned and kissed you.

“Good, baby. Come for me.” He mumbled against your lips and you nodded. You were inhaling his exhales as you kissed sloppily. You could feel your legs starting to tense up and your walls starting to tighten inside of you as the pleasure started to become more concentrated in the pit of your core. It was so hot and tingly and lovely, it was starting to ache, you could feel your slick starting to pump out of your needy little hole. If Harry decided to try put it in you’d let him do it. Just processing that thought and how possible it was had your orgasm overcoming you. Your breath hitched and your whole body went stiff for a second before the pleasure just exploded. A gratifying moan slipped past your lips and Harry was quick to cover your mouth, chuckling lowly as you got lost in the pleasure of the orgasm. He watched your breasts bounce and jiggle beautifully as your body rolled gently with the waves of your orgasm. You were gripping the sheets so tight that your fingers slightly ached but it just felt so good. Even as he kept going, you welcomed the sensitivity. He pulled his hand from your mouth and reached for one of your boobs again before glancing down at his cock all slicked up with your slick and cum.

“Fuck I’m gonna come!” Harry mumbled and you bit your lip in anticipation. Opposite of what you expected, he slowed his pace and then grabbed the crotch of your panties and pulling it to the side. He moaned as he saw your whole pussy and then laid his cock over it again a few times and then very intentionally, he pressed against your entrance, it was making you tremble. “Fuck…gonna let me come all over your pussy?” He asked as he looked up at you and you nodded, mouth agape, eyes nearly closed from the insurmountable waves of lust.

“Please, need it so bad.” You encouraged his orgasm. And moments later he was groaning lowly as you felt his thick, warm load start to spill all over your pussy. His slow ruts against you were making you melt and you propped your self up on your elbows to see the mess he was making against you. “Do you always cum that much? Fuck…” you chuckled as you glanced up at him and he just smirked at you as he came to a slow stop.

“Do you feel bad?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Not yet at least…” you added and he nodded.

“Okay, me either.” He assured you. “Just wanted to check before I kissed you again.”

“Oh, okay.” You whispered as he leaned in and kissed you slowly again.

Eventually you got cleaned up and back into bed with him. You knew that you would wake up alone, but still weren’t sure if you’d be happy about it or not.

Day Eight:

When your eyes opened the following morning you felt fine. You weren’t afraid to face Harry, you weren’t regretful of what you’d done. However, you did find yourself wondering when you’d be able to get away with it again.

What did concern you is how he would feel about it this morning. He was eager in the heat of the moment but what about now, after the post nut clarity? The more and more you gave it some thought the more you psyched yourself out and were avoiding joining everyone for breakfast. You were in your patio, smoking a joint to help you build up some appetite, but also to help you relax and be normal when you were in the same room with your aunt, parents, and brother in law who had just come loads over your bare pussy, and of course, your sister, his wife. Well, soon to be ex-wife, but still! It wasn’t official yet!

Finally you decided to bite the bullet and headed towards the kitchen. You greeted everyone good morning and then glanced to Harry who flashed you an easy smile.

“You alright?” He asked. What sounded like the most casual question to everyone else was the most charged question between you and him. You smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. All good.” You reassured him and he smiled and nodded silently before continuing to eat his breakfast.

NEXT PART...

OMG SORRY FRIENDS! FOTGOT TO TAAAAG!

@daphnesutton @mads3502 @triski73 @xoxxjada @fangirl509east @stylesftcher @charlottesrecommendations @taintedwonder @goobernickle @loverofhsandallthings1d

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles reader insert #harry styles christmas fic #Harry styles x you #you x harry styles #harry styles reader insert fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles AU #harry styles x reader #0nlythrowharrybeaux

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doctorwhoandfairytaillover · 3 months ago

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Loving Arms (5)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part V - Setting an Example

|| Loving Arms Masterlist ||

A/N: I meant to post this to celebrate Matt's b-day, but I forgot that we share a birthday 🤣 and I got caught up with other stuff, but I hope you all still enjoyed it. Don't forget to comment!

Divider credit: @saradika

Sit still and look pretty.

It was one of the first lessons that (Y/N) Hightower (nee Martell) remembers receiving when she was still a young girl; receiving her lessons and instructions from the Septa, her Mother, and additionally her Father. It was a simple enough thing to follow, even at the tender age of four, when it was just she and her older brother Gwayne that took their lessons together.

But losing their mother, Otto leaving she and her brother behind in Oldtown, and being disfigured by the age of seven.

Sit still and look pretty, didn't hold as equal of a weight as it used to.

When her Septa tried to recite that same lesson again after all of those things happened, it would be the first time of many in which (Y/N) chose to talk and fight back against the rules that they tried to place upon her.

In fact, it was truly a change for her life when the Septa brought the girl to her Uncle Hobert and Aunt Lynesse expecting that the couple would agree that this was a lesson that she needed to take to heart, only for the Septa to be dismissed. Instead the Hightower couple would teach her a different lesson that she would apply for the rest of her life.

Sit still, listen, and prove every bastard wrong.

Never would the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower believe in her entire life that the uncle and aunt who were as equally traditional to the same values of her father, would teach her to break the norms and expectations that had been long since been established in the family.

A lesson and many more that were never told to her Father, in every letter written to his younger brother, Hobert Hightower would praise her progress in the things she was taught but never specified that the girl was learning alongside Gwayne to one day take over the leadership of a house.

Whether it was that of house Hightower or another.

The discussion between Viserys and (Y/N) was one that was quite overdue, because despite having met before when his children were quite young, neither had much to talk with one another back then. When she left the room, there were a few things that Viserys had conceded and signed in agreement, so she was ultimately satisfied with the uprooting of some of the things that they had come to agree.

Walking out of Viserys' study, she decided to seek out the children for a moment of reprieve considering that discussing with the Targaryen King had felt taxing on her patience. She left the room without a glance to the guard that had almost impeded her discussion with the King and instead left with quick strides to hopefully find the children enjoying themselves in the garden or training yards, as she had been adamant to make sure every last tutor that had originally been employed was gone.

It wasn't long before the elder Hightower was able to find her nephews and niece exactly where she had assumed they would be. Halaena was happily sprawled in the grass and leaning to look at some variant of bug that she must have found, Aemond sat on the stone bench by her and was reading a tome in Valyrian, and Aegon was surprisingly sitting contently beside his sister eating a cookie from the satchel in his lap.

"Well is this not the most pleasant sight?" she laughed. "Last I heard, the three of you could rarely stand to be in the presence of one another."

"We were waiting for you, muña" Halaena looked up. "You took quite a while and we thought it would be more pleasant to wait here in the garden."

"Neither Halaena or I believed when Aegon first told us that our tutors and the septas had been relieved of their positions. But this has felt like the longest day of my life" Aemond pouted. "It has been positively dull!"

"Well I am not one to complain," Aegon grinned and offered up his satchel of snacks. "It has been pleasant to enjoy the gardens without anyone to nag."

Their muña happily took a cookie from Aegon's satchel and plopped herself tiredly on the grass, "I figured that there would be a mix of reactions from the three of you but things had to be put in order." She looked between them, "I sought an audience with his graceful Majesty, King Viserys the Peaceful and had some things put into writing and sealed."

The children looked at her in surprise and uncertainty of what this could possibly mean for all of them.

"Might we inquire as to what those things are?" Aemond asked while setting aside his tome.

She hummed in thought, "Well I see no harm in all of you knowing. After all, it pertains to your futures and much of how things will be going forward."

She waved the children closer and hesitantly all three inched forward until they sat in front of her. "Due to the graciousness of the King, from this day until you are all married, I have become your caretaker of sorts. It has been decreed Halaena and Aegon will no longer be married."

The two were ecstatic and threw their arms around their lovely muña, whispering their rushed and tearful thank you's, one of their great fears would never come to be. With soft assurances from their aunt, Halaena and Aegon hesitantly pulled away while wiping away their tears.

"How did you get our Father to agree, muña?" Aegon sniffled.

"Ah," she laughed. "Never underestimate the stubborness of a woman willing to take risks. Often times, it is better to sit at the table, listen to what is said, and do all that you are capable of proving that something can be done."

"But I imagine that there is more, isn't there?" said Aemond.

"Plenty more, but it is perhaps better if I were to summarize it all" she said but the clattering sound of armor made her turn.

Ser Criston Cole approached the group, a frown marred his features and hesitantly the man gave a short bow when he stood before them. "I apologize for the interruption, but I came to seek out the young princes for their training only for a servant to tell me that their lessons had been dismissed."

The Targaryen children's muña stared at the man with a curious look, "Dornish man, are you?"

"I beg your pardon, my lady?"

"Your family hails from Dorne, do they not? Your appearance and the way you speak has hints that you were raised in the Dornish Marches" she pointed out. "My husband was a prince of Dorne."

Ser Criston knelt on one knee, "Forgive my impertinence, princess. I am Ser Criston Cole of House Cole, my house is in service to House Dondarrion."

She waved the man off, "No need for the formality Cole. I presume that you are my nephews previous master-at-arms."

"Previous, my lady?"

"All who taught my nephews and niece have been relieved of their service, ser" she said plainly.

"But I have served faithfully to House Targaryen for a number of years and there has never been complaint of my teachings."

"That is all well and good ser, but going forth, I am the one who has say over the education of 'ahibaayiy and until you have proven yourself to me. Then you can serve in any other capacity, but not with them."

His gaze betrayed nothing as their eyes locked, "Has the Queen and Hand been made aware of these changes?"

"Would you like to be the messenger?" she tilted her head and smiled.

He swallowed nervously, "Am I given a choice?"

"We are always given choices, Ser Cole" she leaned closer until their noses almost brushed. "What choice will you make?"

"I would like to prove myself, my lady" he said softly. "Given the choice."

"Then set to prove that you are still worthy of being their master-at-arms, and prepare to have an additional student, as Halaena will be joining my nephews soon. Is that understood?"

The man nodded and hesitantly rose, offering the group another bow and walked away.

Halaena softly broke the silence, "I will be joining my brothers muña?"

"Yes, my love. Because tell me, what did you and your brother witness right now?"

"You were talking to Ser Criston?"

Their muña shook her head, "Not just the obvious."

Her nephews and niece looked confused at what else she was asking them to point out.

"You witnessed me setting that man as an example," she smiled. "He doesn't truly know what position or power I hold, but I was able to have him fear speaking to your Mother and Grandsire, made him aware that I was in control of whether he would still be given a chance to prove that he could serve."

"How will you have us learn to do it, Muña?" Aegon asked.

"I will be highly involved in your teachings, because not everything that is taught are the things that you should learn" she said.

This only further confused the children and the faces they made had her laughing heartily.

"Seems as if I have my work cut out for me, don't I?" she giggled. "But let's make this our first lesson and remember it well; sit still, listen, and prove every bastard wrong."

This caught the three Targaryen's off guard and their shock made them laugh at her blunt choice of words.

"Perhaps my words sound a bit much, but let me tell you this" the three paid close attention. "No one in this world will give a damn about you, if you don't pretend to do it yourself. As much as I would love to say that humanity is kind and loving, everyone has something to gain."

"What about you, muña?" Aemond asked. "What do you have to gain?"

"That is for me to know and the rest of the world to find out," she smiled. "But I hope you are ready to learn as much as you can from everything that I have learned."

#x reader #x reader insert #house of the dragon x reader #x aunt reader #aegon x reader #aemond x reader #platonic #helaena x reader #loving arms series #aegon ii fanfic #halaena fanfic #aemond fanfiction

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becausebuckley · 3 months ago

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michelle's buddie fic recs: week 47!

...plus a very special non-buddie fic!! an excellent reading week, once again. the 911 fandom has so many incredible writers!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

and i need you more than want you (and i want you for all time) | dykeries/@buddiesbian| 25.9k | E

Buck and Eddie's relationship changes over a series of phone calls. Along the way, their family finds its way back home to each other. there's something about phone calls for buddie that just hits so hard... doesn't matter if they're sex calls or emotional calls. this fic is so good, i devoured it!!

ball games | thesquinky | 8.4k | T

buck takes eddie to that lakers game, after all. buck and eddie at the lakers game!! kiss cams!! i was crossing my fingers someone would write a fic exactly like this and it did not disappoint <3

been there, done that (once or twice) | kaistinlove/@kaistinlove | 21.6k | E

the one where Buck wants to make a boudoir album and enlists Eddie's help as a photographer. i clicked on this SO FAST when i saw it!! so good so hot so perfect

DIAZ | mandolare/@confessionseddie | 3k | E

Buck wears the wrong jacket. buck needs to always wear the wrong jacket imo <3 so lovely!!

hold me like water | singomuse7 | 6.3k | T

Eddie's not the most oblivious person in the world and instantly understands what that closet joke meant, and instead of crashing out and blowing his life up about it, he gives Buck sensible advice and breaks up with Marisol. Cue 6k words of gay crisis during madney's wedding. i love love love this fic's eddie so much <3 so good!!

i belong with you, you belong with me (you're my sweetheart) | Distressed_Ladybug15/@cadiebug | 1.4k | GA

For a second they just stand there, staring into Chris’ room, then Buck tips his head back and to the side so he can meet Eddie’s eyes. “Hi,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and overused from work. i needed a little hurt/comfort like this a couple of days ago and it hit the spot perfectly <3

jee- yun's big day | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 6k | GA

“So, Jee,” Mommy says. “You remember how we visited Daddy at work before?” Jee-Yun nods. “Captain Bobby says you can come to work with me for a whole day!” Daddy looks excited, and Jee thinks about it. Daddy’s work is pretty fun, she thinks. Captain Bobby cooked some really yummy pasta, and Uncle Buck is always there, and so are Aunt Hen and Uncle Eddie. THIS FIC. this fic is the non-buddie inclusion of this week but honestly i don't even care, i need everyone to read it immediately. the loveliest cutest jee ever, and such a lovely ensemble of characters around her <3

make a spark (break the dark) | prettyunhinged | 4.9k | E

Eddie is gay. Tommy sucks. Buck and Eddie frot about it on the couch. this fic is how i realised that there's an ao3 tag especially for eddie's couch and honestly, she deserves it <3 so hot so buddie so good!!

my home is your body | coldbam/@coldbam | 16.6k | E

Buck and Eddie have vastly different nights at Pride. Then very similar summers. this was a reread and it still hits so very hard. the ultimate buddie fwb fic!!

my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) | colonoscopys/@colonoscopys | 9.7k | GA

croakett: I don’t know what to do tubbalubb: me neither He stares at the screen. Is this the correct time to bring up Buck’s abs? buddie online friendship AND irl friendship?? sign me right up wow i love this!! they're so silly and they love each other so much <3

please, please, please | bookinit/@bookinit02 | 8.7k | E

buck doesn’t touch eddie anymore. eddie’s losing it, a little bit. honestly eddie i'd lose it too. this fic combines pining and getting together and touch-starvation so basically if there was a venn diagram of my favourite fic tropes this would be right in the middle <3

red + white + boom | onlythemessenger | 3k | T

Unexpected fireworks catch Eddie off guard after a bad week. Buck and Bobby help him through the aftermath. bobbyeddie friendship my most beloved <3 love how this fic portrays them!!

this mortal coil (shuffle) | eirabach/@eirabach | 20.1k | M

Maddie was never supposed to be Buck’s mother. Eddie was never allowed to be his anything. But three minutes and seventeen seconds later, here they are. this fic hurt but in the best way. love maddie here in particular <3

this world turns over | dottie_weewoo/@dottie-wan-kenobi | 4.8k | T

Before Buck stands up fully, Eddie reaches out with his good hand to pet Christopher’s hair, pushing a few strands out of his face. “Goodnight, mijo,” he whispers, getting only a mumble in response. A soft smile steals over his face, his eyes moving from his son to Buck. “Hey, Buck?” domestic and wonderful <3 this was a lovely morning read on the bus earlier this week!!

we are bound | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 7.2k | T

Every human was born with a prophecy. That was the deal, or so they taught at school. But Evan knew better. He wasn’t born with a prophecy. He’d asked and asked and asked, but his parents shrugged every time, and eventually, Evan stopped asking. Why bother when he already knew the answer he’d get? i love the style and structure of this fic so so much, it's gorgeously written!! a true treat <3

you're looking like you fell in love tonight | devirnis/@devirnis | 1.1k | GA

There’s an arm slung across his waist, a head on his shoulder, soft hairs tickling the underside of his jaw. He breathes in, the cobwebs of sleep slowly dissolving in his brain, and he smells — Eddie. i did fall in love tonight and it was with this fic <3 so so lovely!!

#i had some trouble finding some of you on tumblr so if you're on here and would like me to edit in your username just let me know!!#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle’s recs #fic rec list

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g1rlw1th0n33ye3 · 1 day ago

Text

Soft Spot I

Pairing - Emperor Caracalla x Reader ( x eventually Geta)

Word count - 3.4k

Summary- Sometimes, being nice to the wrong person can change your whole life

Warnings- their Roman emperors in 200 AD... so like warning in general but for this chapter metions of enslavment and blood but nothing graphic

It was a hot and windy night upon Palatine Hill, the air thick with the scents of the bustling city below. You lay in your less-than-comfortable bed of straw, the rough fibers scratching against your skin. The all-consuming heat wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Suddenly, a loud crash shatters the stillness, jerking you from your slumber.

As the kitchen headmistress, you have been granted the privilege of private quarters, if one could truly call it a privilege. Your room was small and cluttered, its walls grimy with the residue of countless meals prepared in the bustling kitchen down the hall. The flickering light of a lone candle cast dancing shadows across the uneven floor.

Despite your title, you were no more happy than any other slave. The weight of expectation lay heavy on your shoulders. Any joy you once found in cooking had been long overshadowed by the responsibility of managing everyone around you. With each meal, you felt the pressure to ensure everything was perfect or fear facing the punishment.

Trapped between the chaos of the demanding patricians and the struggle to maintain order among the other slaves, especially when nobody was ever happy with their assignments. A kitchen master or two has met unfortunate ends in the past at the hands of angry slaves sneaking in during the dead of night to slit their throats and sometimes worse. To avoid such fates, it was simpler to give the head of the kitchen their own room, complete with a lock to keep out vengeful workers who, for some reason, blamed you for their circumstances.

Your job wasn’t so bad despite the constant dirty looks and threats to your life. You had your own quarters, and while most of the female slaves had to attend to the lady patricians upstairs, some of the more unlucky ones were sent to serve the males as concubines. Luckily for you, working in the kitchens kept you far away from any male patricians with wandering hands and bad tempers—or, gods forbid, the Ceasers. Your days were filled with the clanging of pots and the sizzling of food as you supervised the preparation of meals for the entire palace. It was a demanding job, but it kept you away from the more dangerous parts of the palace.

You groggily rise from your slumber after hearing another loud clanging. If someone was messing around in the kitchen and they weren’t caught in the act, you would be ultimately blamed for whatever was missing, and as much as you hated having to report it to the master of slaves, if you didn’t, it would be you in their place instead. On Palatine Hill, it was kill or be killed; it was the only way to survive as long as you had.

Slipping out of bed, you throw on one of the tunics you’ve had for years. It’s falling apart around the sleeves and far too tight around your hips, but it’s the last thing your aunt gave you before she left this world, and you can’t bear to part with it. You slide on your sandals, which are also slowly falling apart, but you need them to avoid the dirt of the lower levels. Before you go, you reach under your mattress to grab the small knife you had stolen from the kitchen years ago and place it up your sleeve using your palm to hold it up and out of view; slaves in the palace weren’t allowed to have any weapons, but in a place like this, were everyone saw fit to just take whatever they wanted you needed something to protect yourself, gods, forbid the noise in the kitchen was an assassin sneaking through the kitchens to get the Ceasers they would have no problem cutting you down to get to the Ceasers and who were you in this palace in this world that anyone would save you over the ceasers.

If it was a guard poking around down there, He would take one look at the knife, and you would be punished or, worse, killed. The guard’s transgressions would be forgotten, all blame being put on you.

You shift the knife further up your tunic, the fear of being caught and swiftly punished haunting your mind as you make your way to the door, trying your best not to make a sound. As you open it, you can still hear the sounds coming from the kitchen as you creep closer, knife held close, the sounds becoming louder. You can almost hear a soft sort of muttering. You silently pray there isn’t more than one person. There was only so much you and the tiny knife you carried could do, and with no sense of training, they’d probably cut you down before you could even draw your blade; perhaps it wasn’t too late to run back to your room and hide till morning punishment be dammed your about to turn around when the gods make your choice for you as your foot makes contact with some chicken bones some fool left in the hall; The loud crunch echoed through the dimly lit hall, cutting through the muffled sounds of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. Instantly, all noise from that direction ceased, creating an eerie silence.

There was no turning back now; whoever was in the kitchen had to be aware of your presence. With your heart racing, you cautiously crept forward, each step deliberate and silent, straining to catch any hint of movement or sound that might betray their location. The air felt heavy with tension as you navigated the hallway.

As you round the corner and step into the massive kitchens, you brace yourself for the sight of a horde of bandits ready to ambush you. However, to your astonishment, the kitchens are entirely deserted. The large stone hearths, usually crackling with the warmth of a fire and filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, stand cold and silent. You scan the dimly lit room, each shadow dancing eerily in the flickering light of the few burning candles.

With cautious steps, you traverse the vast expanse of the kitchen, the echo of your footfalls a stark reminder of the absence of life. Large wooden tables, typically cluttered with pots and ingredients, sit untouched, their surfaces coated in a thin layer of dust. Not a single soul is present, and the silence is unnerving, as if the very air holds its breath, waiting for something to happen.

A chill runs down your spine, and you ponder whether the madness that often haunts the ancient castle has decided to linger a little too close for comfort this time.

Worried and restless, you decide it’s best to retrace your steps and head back to your room, hoping the familiar surroundings will soothe your spirit and shield you from the lurking darkness that seems to envelop the palace.

Then suddenly, a strange, quiet mumbling echoes from within the pantry, sending a shiver down your spine. With a shaky hand, you grip the small knife in your palm, readying yourself for whatever awaits you behind the door. Taking a deep breath, you take slow, deliberate steps toward the pantry, your heart racing.

Cautiously, you nudge the door open with your foot, instinctively raising your hands to shield yourself from an unseen threat. However, upon stepping inside, you’re met with an unsettling emptiness—just shadows and the faint scent of aged wood. Doubt creeps in, making you wonder if you are losing your mind.

You scan the space meticulously, eager for any sign of life that could confirm your sanity. As despair sets in, your eyes fall upon something unusual: a pair of golden sandals peeking out from beneath a wooden table laden with assorted cheeses and oils. The table is covered with a cloth, its corners lifting slightly as if disturbed. It becomes clear that someone had been here, perhaps reaching for a small wheel of cheese, shown by the noticeable bite mark taken from it.

You’re about to yell at the slave who has decided to take liberties with the Emperor’s cheese, putting you all at risk. But suddenly, a realization halts you in your tracks: only someone of immense wealth could afford to wear sandals in such immaculate condition.

If the individual below is indeed a Patrician, confronting them could spell disaster for you, as their status comes with considerable power, and they could punish you just for looking them in the eye. On the other hand, it might be just a drunken slave, desperate enough to steal the sandals, willing to risk their life for a mere scrap of cheese.

You find yourself at a crossroads, ready to accept whatever punishment awaits, which will probably be far preferable to some gruesome fate at the hands of a drunken patrician. You begin to resign when a soft sniffle echoes from beneath the table, catching you off guard. You freeze, unsure of how to proceed. Gathering your courage, you lean down slightly, peering into the dim shadows beneath the heavy oak.

“Uhm, excuse me, are you alright?” you venture, your voice barely above a whisper. There is no immediate reply, but you notice the foot, tucked in the expensive shoe, scrunch back as if it has become aware of your presence. Tension fills the air, mingling with the aroma of stale bread and kitchen spices.

“I mean no offense,” you continue, attempting to soften your words, “but this part of the kitchen is meant for the kitchen slaves only. If you need something, I can find a slave to bring it to your rooms.” Your voice carries the weight of concern as you await a response, but only silence lingers.

With hands trembling, you gather your courage and lift the edge of the tablecloth, revealing the cowering figure curled up beneath. He lies in a tight fetal position, body trembling slightly, head buried deep within the shelter of his arms.

A part of you screams to drop the cloth and retreat to the safety of your room, to erase this moment from your memory and pretend it never happened. Yet, no matter how hard you try, your empathy refuses to fade away. The turmoil within him pulls at your heart; despite the anger and resentment that Rome has instilled in you, you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pity for this broken soul hiding away beneath the fabric.

“C-can I help you? Are you alright?” The figure shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of pale blue eyes peering out from behind the table, rimmed with tears that add a shimmering quality to his delicate features. “N-no... nobody can help me,” he responds, his voice quivering as he tries to hide his face from view.

“Perhaps I could try,” you offer gently, your heart aching at the pain reflected in his gaze. “If you tell me what ails you, I might be able to help.” He sniffles, burying his face deeper into the shadowy ground, mumbling something too faint for you to catch.

“I’m sorry, I can’t quite hear you. Maybe if you sat up, I could understand you better,” you say softly, hoping to coax him out from his hiding place beneath the table.

After a moment of hesitation, he begins to unfurl, slowly propping himself up but remaining hunched, his posture reflecting his despair. Now, with his full form visible, you find it impossible to neglect the striking beauty he possesses. His eyes, a haunting pale blue, are still glistening with unshed tears that create streaks against the pale makeup caked over his skin, struggling to conceal his blemishes. His reddish-orange hair, tousled and unkempt, crowns his head, giving him an air of chaotic elegance.

Atop his head rests a crown of laurel leaves, askew and slightly battered, hinting at a position of importance or honor. It’s a stark contrast to the turmoil evident in his countenance. His clothes, rich in fabric and style, suggest wealth far beyond what you could imagine, likely worth more than all the food in the kitchen combined. As he sits there, a beautiful but tragic figure, you can’t help but wonder what events led him to this moment, hiding under the table, burdened by an invisible weight.

You lock eyes with him, his gaze heavy with uncertainty. For a brief moment, it feels as though he’s trying to decipher something hidden within you. You hesitate, unsure of how to break the silence, hoping he will find the words first. Yet, he remains transfixed, his expression a blend of confusion and contemplation.

You feel the weight of his gaze shift, his eyes drifting down to focus on your breasts. A wave of unease washes over you, prompting you to finally speak up before his thoughts take a more dangerous turn.

“Before you said something, dominus, I couldn’t quite hear.” Your words seemed to snap him out of his trance, truly noticing you now before going back to his glossed-over look, seeming to remember his troubles. “You wouldn’t understand,” he whines, putting a pout on his lips.

You let out a chuckle before you could stop yourself. “Oh, um... my deepest apologies, Dominus. I just... I forget myself,” you say, looking down. But it’s too late; he begins pounding his fists into the stone floor.

“See, you’re just like everyone else! They laugh at me! I can hear them all whispering about me. They all think I’m some fool!” he yelled, continuing to beat his knuckles into the concrete. Tears welled up in his eyes; he seemed more sad than angry.

Frightened, you shrunk back, preparing for his anger to turn on you, but he simply continued to beat his knuckles bloody while mumbling to himself.

Terrified but unwilling to leave the poor man alone to beat his knuckles to the bone, you get up to find something to stop the bleeding. At the sight of you rising, he slows his assault on the stone to watch your movements. You grab a bottle of vinegar and some cheesecloth before returning to kneel beside him. He has stopped hitting his knuckles against the ground, his eyes following your every movement.

“Can I help you with that?” you ask, reaching out to take his bloodied hands. He shrinks back, pulling into himself.

“Please, I just want to clean and wrap it. These floors are filthy; they could get infected. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” you whisper, trying to convince him to let his guard down and allow you to help. At your words, he seems to relax slightly and lets you take his hand. You give him a small smile, hoping to offer some comfort.

“Alright, this might hurt a bit, but it will only be for a second,” you say as you pour the vinegar on his knuckles.

He winces as the vinger makes contact with his knuckles. You quickly wrap it up before tending to the other hand, his eyes never leaving you. “We’re all set. I’m no professional, but I’ve tended to my fair share of kitchen accidents, and I still have my hands, so that must be a good sign,” you say, trying to lighten the tense mood.

When he suddenly interjects with a playful, “What’s your name?” his voice lingers in the air, laced with a hint of curiosity. He looks at you with a dazed, crooked smile that seems to dance on the edges of his lips, catching you off guard with the abruptness of his question. Despite your surprise, you respond, revealing your name in a soft whisper. His smile widens at your answer, and he chuckles softly, “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

He reaches out, gently entwining a finger around one of your loose locks of hair. The gesture is intimate, almost tender, making your heart quicken. “And you, Dominus, what is your name?” you ask, his eyes sparkling with mischief you had not seen in them before.

“You do not know my name?” he asks incredulously as if the very idea of you being unaware of his identity is the most astonishing thing in this surreal encounter. You shake your head, feeling a hint of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “No, I’m sorry, Dominus. I’m the headmistress of the kitchen. I don’t ever serve, let alone leave the kitchen. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” you say, your voice softening as you instinctively bow your head respectfully.

Just as you begin to lower your head, his hands reach out to gently cup your face, stopping you mid-bow. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, and his expression shifts to one you can’t quite place. “I think I like that,” he mumbles more to himself than to you. You’re too nervous to pull away from his touch and make him feel slighted, but not wanting to spend a moment longer under his heated stare, you decide to try coaxing him out again.

“Would you like to come out now, Dominus?” you say, holding your hand out to him. He waits a moment, staring at your outstretched palm, before removing his hand from your chin to take hold of your hand. You carefully pull him out from beneath the table.

Pulling him to his full height and releasing his hand as quickly as you had grabbed it, he would be intimidating if he weren’t looking around like a lost, confused puppy. “I can’t remember my way out here,” he said, furrowing his brows in a pout as he scanned the area as if trying to recall the path.

“No need to worry, Dominus. I can lead you to the stairwell,” you replied, grabbing a candle from the tabletop to help guide your way through the winding passages. As you began to walk out of the pantry, you turned back to see him standing there with a solemn expression.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping back in front of him.

“Will you walk with me back to my chambers?” he said, grabbing your hand again and holding it to his chest. You almost wanted to cave to those pleading blue eyes, but your logical side knew better. You couldn’t forget the wandering looks he had given earlier. Going anywhere near his chambers would leave you vulnerable. As tormented as he seemed now, you didn’t want to see his mood swing in the other direction.

“I’m sorry, Dominus, but I’ve never left the kitchens; I wouldn’t know the way,” you say, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach. You hope your words will be convincing enough to sway him. He gives you a look that mixes disappointment and confusion, but after a moment, he reluctantly drops his hand from your chest. However, he still holds onto yours, his grip a little tight, as if he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

Taking this as a sign, you gently begin leading him out of the pantry and through the bustling kitchen. The warm scent of freshly baked bread lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the late hour. You move slowly, careful to match your pace with his drunken, staggering movements. As you reach the base of the stairwell that serves as a passage for the servants to come and go.

You try to urge him forward with your hand, but he remains still, his gaze fixated on the archway above. “Everyone up there is mean. I want to stay down here with you,” he pouts, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. You bite your lip, suppressing the urge to chuckle at his childlike demeanor, well aware that laughter might only frustrate him further.

Instead, you smile gently and say, “I promise you, the people down here are just as mean as the ones up there, and it’s quite late, Dominus. You really should get some rest.” You lead him up the creaking stairs to the landing, where soft light spills through the windows, illuminating the worn stone steps.

He pauses, contemplating your words, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he drops your hand, his expression shifting to one of resignation. “Goodbye, pretty girl,” he whispers, a touch of vulnerability in his tone before he begins to shuffle drunkenly back toward his chambers.

As you watch him disappear down the dimly lit corridor, a sense of bittersweet longing washes over you. Once back in your bed, with straws poking you uncomfortably in the back, you realize that you never learned his name. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to shake the thought from your mind, knowing you’ll probably never see him again. You’ve never ventured beyond the kitchens, and for the strange man, this night will likely fade into a blurry memory, just another drunken escapade amidst countless others.

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Authors note ; this is like the second fic Ive written I stopped for a long while but my favorite freaky gingers and all the people writing about them have inspired me to get back to writing and trying to improve my craft so please be kind but constructive criticism welcome! anywho i hope you guys enjoyed this sorta set up chapter I have a whole storyline I want to play out that I haven't really seen in other storys oh and this wont really follow the galditor storyline but I swear if you stick with me I have a plan anyway I enjoy and lemme know if you guys want part two!! or anything you might like to see requests are currently open!

#gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #geta and caracalla #caracalla x reader #caracalla x you #gladiator caracalla #geta x reader #geta x you #emperor caracalla smut #emperor geta smut

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