#still I do like to think that cole is very quiet and still is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finelinevogue · 8 days ago

Note

Hi babe! I absolutely love your work and read it everyday! Do you think you could do a blurb where its aaron x bau reader and the reader has a toxic/abusive family and hotch and the team find out about it on a case or something (angst but turns into fluff)? I LOVE YOUUU!!!

family is everything

hiya my lovely!! love you too :(( oh stop you’re far too kind omg 🥺 of course i can give this a go - hurt/comfort fics >>>

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau!reader

word count - +5.4k

cw: pre-established relationship, bad coping methods, mentions of childhood abuse, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Spencer was performing one of his magic tricks.

He had captivated the audience of more than half of the room, much to Hotch��s dismay.

“And this gets you girls?” Morgan questioned, perched on the corner of the desk adjacent to Spencer - which happened to be yours. “How?!”

You laughed along with the others as you spun yourself side-to-side in your office chair.

“It’s all in the mystery, my sweet one.” Garcia pinched Morgan’s cheeks. She was the only one who could get away with it.

“Oh I can do mystery.” Morgan added.

“But can you do… magic?” Reid asked as he ended the magic trick by holding out the correct card that Morgan had picked earlier.

“What?!”

“Yes Reid!”

“Pfft.. Whatever.”

Everyone started clearing away from Spencer’s desk, Morgan walking away with a sulk. Garcia lingered by Morgan’s desk no doubt attempting to cheer him up with her endless flirting.

When you’d joined the BAU you had seriously thought they were together.

Why wouldn’t you?

They constantly flirt. They’re almost crude with each other. Yet they had never even entertained the idea of being with each other.

It didn’t matter to you whether they were single or not though, because your heart was slowly being given over to someone else. Someone who happened to be your Unit Chief; Aaron Hotchner.

The relationship was still very new.

Your team knew about it, but it was still being kept quiet. That was just you and Aaron, though. You didn’t feel the need to be flashy with your relationship. In fact, you enjoyed living with each other in those quieter moments because it meant you had each other all to yourself.

It was that moment that you found yourself looking up to his office.

Aaron happened to walk out of his office at that exact moment, reading a case file in his hands.

You bit down on the pen you were holding as you watched him walk past, eyeing him up because you could now without consequence.

Aaron didn’t return the look but you did notice the smirk as he walked down the ramp towards the briefing room. It was like he could tell that you were looking at him. That made you smile, turning around in your chair to hide the blush from anyone.

"Think we've got a case?" Reid asked you.

"Probably. It's been at least two days since our last."

Both you and Reid stand up, prompting the others on your team to do the same. You as a team of profilers had gotten so used to what it looked like before a case was briefed that you just knew now, before JJ could even call you in.

JJ, Hotch and Rossi are all in the room already.

The case files were set out on the table - one at each seat. JJ had the screen set up ready to present and Hotch and Rossi were already looking through their files.

You sat down on the chair next to Hotch. They had kind of become your unofficial assigned seats.

"Okay JJ." Hotch nodded.

"We got a call from San Fransisco Police Department after a string of murders have been loosely tied together."

"Loosely?" Emily questioned.

"Several domestic abuse victims have been found murdered. Isla Hubert was strangled, Beth Fountain stabbed and Meredith Cole shot."

JJ flicked through the pictures of the women and you could feel your face go pale at the sight.

Your breathing hitched, but luckily nobody noticed.

Your hands scrunched up into fists so tight that your nails were digging into the skin of your palm. It was the only way to cope with this situation without drawing attention to yourself.

You focused as much on JJ presenting as possible.

"At first it was hard for the police to put them together since M.O.s were so different with each murder - hence, loosely - but after they looked more closely it turns out that each of the victims had recently left an abusive relationship."

"Suggests a possible revenge-motivated unsub." Reid added.

"Yeah." JJ nodded.

"How did the PD make the connection?" Morgan asked.

"All of the victims were women who had either filed restraining orders and, or had sought help from a domestic violence shelter." JJ switched the image on the screen to the shelter.

You looked down at your lap, your fists still enclosed.

You were normally very collected when cases were presented, but it was really hard with this one.

Not only is San Fransisco the city you grew up in, it also hosted that very domestic violence shelter that you used to go to every day.

It made you feel sick, because had this unsub been around ten years ago then that could have very well been you up there on the presenting screen.

<.><.>

You were gathering your stuff up on your desk when Aaron came over to you.

"Hey." You tried to smile but Aaron knew you better.

"Something's bothering you, so rather than have me tiptoeing around it I'm asking you to tell me what's wrong."

He sure doesn't beat around the bush.

Even though this case is horrendous for you, it did warm your heart a little to know that Aaron knew you so well only after a couple months of dating. Maybe it was the profiler in him, but you chose to believe it was simply because he cared about you.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Every man should know that when a woman says she's fine... she's not. Aaron did know that but he also knew not to push it right now.

"Okay."

After you stuffed your water bottle in your bag, Aaron caught your hand with his. He carefully opened your palm. You could feel the panic in your chest as he did so.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

He pointed out the crescent moon shapes you'd imprinted on your palms from your finger nails. He wiped his thumb over the skin as if they would magically just disappear. He probably wanted to kiss over them, but you knew he'd never do that in front of everyone here.

You couldn't answer verbally so you nodded your head instead.

<.><.>

Rossi and Hotch were the last in the room before leaving.

They both left and locked their offices at the same time. Both of them had their coat and bag hanging off an arm.

"Hotch."

"Yeah?"

"Y/N..."

"I know." Hotch cut his friend off before he could finish the sentence, already having an inkling of what he was going to say and not knowing whether her could stomach hearing it being said out loud.

<.><.>

On the plane there was more time for a brief.

You were sat leaning against a window at the table with four chairs, listening carefully to what was being said but making no effort to contribute.

"So there were no signs of sexual assault?" Emily asked.

"No." JJ shook her head.

"Well that eliminates some motives." Rossi said.

"Such as?" Garcia asked through the video call.

"Well we know he's not a sexual sadist now. It's almost like whatever he is doing is because he believes it's right. It's the only way." Reid explained.

You swallowed back the growing lump in the back of your throat as the team continued to talk.

The situation almost felt dissociative. You were physically here and physically involved and yet your brain kept trying to zone out of the conversation.

You looked out the window just as a memory flashed.

You laid on the floor of your bedroom - a room that was supposed to be yours and supposed to be safe. You had been sleeping when he had come in.

The door was wide open because you hadn't found the strength to stand back up again since he'd been in.

Your pyjamas were long length and yet you felt completely exposed. Tears fell down your cheeks as you stared up at the glowing stars on your ceiling, imagining a world where you could visit them right now. A world that was a little more silent and a little bit brighter.

All you could hear though was his voice saying, "I have to. It's the only way you'll ever learn."

"...And Y/N and Reid, you work on the geographical profile. Hopefully we can narrow down where these victims are being taken from." Hotch's voice brought you back from the memory.

You had clearly missed a lot of the conversation but no one pointed that out for the rest of the flight.

<.><.>

San Fransisco was just as dull as you remember it.

A lot of people who lived here, commuted through here or even visited here would think quite the opposite, but when a bad thing has happened to you in a certain place then that place becomes unworthy of its beauty.

As you continued to get set up in the police station Hotch asked you to step aside for a minute to talk to him.

You both stood in the cold and dark interrogation room so you could speak privately.

Your arms were folded over your body defensively as you stood waiting for Hotch to talk.

"Y/N, if this case it too much for you then..."

"Too much?" You chuckled, "Why would it be too much for me?"

Hotch sighed, "I don't know."

"Exactly Agent Hotchner, you don't know." You uncrossed your arms and walked towards the door - done with this conversation.

Aaron knew not to touch you in order to catch your attention, so instead he stepped in front of the door so you had no exit.

"Hey, don't do that." He said softly and you knew he was referring to the way you had called his name.

He had never really been Agent Hotchner, or SSA Hotchner, to you. He'd only been Aaron or recently in the quiet of your homes it had turned into a loving 'honey' or 'love'.

You could see the hurt in his eyes that you had put there.

"I'm fine." You repeated, feeling like you might be sick over saying those words again and again.

You thought you truly had been fine.

For the longest time all of this had been buried deep within you. Your job was so busy and hectic that you never really had the opportunity to think about your past. You had also been fortunate that there had been no domestic abuse cases so far in your year working for the BAU.

Yet it was all flooding back now you did have this case. Your mind was constantly active with the haunted memories of your past.

Memories that you were too afraid to speak out loud.

"Okay, but if I think for a moment that you aren't capable I will pull you from this case." Hotch said seriously. He was done playing nice.

"That won't be necessary. I am more than capable."

Hotch looked at you for a moment and saw the challenge in your eyes. However, he could also see the emotion deep within them like there was a part of you that was screaming to be let out.

"Morgan and I are going to the women's shelter. You and Emily can interview the families of the victims."

Your heart stopped a little. You're sure that your eyes must have given you away as you lost eye contact with Hotch to try and keep composure.

"I thought I was with Reid?" You asked.

"Not anymore. Families are coming in in half an hour." He said before leaving the room, leaving you in there with the door open.

"Fuck." You muttered to yourself.

You wiped under your eyes before any tears could run. Messy mascara wasn't something you wanted to explain today. You let out a shaky breath, trying to not let it sound too loud. The last thing you wanted was to attract unnecessary attention.

You were fine, after all.

<.><.>

"Mr and Mrs Cole. Thank you for being here." Emily started off the interview.

Mrs Cole was crying. Mr Cole was not.

In your eyes that told you everything you needed to know. Unfortunately you couldn't claim you knew anything without sufficient evidence. Evidence that the team was looking for now.

"I can't believe my baby is gone." Mrs Cole cried, sniffling into a tissue that you had provided for her.

"I know this is hard Mrs Cole," You said, empathising with her more than she could know, "But if you could both help us answer some questions it could be really helpful in helping find out who did this to your daughter."

"Okay." She nodded.

"What kind of person was Meredith growing up?" Emily asked, wanting to know what kind of childhood Meredith had.

"She was always so bright. She just wanted to be happy." Mrs Cole answered shakily.

Mr Cole scoffed and looked off to the side.

"Something to add Mr Cole?" Emily prompted.

"What my wife means to say is, Meredith was difficult."

Your mind alerted you then. You knew what was meant for a daughter who was deemed as difficult by her father.

Your fingers clenched to dig your nails into your palm but the second you did Aaron's face came across your view.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

You could still feel the brush of his thumb across your skin. His warms hands against your cold ones. His soft touch the lightest you had ever felt from a man.

Your hand unclenched, resting them on the table instead.

Emily had been carefully watching you, having been asked by Hotch to keep on eye on you. Your near slip-up didn't cause any interruption to the interview and Emily took the lead to continue.

"We understand that Meredith recently left her relationship with Adam. Do you know why?" She asked.

Mrs Cole looked nervously at her husband.

He huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, "She was always so dramatic. I mean, every couple fights but that doesn’t mean you throw everything away."

You took note of how Mr Cole minimised the abuse that Meredith was clearly receiving.

"Did Meredith ever tell you that Adam hurt her?" You asked.

Mrs Cole sniffled but it was Mr Cole that answered, "She exaggerated things."

"So you’re saying she lied?" You prompted, seeing how twitchy Mr Cole was getting in the metal chair.

"She always wanted attention." He said.

That's what they all say but really the attention was just another way of saying they were looking for somebody to give them a way out. They were desperate for someone to see them and know that they weren't safe - that they needed saving.

Lots of women can't save themselves and the ones that do are never safe again.

"Did she ever come to either of you for help?" Emily asked.

Mrs Cole nodded, "She… Meredith wanted to leave so many times, but she didn’t think she could. She was scared."

"Scared of him?" Emily said encouragingly.

It was only a small gesture but both you and Emily caught the small glance that Mrs Cole gave her husband.

If it wasn't clear to you before then it was ridiculously clear now what had happened.

"Of everything."

"Or scared that no one would believe her?" You muttered to Emily. She nodded in agreement.

Mr Cole must have heard though because he angrily slammed his hands on to the table. It took absolutely everything in your professional career to not flinch. The loud noise caused your heartbeat to skyrocket.

This is not him. This is not before. You kept reminding yourself.

"What exactly are you implying?" He shouted defensively.

"Robert..." Mrs Cole tried to calm him.

"No! What are you saying?"

You and Emily looked at each other and you gave her a nod to signal she could continue this, even though it was you that taunted him.

"Mr Cole. When your daughter was younger, was she ever worried about her current or future. relationships?"

"I raised her to be tough. Not weak." He spat.

You were curled up in a ball on your bed. The room stank of ammonia thanks to your nervous tics and the fact he had walked through the door angrily.

You had run away from an argument downstairs but he had caught up to you.

"You need to learn to be tough, child. I didn't raise you to be this weak."

The room went quiet for a moment. Only the sound of Mrs Cole's sniffles filled the room.

Mr Cole's words sparked the last question you wanted to ask.

"You didn’t believe her, did you?" You asked.

"She made her own choices." Mr Cole said.

You promptly stood up from your chair, "And now she’s dead."

Mrs Cole burst out crying as you spoke, but you charged out of the room before you could console her. She knew anyway. She knew what her husband was doing to her daughter and still she did absolutely nothing, either because she was terrified or she simply didn't care.

But she was just a child.

You were just a child.

<.><.>

The bathroom was as depressing as the rest of the police station.

You had needed a moment to collect yourself.

Interviewing someone who had these whacked beliefs about raising children triggered you in a way you didn't think possible.

The way Mr Cole spoke was chilling and it made you remember all those dark nights when you didn't think you'd ever be loved again. In fact, back then, you don't reckon you knew what love was.

Your grip on the bathroom counter tightened as you tried to ground yourself.

You were so in your own head this whole case and you hadn't caught who was responsible yet. This case was only going to become more triggering as you went along and as you potentially uncovered more bodies.

Right when you felt like you might just let every emotion out Emily opened the bathroom door, you leant back off the counter and tried to look composed.

"Just wanted to let you know that the team's back. Oh and there's someone here who wants to speak to you." She gave you a small smile.

"Okay, thanks." You smiled back and it felt like the fakest thing in the world.

<.><.>

The last thing you expected when you returned to the main area of the police station was to see your father.

Your footsteps halted, like you couldn't physically move any closer towards him.

The rest of the room kept carrying on like normal, but you felt your words completely dry up and your hands begin to shake. You tried to process all the questions you had for him being here all at once.

"Y/N!" He raised his arms out like he was ready for a hug but you stepped back, knocking your hip into the corner of a desk in panic.

The rest of the team watched the situation before them.

They'd never seen you look so lost.

“There you are!” He smiled but you heard the venom behind each word. He was putting on his charm in front of all these people, but really he restraining himself from showing his true colours.

"W-what are you doing here?" You asked.

He scoffed like that was a silly question, “It’s been a long time.”

You can feel the weight of people's eyes on you. Other agents. Cops. The team. Aaron. The last one makes you nervous.

You have an inkling that Aaron knows something and yet you have never managed to tell him. Aaron makes you feel safe like no one ever has, but you still can't find the courage to speak up. You're also worried what he might do should he find out.

This doesn't need to become a thing. You don't want to become one of the teams victims.

So you tried to take control of the situation for once, "If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, please leave. We have work to do.”

"I just wanted to check on you.” Your father's jaw clenched as he spoke.

Check on you? After all these years of no contact?

You didn't want him checking up on you. You didn't want him anywhere near you.

After all these years you still feel trapped near him - even when he's not touching you.

Aaron must have been watching closely, because he could tell that you were done with this situation but it was clear your father wasn't. It didn't take a profiler to work out the cause of that tension. Aaron needed the situation handled before anyone could do anything - his own fists were readying to swing should your father take one step out of line.

"She's asked you to leave, Sir." Aaron said stoicly.

You could feel Aaron right next to you, arms crossed over his chest to make himself look more dominant. Your father was only small anyways, but next to Aaron he was nothing.

Your father looked between you and Aaron, chuckling to himself.

"You Y/N's boyfriend then?" Your father asked.

You stiffened next to Aaron, your palms flexing as you tried to remember Aaron's words from earlier.

"Aaron Hotchner." He gave your dad a small nod.

You noticed how Aaron didn't flex his credentials. It was a classic profilers move of undermining the man who thought he was in charge, because then they never really know what to expect.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised.” Your father chuckled. “Never figured Y/N would be the type to get involved with someone like you.”

Aaron's facial expression didn't change. In fact, if anything, he looked a little more pissed off.

Your mind was trying to get you to choose between fight or flight. Normally you would fight, but having your dad so near really triggered your flight response. So you tried to cut the tension and deescalate the situation. before anyone got more hotheaded.

Although seeing Hotch punch your father would feel pretty good.

"Okay. I think we're done here."

Your father shrugged, raising his hands in defence, “Watch your tone. There's no need to get upset. I'll go.” He said, making it seem like you were being the unreasonable one.

Your father's words and the way you immediately shut down after he said them were a dead giveaway to your past.

It was impossible to hide it.

And for the first time in your relationship with Aaron, you felt exposed.

This was part of your story - part of you - that you never wanted him to have to see. Aaron had far too many of his own demons to suddenly take on yours as well.

Your father makes the effort to walk towards the main door, but not before stopping to speak again. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

He was baiting you.

“Still running. Still pretending. Does he even know?” He continued.

His words made you look towards Aaron and it hurt to see him look so angry. Was he upset that you had hid something so personal and traumatic from him? Would this alter your relationship?

You turned to look at the rest of your team too. Emily looked heartbroken. Morgan looked angry. Reid looked so sad. You were making your favourite people feel sad.

Your own eyes welled with tears as you thought about all the people that you were hurting by just being here.

Aaron had clocked on from even before the briefing of this case that something that happened in your childhood. He just didn't think it was as sick and as twisted as this.

Aaron watched your head dip, your fists scrunch in the way he hated to see and your lips continuously mouthing; 'I'm sorry'.

How on God's Earth could you ever think you had something to apologise for?

“That’s enough." Aaron's voice cut through the room, making you look up at him with fear. Not fear of him, but fear for him. You knew all too well what that man who called himself your father could do. Rossi had been more of a father in a year than you actual father had in ever.

Your dad turned and smiled. He'd won.

Your darkest secret was out in the open and your father didn't care if he was taken down with it. The heartbroken look on your face would last him a lifetime.

You couldn't breathe.

Even after all these years your father had still had a hold over you and he could still win. He could still make you feel worthless with a simple few words. That's all he needed.

The tears fell over your cheeks as your chest heaved.

Policemen were watching your breakdown and your team looked as heartbroken as you felt.

You felt disgusting, crying over your own self when you were supposedly on a case to save other people like you. This time wasn't meant to be about you and yet somehow it now was.

You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to hold back a verbal sob.

Everyone's eyes were on you.

Watching to see you break down into nothing.

You couldn't do this. You never wanted it to be like this. You thought you were stronger than this.

Saying nothing more, you excused yourself politely and ran out of the room towards the back of the station - far, far, away from your father. But far, far, away would never be far enough.

<.><.>

Hotch hadn't moved.

He stood his ground as he watched your father - that piece of scum - chuckle once you'd fled the room.

"Get. Out." Hotch gritted out through his teeth.

Your father nodded.

Morgan moved closer to your father, looking at Hotch briefly to silently tell his boss that he had this handled and that you would need him more than he was needed here right now.

Hotch nodded, but not before getting one good last look at your father's face here. The next time he would see his face was going to be when Hotch put him behind bars.

<.><.>

Aaron found you out the back of the precinct.

You had one hand to your chest as you tried to control your breathing, the other holding yourself against the cold wall for support.

Your crying was calmer now but the tears still fell.

You turned to face Aaron when he walked out of the door. You tried to stand taller, pulling your shirt down to fit properly.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean for that to happen.” You sniffled, wiping the back of your hand over your cheek.

"Don't apologise."

"N-no. I should’ve handled it better. Shit." Your voice was so shaky that Aaron was surprised you could even speak.

"Sweetheart, no."

You should’ve controlled the situation better.

“This isn’t on you.” Aaron reminder you gently.

“Everyone looked so—Aaron, I just made everything worse.” You said as you remembered how the team looked and how you could taken emotional control of an already vulnerable case. It was unprofessional.

"This isn’t on you.” He repeated. “None of us are upset with you. We're devastated for you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but that felt too hard to accept.

You shook your head as you tried to calm down the tears and hiccups that were reappearing.

"Honey... Listen to me and listen carefully. Nothing that just happened was because of you. Nothing that has happened was because of you." Aaron took a step closer to you.

"But, he..."

"Ssh, ssh. Listen." Aaron said softly, close enough to reach out for your hands now. "Hey, look at me."

When his hands touched you, you became completely grounded. You felt like you were right here instead of back there. Aaron was right in front of you and he wasn't running away. He was right there.

"You're still here." You said through a hiccup of tears.

"Of course I am." He said with a frown.

"I thought you-you'd leave, o-or not want me and..."

"Stop that. No. I don't mean to cut you off but I won't have you convincing yourself that I'm not anything but with you for the long haul, okay?" Aaron was so close now, linking his fingers through yours so that he could help you release all the anger from your fists.

"That first day you came into the BAU I was so low. I was. And I felt like you had been sent to our team not only to fix our capacity issues but also to... to fix me. I felt, for so long, like I had lost a part of me and yet the minute you walked through those doors... Well, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That the part of me returned." Aaron's fingers squeezed yours to continue to ground you, "So if you think for one moment that I'm letting you slip away from me, with that part of me, so easily... Well I'm not even entertaining the idea." He gave you a smirk.

"So we're okay?" You asked for reassurance. Aaron was more than happy to give it to you.

"We're okay." He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a little while to keep you close.

Aaron had noticed you pushing him away all day, so to have this time right now to be close with you was something he wasn't giving up so easily.

You were too busy embracing Aaron's touch to realise he was holding back tears of his own.

<.><.>

Both you and Aarons stood out back for another ten minutes or so, just talking through everything.

You didn't want to go into any details with him right now, but you did admit what your father used to do to you when you were a child and why this case hit far too close to home for you.

Aaron almost berated you for being so careless with your own emotions and mental state, but thought now was not the best time for that conversation. Instead he filled his talk with comforting and reassuring words. He had to make sure that you felt safe again.

He also promised to make your father's life a living hell - in whatever capacity legal...

That sort of terrified you but also made you feel a little lighter.

Morgan opened the door out back soon after, smiling at the way you and Hotch were holding hands and comforting one another.

"Hey. We got a call off the anonymous tip line. Girl called Sheree Rockstead called in to say that she's noticed some guy following her around the past few days. She's also just got out of a violent relationship and she's attending the women's shelter. She's seen the news and is worried."

"It's definitely our guy." Hotch said, not breaking his hand holding with you. "Let's set up an evac. plan. for Sheree and a trap for our unsub."

"You got it." Morgan nodded before leaving again.

Aaron turned back to you warily. You gave him a half smile in return.

"I'm going to stay here." You said.

"Okay." Aaron nodded. He would've benched you anyways if you demanded on going, knowing that field work was not the right thing for you right now.

"Be safe. Please."

"You too."

"Aaron..."

"I know. I'll be safe, I promise. Just want to make sure you are too. I mean if your father comes back when I'm not there I..."

"He won't." You shook your head. "Plus Reid can fight him off."

"Reid?"

"He has magic, after all." You laughed and Aaron had never been so happy to hear something in all his existence. His only hope was that he could continue hearing it with every day he had left.

<.><.>

On the way home on the jet everyone had passed out asleep other than you and Aaron.

There was still too much to talk about.

You had made your own announcement to the team about your past - a more revised version than what you would be telling Aaron - because you thought it was important for them to know.

Morgan threatened to become an undercover spy and "beat his ass" - his words. Hotch threatened to give him a pysch test if he kept throwing those words around, so he shut up - but only when his boss was present.

Garcia tracked down your father's whole life and it turned out he was drowning in debt and your mother had left him. His life was pretty crap and that made you feel really good.

Aaron, though, he had been a crutch for you throughout.

You were so lucky to have him.

But he would say he was luckier to have you.

And that would be the only competition that you and Aaron would ever have.

#aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #bau #bau fic #criminal minds fic

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flowerandblood · 6 months ago

Text

The Price of Pride (6/?)

[ canon �� Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before had the wooden ceiling of a bed seemed so interesting to her.

The Maester was trying to be gentle and his touch was respectful – she knew that, but still what he was doing, the fact that there were other people around behind the cream curtains made her tense, even though she knew the verdict would be one.

When the examination was finally completed she sighed quietly and swallowed hard, rising on her elbow – she lowered her skirt down thinking she wouldn't give them the satisfaction and cry – Maester's voice and what he said was like honey to her ears.

"She is a maiden, My King. I have no doubt."

A moment later, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing with a loud slam.

Prince Aemond gave everyone an expression of his fury at this obviously unfounded accusation.

She took a quiet breath as someone pulled aside one of the veils – the king's face seemed satisfied, as if not the end result but the fact that he had once again shown his brother who had the last word was his reward.

"I am relieved, dear cousin, that you have come to no harm under my brother's care. I hope you understand that in no way did I mean to offend you or undermine your virtue." He said lightly, knowing that she could not reply anything other than to confirm his certainly sincere and good intentions.

"I am grateful to you for your concern, Your Grace." She replied, looking him straight in the eye, to her surprise feeling neither bitterness nor regret.

This would at least cut off any further gossip about her and the tongue of the servant who had given her pleasure that day, as promised by the prince.

She guessed he would not leave it at that.

"I wish to see your dragon and judge for myself the value he will bring to the upcoming battles. I also want him to stay in the Dragon's Pit with the rest of the dragons and not with Vhagar." He said, and she nodded, knowing that there was no point in standing up.

This brother or another, what difference did it make.

"He is still wild and untamed, my King. Accustomed to freedom. I fear that sudden confinement may kill his spirit." She replied softly.

Aegon nodded.

"I may yet change my decision. For now, I want to see him."

In accordance with his desire, he, she and a retinue consisting of several members of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston Cole, set off on horseback to Vhagar's lair where the two dragons rested.

When they arrived, she felt joy, or rather a new kind of it, one she had experienced for the first time when she saw Sheepstealer.

Her dragon squawked happily at the sight of her, coming quickly up to her on his paws, watching her from all sides, intrigued, paying no attention to the other newcomers.

He was as sweet as a baby, she thought with tenderness, lonely for long years, craving tenderness, understanding and attention as much as she did.

He was everything she was, which is why the moment she first looked into his eyes she knew she would succeed in taming him.

She knew what he needed and she was able to give it to him, and he reciprocated.

Her dragon was the only man she needed.

"Magnificent. Fierce. And large indeed. Bigger than Sunfyre. Very well." Exclaimed the King with a smile, clearly pleased and reassured.

When his brother was not next to him he felt in control of the situation again.

She stroked the muzzle of her dragon, for some reason also smiling, its scales under her skin hard and rough.

"We are at your service, my King." She replied, wanting to be sure they would leave her alone.

She just wanted to be close to her dragon, nothing more.

"Good. You and my brother will take turns patrolling the sky daily. This will relieve the burden on Vhagar and allow the prince to attend to other, equally important matters." He said, and she nodded.

"Present our subjects with our new dragon. Show them that we are stronger than ever." He commanded, and she held back the smile of amusement that pressed across her face.

Is that so?

Outside? Maybe.

But inside, they were one rotten fruit.

"My King."

Flying over King's Landing was a kind of liberation for her – she felt she was showing not only the world what she had become, but more importantly her father.

She hoped, feeling the wind in her hair, whirling on the Sheepstealer in the skies with laughter, that Daemon was throwing his cups in Dragonstone out of rage, cursing the day she was born.

Although she hated her heritage and her name, it was the dragon that saved her and gave her life meaning.

It felt like they understood each other without words, that one move of hers was enough to make him change his flight course to where she wanted or dive down.

Once they landed, she always spent a bit of time with him, lying on the grass beside him, stroking his muzzle – she wanted him to know that he wasn't just her tool that she used.

No.

She felt something completely different that filled her heart wonderfully.

Love.

Looking out of the corner of her eye at Vhagar lying in the distance, plunged into a deep sleep, completely ignoring them, she wondered if these were the feelings that Prince Aemond had for his dragoness.

You should fall to your knees before her, you fucking whore, not laugh.

This was not an expression of his pride then.

It was an expression of his deep affection for her.

She smiled at this thought, recognising that at last she understood him.

Her expression was gentle and contented when, walking down the corridor of the Red Keep with a guard who did not leave her side, she came across him, apparently heading for Vhagar's liege.

"Where have you been?" He asked disturbed, seeing her riding attire.

She sighed quietly, pulling her black leather gloves from her hands.

"The King ordered that we take turns patrolling the skies. I have done that duty today. You may rest." She said, and he swallowed hard, something expression in his face as if he felt discomfort.

Another thing he was taking away from him, she thought.

"Leave us." He directed his cold words to the guard. He nodded and walked away with the quiet clang of his steel armour.

The prince moved away towards the cloisters, and she moved with him.

He didn't want anyone to hear their conversation.

"What did you say to him?" He asked, looking sideways, as if he couldn't bear to see her.

"To whom?"

"To my brother. Did you betray me?" He asked coldly, throwing her a drawn-out, stern look.

She sighed heavily and shook her head, closing her eyes, tired after the physical exertion, not having the strength for his baseless accusations.

"How?" She asked, his jaw clenched, his body upright and tense.

"Don't play a fucking fool. You know perfectly well what I'm referring to."

She laughed at his words, shrugging her shoulders, bringing him to the brink of fury.

She could see it in his wide-open eye, in his feral, furious gaze.

"I know, but I haven't told him anything and I won't. It's not in my nature to complicate a situation where I'm comfortable. Being your enemy is not my desire. The lack of your unity drastically reduces my chances of survival, and having tamed the dragon, its value in my eyes has increased greatly." She said lightly, looking him straight in the eye, seeing that his hands entwined behind his back were clenched into fists.

He hated it when she spoke to him like that, but he couldn't do anything to her in public.

"I also wish for you to continue to teach me the language of Old Valyria. In return, I will report to you on what I am asked and what the King tells me to soothe your troubled soul." She hummed with a smile, watching with satisfaction as he drew in a loud breath and licked his lower lip, apparently trying not to use his hands on her long neck.

"Do we have an agreement, my Prince?" She asked, cocking her head.

He sighed, glancing sideways, and shook his head, clearly not believing that he had consented to such humiliation.

"In the library. Every day, right after supper."

She learned of Lady Floris Baratheon's arrival in the Red Keep from her maid – braiding some of her hair at the back of her head, she told her of what she had seen.

"Lady Floris arrived in a brown gown embroidered with gold thread. Her hair is black and long, pinned up in a braid, smoothed down in front, her forehead high, her gaze proud and solemn. Her smile, in my opinion, has no lightness or conviction." Said Lysa, and she giggled under her breath, looking at her and herself in the reflection of the mirror.

"What a harsh judgement. Perhaps it was that smile that the prince found so charming that he chose her." She replied lightly, thinking with amusement that her cousin was surely writhing in agony right now, entertaining his betrothed.

Good, she thought.

Let him suffer.

"Perhaps, however, the memory of that day must spend his sleep." Said Lysa, gracefully weaving one of her strands in with the rest of her hairstyle.

She blinked, intrigued.

"What do you mean?"

Lysa looked at her surprised, as if snapped out of her reverie.

"Don't you know, my Lady? It was on this day that Prince Aemond killed Prince Lucerys. That poor boy. His mother searched for his remains in madness and despair, but apparently there was nothing left of him but his cloak. He was devoured by Vhagar." She explained, and she swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat run down her back.

He says that Luke's death was an accident, but I don't know if I believe him.

I don't recognise him anymore and I warn you that he's unpredictable.

She was sure she would eat her supper as usual in solitude, but it turned out that the King had held a small banquet and she was to attend.

Aegon wanted to show off her dragon and what she had done, while humiliating his brother and his betrothed, she thought wryly, walking there reluctantly.

When the door opened in front of her, she saw a long table, on either side of which sat the royal family and their loyal lords with their relatives.

She did not know where she should sit or what to do, the King, however, decided to take pity on her.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." He called out, and she swallowed hard, lowering her gaze, knowing that she couldn't react to this, that she just had to survive it.

She sat down in the only empty seat, between her cousin and the king's wife, Helaena – she was pale and sad, staring off into the distance somewhere with empty eyes.

She still had not come to terms with the death of her son.

However, as she sank into her grief and sorrow, the King, on the contrary, was bubbling over with a desire for revenge, ready for action.

When she glanced sideways, all she saw was his hand clenched into a fist, his familiar scent reached her nostrils – she swallowed quietly, twisting in her seat, feeling a pleasant pulsing between her thighs, for some reason remembering how pleasant the touch of his fingers was there, sinking into her damp folds.

She reached for her wine cup and took a loud sip from it, not bothering to look to the side, her gaze fixed on the Queen Alicent who sat opposite her.

"My Lady." She heard an unfamiliar female voice directed in her side and she let out a quiet breath, taking another sip from her goblet, hearing her cousin twist restlessly in his chair.

She looked at Floris Baratheon and forced herself to give her the kindest, warmest smile she could afford. Floris was also smiling; had it not been for her gaze, she might have found her expression even sympathetic.

However, her eyebrows arched in some sort of compassion, a sign that she wanted to show her false understanding.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said softly, shaking her head as if filled with sincere admiration.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she managed not to laugh.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She replied lightly, not taking her eyes off her.

Several people at the table chuckled at her words as Floris watched her for a moment, playing with the small gold ring on her heart finger.

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" She asked, as if giving her a challenge of sorts.

"Enough." She heard her cousin's impatient voice between them directed at his betrothed.

She, however, found that she was happy to answer her.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince." She replied, and Floris leaned back, intrigued.

"Support indeed needed." Aegon added, popping a grape into his mouth, biting through it with a loud crunch. "On which we all agree. Now, music!"

For the rest of the feast, she pretended to be very focused on her piece of roast, which she ate slowly, knowing that she couldn't flee immediately if she didn't want to offend the King – she didn't hold him in special esteem but she knew that he held her in some sort of affection, and after what he had accused her of after his son's death, she feared that one wrong move on her part would be enough for her to fall back into his disfavour.

True, the responsible parties had been found and the King himself had brought them justice, however, she could not let him begin to think again that she had helped her father let them into the keep.

He had to be sure that she was faithful to him.

They both had to be sure of it.

Him and his brother.

She swallowed hard, pulled out of her reverie, feeling a shudder when her cousin's knee pressed against hers. She was sure he simply wanted to change position, he, however, spread himself out comfortably, leaving his leg where it was.

Should she move away?

Do nothing?

What was that supposed to mean?

She glanced sideways at his hand out of the corner of her eye – she could see that his fingers were tapping the tabletop in some nervous, impatient gesture.

Their lessons.

Was he trying to tell her to leave and go to the library before he did, so as not to frustrate his betrothed?

She wanted to ask him that, but couldn't, so she decided she would do what she thought appropriate and simply stood up, nodding her head at the King.

"Your Grace. I will retire now, if you will allow me." She said softly, and Aegon nodded.

"I allow it." He replied, his voice through the amount of wine he had managed to drink like a babble.

Gods help me, she thought as she bowed to him and the Queen Dowager, without bestowing even a single glance on the prince or his betrothed.

She waited in her chamber for half an hour, changing in the meantime into the more comfortable, casual silk robe the Queen had given her, throwing it over her nightgown, tying it around her waist.

When she finally stepped outside her guard furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"Prince Aemond wanted to meet me in the library. Take me there." She said – the man hesitated and sighed heavily, indicating with his hand for her to go ahead.

Her cousin was already waiting for her – he gave her one protracted glance from over his open books, his eye open wide as if he was surprised by her appearance, candles all around him.

He nodded at her to sit beside him in the chair, and she did so, leaving her guard outside the door.

He moved one of the books towards her and opened it to a page he apparently wanted to discuss with her.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said matter-of-factly, sliding another book towards her and leaned in, his clearly defined cheekbone close, too close, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, feeling the tension in all the muscles of her body.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon."

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, something in his gaze from which her heart struck harder.

It seemed to her that his iris was black.

There was something obscenely intimate in his bent figure, in his slightly parted lips, in his proximity, the place between her thighs all swollen, increasingly moist and warm.

"Ñāqon." She whispered.

"Better." He hummed, his gaze never leaving her face even though his finger moved on to the next words, as if he knew this book by heart. "Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He said, something flashed dangerously in his gaze, as if he knew exactly what her reaction would be and he was not wrong.

She froze, clasping her hands on her thighs, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, the tightness in her throat indicating that she felt pain.

"Muña."

"Mmm. Kepa. Father."

She swallowed hard, looking at him with eyes glazed from tears, feeling her body begin to twitch. His lips parted slightly, as if what he was doing to her, the fact that she was vulnerable aroused him.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, feeling a single, heavy tear run down her cheek.

Kepa.

She shuddered, looking up at him in horror as his hand rose to her cheek, his thumb lazily rubbing the wet mark from her face.

"Trēsy. Son." He continued, his voice like the sound of water, calm and quiet.

Tender, as if he were moved.

Why?

She sighed as his hand traveled lower, his index finger running over her jaw.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

She shook her head, pressing her lips together, feeling that she couldn't do it, the feeling as if he was driving needle after needle into her heart made it difficult for her to get anything out.

She sighed, closing her eyes as he leaned lower, in some natural reflex pressing his forehead against hers, his hand sinking into the skin of her neck, his warm, excited breath enveloping her face.

She involuntarily clenched her thighs together, feeling the wonderful, familiar pulsing and tickling between them.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He exhaled, something in his voice from which she felt her nipples harden, peeking through from under the fabric of her robe. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes, feeling a shiver run down her spine.

And that was a mistake.

He was looking straight into her face.

She sighed when she felt his other hand on her knee, moving slowly up to her thigh.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, feeling her cunt begin to leak with desire against her will.

"Lēkia." He said, as if he had done something definitive, a quiet moan breaking from her throat as his hand closed over her womanhood. "Older brother."

"Lēkia." She moaned and whimpered as his lips pressed against hers in an aggressive, loud, sticky kiss full of their saliva and panting, her palm touching his scarred cheek, drawing a low murmur of delight from his throat.

She touched him.

She sighed as she let her hand sink into his smooth white hair, for some reason seeking comfort in him, an escape from the cold, bleak loneliness and emptiness that filled her heart.

They sank again and again into each other's soft, fleshy skin, his tongue bursting between her teeth as his hand lifted the fabric of her robe, the other clenched in her curls.

She would have cried out in shocking delight had it not been for the fact that his lips muffled all the sound she made of herself as the tips of his fingers dug into the silken folds of her womanhood, dripping and throbbing with lust.

He groaned into her throat when he felt how unashamedly wet she was for him, and she gasped when his free hand slipped from her hair to her wrist, grasping it, drawing her to his body, pressing it against the bulge in his breeches.

He murmured and licked her encouragingly as her fingers tentatively ran over the outline of his swollen manhood, hidden beneath the leather material, hard, long and twitching.

He let go of her hand, embracing her around the waist and pulling her closer as he made sure she was going to give him what he wanted, their sighs of desire melting between their plump lips as his fingers pushed against her hot slit.

She spread her legs wider, wanting to feel it, wanting him to do it to her, but they both jumped away from each other as if burned when they heard the creak of the door opening.

Her cousin wiped his hand, sticky with her moisture in his breeches, looking at his betrothed's figure, pale, and she lowered back the material of her robe, staring blankly at the books open before her.

Was she able to see by their faces, by their quickened breaths what had happened?

She felt shame at the thought that she shouldn't have done this.

She was his betrothed.

She was the one he should be touching like this.

She was the one he should spend the evening with, learning about her body.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said calmly, however, disappointment and understandable annoyance could be heard in her tone of voice.

She swallowed hard, feeling that the material beneath her buttocks was wet with her moisture, her swollen walls pulsing greedily around nothing, begging to feel his fingers again, her nipples hard and sore, clearly outlined beneath her robe.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feigning composure, looking ahead but not at her even though she stopped right beside him.

She touched one of the books and flipped a page, remaining silent for a moment.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, her hand on his shoulder.

She looked at him and saw that he had closed his eye, as if he felt discomfort the moment Lady Floris touched him.

He swallowed loudly and opened his eyelid, his gaze helpless and childlike, filled with pain.

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered, his voice weak, as if he had run out of strength.

Floris's hand slid from his shoulder to his forearm, his figure tense, his lips clamped into a tight line.

He didn't look at her.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" Floris asked, and she twisted in her seat, deciding that this conversation was too private.

These were their problems, their betrothal, their worries.

Why was she allowing herself to be dragged into this?

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said quickly, wanting to get up, his gaze shifting to her, sharp and angry.

"Daor, hāedar."

She froze in mid-motion with her hands on the table, looking at him in disbelief, feeling her walls clench around nothing at his words.

No, little sister.

Little sister.

She swallowed hard feeling her lips part involuntarily, her eyebrows arching in helplessness, the heat that spread across her chest strangely pleasant and reassuring.

Floris looked at him then at her and shook her head.

"What did you say, my love?"

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said emotionlessly, as if trying to calm a whimpering child.

Floris swallowed hard and looked at her in a way from which she felt discomfort in her stomach, a sense of humiliation, frustration and irritation in her gaze.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" She asked quietly, both of them bouncing when his fists slammed into the table, and he sprang from his seat, towering over his betrothed as if he wanted to tear her apart.

She too stood up, grabbing his arm in some helpless, naïve gesture.

"Lēkia." She said pleadingly.

Floris's lips clenched looking at the fact that she dared to touch him, that her prince looked at her and not his betrothed, that it was her opinion that counted, her word that could stop him.

And then Floris' gaze fled lower, to his breeches, and she froze, pale, seeing exactly her answer to all her concerns.

Her hand let go of him when his nostrils stopped twitching with rage, when his jaw relaxed into an expression a little softer, though still frustrated.

He finally looked at his betrothed and licked his lower lip, as if trying to control himself.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He gasped in a voice filled with mockery, from which she swallowed hard, lowering her gaze.

Floris Baratheon looked at him with eyes full of tears, and then her gaze turned to her, her lips quivering with rage and grief.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

She was unable to look at him – the silence in the chamber, his taut silhouette standing beside her made her feel like her wetness was dripping from between her thighs straight onto the stone floor beneath her feet.

"You may leave." He said finally.

She nodded and moved towards the door on soft legs, walking out into the corridor, thinking that they had both accomplished some amazing feat by not simply fucking each other on that table.

She sighed loudly, running her hand over her face, thinking that maybe she wasn't such a bad person.

She figured that during their next lessons she wouldn't sit so close to him, that she wouldn't look at him or tempt him.

That she wouldn't let him touch her anymore.

She blinked, looking around, only noticing after a moment that there was no guard who should be watching her.

She turned when she heard the rustling of a gown behind her, something long and hard hit her head with all its force, and she fell to the floor with a thud.

It seemed a moment before she lost consciousness that she heard the breathy voice of her cousin's betrothed above her, only a quiet hiss left her lips.

"Whore."

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tricksh0t · 2 months ago

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★ puppy love

☾ (ep 1-5) criston cole x male reader

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 1.17k words

cw: reunion sex, bottom criston, top m reader, missionary, swearing, slight humiliation kink, slight breeding kink, inexperience, overstim, slight feminization, undescribed age gap

Ser Criston Cole is a man of utter devotion.

He's naive like that, much too trusting and passionate. He devotes himself to the crown, to Queen Alicent, King Viserys, Princess Rhaenyra, and the long line of Targaryens to come.

He's a man of honor, a man of his word, and a King's Guard; but before all that, there was you.

A mentor once, who took what he knew and refined it; a good friend after, who always had his back; a would-be-lover before now, who took his heart and made away with it.

You're back now, and really he should be mad, but he owes his reputation to you and thus everything thereafter.

It's only fair you get to make him break his oath all over again.

That's his reasoning, as you drive your cock in and out of his very willing hole. He's powerless to stop you, muscles all but laid lax on the bed.

"Shit.."

It's vulgar, unbecoming of him.

"That's it." Comes a gruff voice, and his legs tighten around your waist as it reaches his ears. "Let me hear you."

But fuck, if he doesn't like it.

He's coming undone already with a pathetic whimper, dick spurting out high peaks of cum over his abdomen. You don't stop, and he doesn't tell you to.

It's not in his nature to be loud. He's quiet, he has to be, his harshest words only ever come in whispers within the shadows; but here, he lets himself go.

This is a liberty.

"More, more, more, please."

"I've got you."

The drive of your cock doesn't end and he moans in gratitude.

A warm hand holds up his chin. It fixes his head, making his sweaty hair stick to the pillows, and when next he opens his eyes he finds yours staring right at him.

Shame burns in his chest at the vulnerability, but his brown puppy eyes convey nothing but love.

"There you are, sweet thing."

He shivers at the nickname, legs moving in new life to tighten around your midriff. It's an instinctive move that speaks his mind plainly: in, in, in.

You only laugh in turn. The shame grows, but with it comes a certain guilt that he likes it, these little spurts of humiliation. It's a guilty pleasure.

He can scarcely think about it as the next moment you sling his leg over your shoulder and, "Seven hells!"

The new angle gives so much more depth to your thrusts, and though it takes away a little intimacy, he's sure he'll have time enough to wrap his legs around your waist and hold you close when you finish.

Criston can't have enough.

He's not sure why he thinks of that, not sure why he desires for you to finish inside. He can't take. It's an impulsive thought, but he'll be damned if his instincts aren't screaming for him to do it.

A spot inside him has him practically screaming when you hit it, and then you zone in like that's your price.

"What–" He cuts himself off with a moan; it kind of sounds like one of those wounded men being told to talk through the pain, to distract themselves. It's pathetic there, and still is here. "what was—is that?"

It's good, fucking good, as it sends electric shocks up his spine.

"Don't worry about it, lovey."

He's got nothing else to worry about, though. Nothing past the cock stretching him open, it feels, permanently. He'll be left gaping, he's sure of it, though he can't think of complaining. It'll only leave him open for you.

"Fuuck." Overstimulation is running through him in a pain he can't describe, because he's never felt it before. His head falls back on the pillows, and with it, his eyes roll back.

That's enough, should be at his lips, but instead there's only, "More, please, faster."

"You wanna cum again, soft thing?"

He's not soft, he's a King's Guard.

And yet he whimpers, "Yes. Yes, please. I want another, and I want yours."

His leg falls from your shoulder to wrap back around your torso. It feels nice, to have the meat of you between his legs.

"Greedy thing."

There's a whimper, some shame, then more as you grab his hips and pull him up to your pelvis and make him actually scream.

"My name sounds good on your tongue." Your steady voice and steady thrusts make it sound like it's a common occurrence to you.

Maybe it is. Maybe it's no different from fucking a cunt. Gods, to think of his hole like a cunt.

"I'm 'onna cum," Criston says, words lolling together. "please, with me."

"I've hardly started." You say, but you're only lying to see the devastation on his face and his pleading puppy eyes. You're lying, because he's squeezing around you like a vice so tight, only someone of your strength would be able to manage.

"Please." Criston says, as if the mere sound of his plea will spur the seed from your balls.

"I'll get there, love." Your eyes, dark with lust, meet his. He's sure you'll honor his pleading, then. "With you, you said?"

"Yes." He affirms breathesly.

His legs lock around you when you finish. It's pathetic, really, that it doesn't take much more for either of you to cum, but that shame burns away when you see his face. There's utter pleasure in the way his mouth splays open and ecstacy in the way he lets his head fall back at the peak of it, and you are content with all of it.

When Criston finishes, he does so with a cry, coating his sculpted abdomen a second time. There's a pit of guilt settling deep in the pit of his stomach, emerging through the pleasure and pain.

Another time, the same oath broken yet again; but you'd come before all that, and again he feels indebted to you. A bit of that desire is his own, to being filled. There's possession there, a desire to have a part of you, if only for the night. You'll not leave him so easily this time.

Except you do, afterwards. He's shamed, feeling like a common whore as you part from him and collapse beside him, not even helping to clean up. Criston seeks to mend that feeling himself, even if it means he must push past guilt and shame. Like a puppy, he settles his head on your chest in a sudden need for affection, and you don't complain.

In fact, you wrap your arms around him, and oh, there's your hand in his hair. "There's a reason for my stay, boy."

Your stay?

"I've been summoned as a candidate for the King's Guard." Criston lifts his head to look at you, something like hope in his eye. It makes you wave your hand dismissively, a panic he'd never expect from you. "Now, nothing is set in stone, but–"

Criston could keep you. Forever, that is.

His oath couldn't be further from his mind.

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ I just finished s1 so don't talk to me abt s2 but also this show is full of miscommunications and accidents I'm crying

#criston cole x male reader #criston cole x reader #criston x male reader #criston x reader #criston cole x top male reader #criston x top male reader #x top male reader #hotd x reader #hotd x male reader #hotd x top male reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x male reader #x dom male reader #backsh0t #tricksh0t

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

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❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

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insidekatmind · 2 months ago

Text

The temptation of November- Levi Colwill

Wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language.

It was a cool November evening, with golden leaves creating a creaking carpet under your feet as you headed to the stadium. You wore your favorite coat, the one that Levi loved to see you wear, and a scarf with his team colors. The stands were already animated by a sea of fans, and you were there, among them, ready to cheer for your boy, Levi Colwill.

Levi had been strange lately, quieter than usual, and you noticed the reason: the challenge of the No Nut November. Every year, he and his friends, Noni Madueke and Cole Palmer, challenged each other to this absurd test. But this year, being the first time you were together, it was clear that the situation was putting Levi to a great strain. The frustration was tangible in the way he looked at you, in his deep sighs and in the look that lingered too long on you when he thought I wasn’t watching him.

Sitting in the stands, you checked your watch. The game was only a few minutes away, but Levi had not yet come out. Your phone vibrated, and a message lit up the screen.

Levi:

Come to the locker room. I need to see you, now.

The shiver ran down your spine. You looked around, making sure no one was watching, then you stood up and walked to the private entrance. You knew the street well: Levi often took you backstage, away from the chaos of the public.

---

The changing rooms were quiet, interrupted only by the sound of water gushing from a distant shower. Bussasti quietly to the door with the number of Levi.

"Come in," his voice answered, deeper than usual.

You opened the door and found him sitting on a bench, with his phone in your hands. He was already wearing the team jersey, but his hair was still wet, a sign that he had just prepared. As soon as your eyes met, he dropped the phone next to himself and waved you to come closer.

"What’s going on?" you asked, closing the door behind you. "Shouldn’t you be in the field?"

Levi sighed, putting his hand on his face. "I can’t take it anymore," he muttered, looking at you with a look that looked like he was digging into you. " This challenge... is torture. And you’re not helping."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be innocent. "I? I’m not doing anything."

"That’s right," he said, standing up and coming to you. "You do nothing, but that is the problem. You’re there, perfect, always so damn beautiful, and I’m... I’m going crazy."

The tone of his voice was low, tense, and the heat that emanated seemed to envelop you. You tried to keep calm, but the way he looked at you made it harder.

"Levi," you started, trying to make a joke to lighten the atmosphere. "It’s just a challenge. It’s not mandatory."

He shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "It’s not just a challenge, it’s a contest of pride. Noni and Cole are always teasing me, telling me I’ll quit first. But then there’s you... and every time I see you, I just think about how much I want to give up."

You couldn’t hold a smile. "So it’s my fault that you’re so frustrated?"

"Absolutely," he answered without hesitation. Then, with a sudden gesture, he took you by the hips, drawing you to himself. "And you know that very well, don’t you? You do it on purpose."

Your heart started beating faster. " I don’t do anything," you protested weakly, but Levi’s proximity made it difficult to keep a clear head.

He bowed his head, approaching your ear. "Don’t play dumb," he whispered.

"You know exactly what you do to me every time you smile, every time you put your hand in my hair. You look at me from the stands, and all I can think is how much I would like to have you for myself, without having to hold back."

Levi barely walked away, looking you in the eye, waiting for your reaction. His breath was heavy, and you knew the situation was getting out of hand.

"Listen," you started, trying to calm things down. "I don’t want to be the reason you’re losing this challenge. But if you really want to continue, maybe you should stop texting me during games."

He laughed, a low, hoarse sound that made you shiver. "I can’t help it. You’re my favorite distraction."

You watched him, torn between the desire to provoke him and the desire to console him. Then, with a mischievous smile, you move one step, leaving him with a void in your hands.

"If you want to win, Colwill," I said in a strong tone, "you better focus on the game. I’ll be in the stands cheering for you. Maybe."

You turned to get out, but before I could, Levi grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you back. " Don’t go," he said, his voice charged with emotion. "Stay here, just for a minute. I need you."

Levi didn’t let you go. With a strong gesture, he drew you to himself, holding you for life with a force that you had never felt so clearly before. His eyes, dark and burning, were fixed in yours as he lifted you slightly and dropped on the bench, taking you riding on his legs.

"I can’t do it anymore," he muttered, the warm breath that touched your skin as him hands settled firmly on your hips. " Do you have any idea how crazy you make me?"

You couldn’t answer. The tension between you in the last few days seemed to explode suddenly, and your heart was beating so fast that you thought it could feel. Levi did not waste time, his lips rushed on you with an overwhelming passion, as if he had always waited for that moment.

The kiss was intense, desperate, a mixture of desire and frustration that he poured out on you without reservation. His hands caressed your hips, then slowly slid down your back, as his body seemed to wrap itself around you. You let go, responding to her kiss with the same passion, your fingers entwined in her still wet hair.

"Levi," you whispered as your lips finally came off for a moment. His eyes, full of ardor, made you lose all rational thought. "The game... you must go."

"I don’t give a damn about the game," he answered, his voice low and hoarse. "Right now, there’s only one thing I want. And that is you."

You felt the heat grow in your body as his lips moved from your face to your neck, leaving a kiss trail along sensitive skin. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every moment. His hand slipped under the edge of your sweater, drawing light lines along your skin, and a shiver ran through you from head to toe.

"Are you sure?" you asked, trying to keep a minimum of control, even if your voice betrayed the desire you felt.

Levi paused for a moment, looking you in the eye with a smile that was a mixture of sweetness and determination. " I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life."

"Come on, Colwill! It’s time to get out there!" shouted a familiar voice, probably Noni.

Levi puffed, his face a mask of frustration, but a funny smile flashed on his lips. "Saved by the bell, eh?" He said, looking at you with a mixture of regret and desire.

"Saved you," you replied with a mischievous smile, giving him a slight tap on the chest before getting up. "Now go play. I’ll wait for you in the stands."

He stood up, setting his shirt and patting his hair. " This is not over," he said, approaching again to give you a last kiss, sweet but still full of that unresolved passion. " Wait for me after the game."

With your heart still in turmoil, you left the dressing room and returned to your seat on the bleachers. But you knew that the evening, however intense it had already been, was far from over.

---

The game was over, and Chelsea had won with a clear dominance. In the stands, you had shouted and applauded, but your mind was still anchored to that moment in the dressing room. You were looking forward to being alone with Levi again, and the look on his face when he left the camp only confirmed that the feeling was mutual.

As you drove home, the air was tense. Levi drove in silence, but his hand was resting on your thigh, fingers drumming at a slow, almost calculated rhythm. You felt every touch like a lightning through your body, and the look that he sometimes threw on you only fuelled the expectation.

You tried to distract yourself by looking out of the window, but your eyes inevitably turned on him. The jaw is clamped, the hands firmly on the steering wheel, but above all the tension evident in his body. The fabric of his trousers betrayed his condition: the erection was clearly visible, and Levi seemed to make an immense effort to maintain control.

"Levi..." you started, your voice low and a little uncertain.

He did not look away from the street, but a small smile appeared on his lips. " Say nothing," he muttered, his hand lightly clenching on your thigh. "If you start talking, I don’t guarantee to get home."

The tone of his voice was deep, and sent a shiver down your back. You decided not to provoke him further, but your hand rested on his, gently touching it. You felt the grip become more firm and a slight sigh escape him.

"You’re playing with fire," he said after a moment, finally turning to you when you stopped at a red light. His eyes were dark, full of restrained desire, and the way he looked at you made everything else seem irrelevant.

You did not answer, but the mischievous smile you threw at him was enough to shake his head, a mixture of frustration and adoration on his face. When the traffic light turned green, I started driving again, but the tension in the small space of the car was almost palpable.

When you finally arrived home, Levi pulled over and turned off the engine with a brusque gesture. Before i could say anything, he got out of the car and opened your door, holding your hand.

"Come," he said, his voice a little hoarse, but the tone firm.

As soon as you entered, Levi closed the door behind you and turned to you, his gaze like it was digging into you. " Do you know how hard it was to sit there with you next to me and do nothing?" he asked, approaching you with slow but determined steps.

You backed slightly, until you felt the cold wall against your back. " I guess..." you replied with a smile that you couldn’t hold back.

"Oh, imagine that?" he replied, stopping a few inches from you, his body almost pressing against yours. His hands were resting on your hips, and the heat that emanated seemed to completely envelop you.

"Levi, the challenge..." you murmured, even though your words lacked conviction.

"The challenge is already over," he said with a mischievous smile. "At least for me. I can’t hold back any longer."

Levi did not wait any longer. With a firm hand on your life, he pulled you towards himself, eliminating the space between you, and his lips captured yours with a force that left you breathless. The kiss was intense, desperate, as if it were pouring out all the tension and frustration accumulated in the last few weeks at that moment.

His lips moved with unstoppable passion, and the warmth of his body almost seemed to burn through your clothes. His hands were not firm: one slid down your back, holding you against him, while the other lay on the side of your face, the thumb caressing your cheek with a sweetness contrasting to the strength of the kiss.

You could feel every emotion he was holding back. Every movement of his lips, every pressure of his fingers conveyed the frustration and desire he had repressed during those weeks of challenge. You were overwhelmed, your thoughts elusive while you answered with the same intensity, your hands anchored to his back as if you feared falling.

"You have no idea how much I missed you so much," he muttered against your lips, his broken voice, his heavy breath. He looked into your eyes for a moment, and his gaze burned with a mixture of desire and relief, as if he had finally found something essential.

"Levi..." whispers, not knowing what to say. Every word seemed superfluous compared to what you were both communicating through your bodies.

"Don’t talk to me about challenges," he added, the tone low and decided. "I can’t resist anymore, not after all this time. You... are too much for me."

His lips went back to look for yours, but this time the kiss was different. Less aggressive, but no less intense. It was as if he wanted to take the time to taste you, to remember every detail of you. His hands explored you with a delicacy that contrasted with the uncontrollable energy he had shown a moment before.

You felt its tension in the contracted muscles, the way it slightly tightened your hips, and especially the irregular breath that touched your skin every time it was just taken off to catch its breath. It was a deep, almost visceral need, and you were his only thought.

"If only you knew how much I wanted you," she continued, the barely audible voice as she bent down to kiss your neck. His light beard touched your skin, causing shivers down your back. " Every time I saw you, every time you smiled... it was torture."

His kisses on your neck became slower but not less intense, and each contact seemed a reminder of the frustration that had accumulated. You felt his heart beat against your chest, and the way his hands held you made you realize he would not let go easily.

You started to lower his pants and his underwear and then kneel in front of him and moaned seeing how hard his big cock was.

You put your hand around his cock and started sawing it. He groans with pleasure and finally feels a little relief on his cock after so long. You looked at it and started to take it in your mouth, trying to take it all and suffocating yourself too but you didn’t care, at this moment you just wanted to satisfy Levi.

Your hand moved it on your balls and you started to stroke them while you kept sucking his cock. Levi moaned and put his hand on your head to help push his hips further towards you and moaned. "fuck baby, this mouth is made for me" he said pulling his head back and closing his eyes enjoying your mouth on his cock.

Levi started to fuck your mouth and you were moaning hearing his groans and you were getting even more excited. You raised your eyes to look at him and were moaning at the sight of Levi enjoying the moment.

You rolled your tongue on his cock and sucked it faster playing with his balls and he groaned coming into your mouth. Levi sighed and then you get up immediately and quickly take off all your clothes and you took his shirt revealing his beautiful physique.

Levi laid you on the couch opening your legs and licking your pussy. You moaned at the sudden touch as he continued his assault on your pussy that he had wanted to lick for all the time he was doing this challenge.

You moaned as he was sucking you and licking your pussy like a hungry man. "I missed this pussy, always a nice taste for me," said Levi moaning near your pussy sending vibrations to your pussy making you moan loudly.

"Baby please" you whispered as you pushed your hips on his face and he licked more intensely making you cum on his face.

"So good for me," said Levi before moving his lips to yours and kissing you.

Levi turned you, putting you on your stomach and lifting your ass, then penetrated you with a strong blow making both of them moan.

He placed his hands on your hips and closed his eyes for a moment to get you used to his huge size while he was going crazy feeling how your pussy was holding him.

"shit, you’re squeezing my dick" he said moaning as he started to move. First slowly and sensually to get you used even more but then feeling that you were getting more and more eager began to fuck you like a fucking animal. Putting one hand on your neck and holding it while the other hand held it on your hair to make your back arch more.

Both of you were moaning loudly while Levi fucked you. "It’s so beautiful" you said whining as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper into you.

"I missed this tight little pussy," he said, giving you more hard blows. Then he took your hand off your neck and slapped your left ass two times, making you moan louder and bow more against him. "Not to mention this beautiful ass" he continued.

You in return could only moan while he kept fucking you more and I start leaving many clamps and marks on your neck while whispering dirty words to your mouth. "You can’t imagine how many times I’ve fucked you during this fucking challenge".

Levi start pushing you more inside and you came cumming on his dick. He took off his cock and turned you around and put his dick back in your pussy to fuck you with the missionary.

You kissed with love, lust, desire and hunger. When you have detached from the kiss he besides fucking sucks your nipples and played with your butt making you moan more and more.

You could have sworn that tomorrow for sure you won’t have the voice anymore because of how you were screaming and especially you couldn’t walk because of how you were fucking.

You watched as Levi started to fuck you harder and he put his hand on your neck while you moaned seeing how sexy it was above you.

"You’re so beautiful" you whispered through the groans and he smiled sweetly then kissed you sweetly but keeping the same brutal rhythm while fucking you.

"You take it so well" he mumbled through the kisses and you groaned.

You came on his dick again and he after three more brutal blows came inside you.

You both moaned and Levi lowered his head to the incline of your body as he gave you sweet kisses on the neck and you caressed his hair, enjoying this moment of silence.

He looked up and smiled softly at you, then kissed you softly again. "I love you y/n, you are my life" he whispered, detaching himself from your lips but without moving away. You smiled softly to kiss him again and whisper "me too" through your kisses.

You kept kissing each other and then you chuckled as you felt his cock harden inside of you again and you knew perfectly well that a long evening was waiting for you but you didn’t mind at all.

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childrenofcain-if · 1 month ago

Note

CW: CANNIBALISM

W is just the character who'd go all ride-or-die for us 👁️👁️ I am LOOKING! With all the cannibalism allegation, would they join us if there was a Bones and All AU with MC being an eater? Out of all the ROs, I feel like they're the only one who'd accept us like that from the very beginning

the bullying began so long ago that it felt like cicadas in the summer or the thrum of air conditioning inside your house—always there, always insidious.

W was delicate in ways the world found easy to prey upon, not because they were weak but because they felt too much. it showed in the way their hands trembled when they clenched them, in the tears that gathered in their eyes when the laughter of their tormentors reached their ears.

you had spent years trying to stop it. standing in hallways with your fists balled, staring down cole and his cronies, daring them to come closer. sometimes it worked—your defiance could scatter them like pigeons startled from a rooftop—but only for a time. they always returned, like a bad bout of winter, colder and harsher than before.

cole had always been there—a looming, destructive presence that crushed everything in his path. he was bigger than life, in size and ego, in anger and entitlement, and he flaunted his privilege like no other. his father’s influence whispered behind closed doors, his fists a language of violence that left bruises on W’s ribs and a tremor in their voice.

for years, you had tried to shield W, to draw his fire onto yourself when it became too much. for years, W had endured it.

“i told the principal again,” W had said one day, their voice brittle with exhaustion. “he just gave me that look, you know? the one where you can tell he’s already decided not to care.”

and you did know. you’d seen it before, that glazed-over indifference. cole’s father sat on the school board like some sort of king, his power extending over even the smallest squabbles of the student body. but what felt small to the school was enormous to W.

“i’ll fix it,” you had promised them, even as you didn’t know how.

the solution had come from your father, as many of them did. elias, who rarely spoke in anger but could wield his wealth like a weapon when the moment demanded it.

“i’ll buy the entire damn school board if i have to,” he had said when you told him about the bullying. and elias didn’t make empty threats.

cole was ‘transferred’ soon after, the details vague but the outcome seemed decent. and for a while, it seemed like things might actually change.

but cole wasn’t one to let things go.

W had confessed it in a choked whisper the other day, tears carving clean lines down their dirt-smudged cheeks.

“cole’s still… i think he’s following me,” they had said, their voice shaking like a leaf caught in a gale. “he waits for me after school. he knows where i live.”

you’d felt the familiar heat of anger rising in your chest, your fists clenching as you swore you’d make it stop. but what could you possibly do as a high school junior that your father hadn’t already done?

what could you do to a boy like cole, whose world was built on the certainty that no one would ever truly punish him?

the gas station was quiet, the flickering of the neon lights outside the only sound as you paid for your drink and stepped out into the cooling evening air.

the pavement under your sneakers was warm from the day’s sun. you were halfway down the road, the horizon a bleeding canvas of pink and gold, when you heard the blue corvette pull up beside you.

cole’s voice was a venomous drawl as he grinned wolfishly and got out of his car. “hey there, long time no see.”

you took a step back. “leave me the fuck alone, cole.”

he didn’t. of course he didn’t.

before you could react, his arm snaked around your neck, pulling you into a headlock. his strength was overwhelming, his gym-built muscles like iron bars against your skin.

you struggled, your sneakers scraping against the asphalt as he dragged you, half-choking, toward the cornfield on the side of the road.

panic surged through you, hot and electric. you thrashed against him, clawing at his arm, but it was like fighting a mountain. the stalks of corn closed in around you, their rustling leaves swallowing the sound of your gasps.

the field swallowed you both, its towering stalks turning the world into a maze of green and gold shadows.

you’d never liked cornfields. there was something too perfect, too endless about them, rows upon rows standing like soldiers awaiting orders. today, they were silent. watching. waiting.

you stumbled over uneven ground, your sneakers catching on roots, the dirt kicking up into your face. the air stunk with the green smell of crushed stalks and the faint, acrid sting of gasoline from the vehicles that passed the highway after getting a refill from the nearby gas station.

cole’s arm was an iron band around your neck, cutting off air, and you could feel his sweat slick against your skin. you clawed at his forearm, nails digging deep enough to leave crescents, but he didn’t even flinch. his breathing was heavy, labored, as if he were dragging a bag of stones and not another human being.

“stop struggling,” he growled, voice sounding like gravel scraping against a rusted shovel. “it’s not gonna make this easier for you.”

you didn’t answer. not like you could even if you wanted to. your words would be crushed beneath the weight of his arm, your lungs burning. but even if you could have spoken, you wouldn’t have begged. not to him. not to anyone.

the world narrowed to the two of you, his strength against your will. you twisted your body, kicking at his shin with a desperation that sent a flare of pain up your leg, but he only hissed and tightened his grip.

finally, he shoved you forward, and you fell to your knees, gasping for air, the dirt biting into your palms. you scrambled to your feet, but he was faster, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you around. his face was twisted with rage, lips pulled back in something too animal to be called a smile.

“you think you’re so fucking superior, don’t you?” he snarled. “you and that little freak friend of yours. you think you can ruin my life and just walk away?”

your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, glaring up at him.

“you ruined your own life, cole,” you spat out. “you’ve been a bully since the day you learned how to swing your fists in order to get your way. W’s ten times the person you’ll ever be, and you always picked on them for no reason other than to satisfy your own sick pleasure.”

that struck a nerve. his face twisted, the veins in his neck standing out like cords. he lunged, grabbing the front of your shirt and hauling you up so your faces were inches apart.

“shut your fucking mouth if you know what’s good for you,” he hissed. “you don’t know anything about me.”

“oh, i know enough,” you said, the poison in your voice surprising even yourself. “i know your dad’s been cleaning up your messes for years. must be hard to grow up knowing the only time you feel like a man is when you’re picking on other kids.”

“you don’t know anything,” he repeated, his voice trembling now, not with nervousness, but with something far more dangerous.

and then he was on you, his hands around your throat, squeezing until the world started blurring out. your hands scrabbled at his wrists, but his grip was unrelenting, and the familiar panic clawed its way back up your chest.

the world tilted, the cornfield spinning around you, the green and gold blurring together into something surreal and wrong.

you thought of W then, their tear-streaked face, their voice breaking as they confided in you about anything and everything. you thought of all the times you’d tried to protect them, only to fail. and now, here you were, about to become another one of cole’s victims.

your fingers brushed against something cold and hard— a rock, jagged and solid. you didn’t think. you didn’t have the time to think. your body moved on instinct, your arm swinging wide and bringing the rock down on the side of his head.

the sound was wet and final, a krrack! that seemed to echo through the field, bouncing off the stalks and the sky and the earth itself.

cole froze above you, his hands falling away from your neck, his expression slack, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. for a moment, he was just a boy—a scared sixteen-year-old boy. his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. and then he crumpled, his body hitting the ground beside you with a thud that sent a shudder through your own.

you staggered back, the rock slipping from your fingers. your breath came in shallow gasps, your throat raw and burning. you stared at him, at the way his body lay twisted in the dirt, his eyes staring up at the sky, unblinking.

“cole?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “cole.”

he didn’t move.

it hit you then, a wave of horror so strong it nearly made you yell. you’d killed him. you’d killed cole.

the cornfield was silent, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant whir of cars passing occasionally on the highway. you were alone, and yet you weren’t. the field was watching, the world was watching, and you could feel their eyes on you, accusing and hungry and unrelenting.

your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat, but you couldn’t look away.

his blood was pooling beneath his head, dark and viscous, soaking into the dirt like ink spilling onto a page. the sight of it did something to you, something primal and terrible, like the tearing of a pomegranate, the way the seeds spilled out, red and glistening, the taste sharp and metallic. you felt that same hunger now, a gnawing ache deep in your chest, as if something inside you had been waiting for this moment, waiting to be fed.

but it wasn’t just hunger. it was revulsion, too, a sickening mix of desire and disgust that made you want to scream, to run, to claw at your own skin until you felt clean again. your hands trembled as you reached out, then pulled back, unsure of what to do, of who you even were anymore.

your hands then reached back out as if making up their minds. you stared, horrified and helpless, as they extended toward cole’s still body, fingers curling into claws. they tore through the fabric of his shirt, breaking the fragile barrier of skin with a wet sound that made bile rise to the back of your throat.

but the bile didn’t come, and neither did the disgust you expected earlier. instead, there was only this strange hunger.

it was euphoric, thrumming through your veins like a song you’d always known but never sung aloud. your fingers plunged deeper, seeking, finding, and ripping. there was no hesitation, no thought. just action. your hands disappeared into the cavity of his chest, the slick warmth of blood coating your skin, your nails scraping against bone.

somewhere, far away, a still-sane part of you screamed to stop, to look away, to do anything but this, but the hunger drowned out everything else.

and then your teeth joined the fray. you didn’t remember when you leaned forward, when your lips pressed to his ruined chest, but suddenly you were biting, tearing, devouring. the first taste was an explosion, the metallic flavor tinged with something indescribably sweet, like burnt sugar at the edges of a flame.

it was ambrosia, a feast fit for gods, and it belonged to you.

you tore through the sinew and tissue with an ease that startled you, your jaw working like it had done this a thousand times before. blood smeared across your face, sticky and warm, running down your chin and pooling in the hollow of your throat.

you didn’t give a shit about it though. all that mattered was the taste, the sensation of this human’s flesh yielding beneath your teeth, the way his ribs opened up like a flower blooming only for you.

his heart was your favourite. you held it in your hands for a moment, its weight startlingly small, before sinking your teeth into the tender muscle. it was softer than you’d expected, almost delicate, and the flavor burst across your tongue like a symphony of everything you’d ever craved but never known how to name. your body sang with it, every nerve alight, every sense in perfect harmony.

cole’s hazel eyes came next. you couldn’t stand their glassy, lifeless stare, the way they seemed to accuse you even in death. they were soft, too, yielding easily beneath your teeth, and though the taste was a little bitter, it was satisfying in a way that you hadn’t expected. you chewed them slowly, the squelch of it audible as you savored each bite until there was nothing left to see, nothing left to judge you.

cole had it coming, hadn’t he? the thought floated to the surface of your mind, tenuous and fragile, as if spoken by someone else entirely. he’d hurt W, tormented them, made their life a living hell. he’d hurt you, too, dragged you into this field with the intent to kill, his hands around your throat and his hatred burning in his eyes.

this was your own kind of justice, wasn’t it?

and yet, as the hunger began to ebb, as the primal urge receded like a tide, the horror set in. you sat back on your heels, your hands and face slick with blood, your stomach churning with the realization of what you’d done.

cole’s body—or what remained of it—lay sprawled before you, unrecognizable, torn apart by your own hands and teeth.

you gagged, your body convulsing with dry retches, but nothing came up. the hunger had consumed everything, left no room for regret or revulsion to expel itself.

you pressed a shaking bloody hand to your chest, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat, and fumbled for your phone with the other.

the screen blurred through tears you hadn’t realized were falling, but you managed to pull up W’s number. your fingers shook so badly you almost dropped the phone as you pressed it to your ear. the dial tone felt endless, every second stretching into eternity, until finally, W’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“hello?” their voice was soft, hesitant, as if they could already sense something was wrong.

“W,” you choked out, your voice barely recognizable. “i n-need you. please. please come.”

“where are you?” their tone shifted instantly, concern overtaking caution. “what happened? are you okay?”

“the cornfield,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “somewhere near the gas station which has the neon signs. cole’s car is there. please, just—just come. i can’t—” your voice broke, a sob escaping before you could stop it.

“hey, hey, it’s okay,” W said quickly, their voice soothing, though you could hear the edge of panic creeping in. “i’m on my way. stay there, okay? don’t move.”

the call ended, and you were left alone again, the silence of the field becoming all too much. you looked down at your hands, at the blood smeared across your skin, the pieces of cole’s flesh that clung to your nails, and your stomach twisted.

you couldn’t move. all you could do was wait, the hunger still lurking at the edges of your mind, a shadow that promised it wasn’t finished with you quite yet.

W gripped the steering wheel tightly, their knuckles pale and fingers trembling as they pushed the old sedan past the speed limit. the engine groaned in protest, but they didn’t care. you were out there, somewhere, and you needed them. that was the only thought that mattered, drowning out the rush of adrenaline, the fear gnawing at the edges of their mind.

their sapphire blue eyes scanned the evening road ahead, headlights cutting through the sudden thick fog that clung to the landscape.

the gas station came into view first, a dimly lit beacon with its neon lights, and then after driving past it for a couple more minutes—there it was. the blue corvette. it gleamed faintly under the flicker of a dying streetlamp, its ostentatious frame a cruel reminder of the boy who’d tormented them for years.

W gulped, their hands briefly tightening on the wheel. a part of them wanted to turn back, to leave cole and everything he represented behind, but they shoved the thought aside. you were out there. you were in danger.

if they were going to be brave for anyone, it would be for you.

they parked a little ways down the road, their chuck taylors almost slipping on the wet asphalt as they stepped out into the night.

the rain had begun to fall in earnest now, a steady drizzle that dampened their hair and clothes within seconds. they wiped their hands against their jeans, steeling themselves, and followed the faint drag marks leading into the cornfield.

the stalks towered over them, swaying in the breeze and slapping against their skin as they pushed through. every creak and rustle was amplified by the silence of the evening, but W ignored it, their focus narrowing to the path ahead.

they could hear something now, soft and broken—your voice. crying.

they quickened their pace, the corn whipping against their face, leaving red welts on their cheeks. each step brought new fear, new scenarios conjured by their racing mind. what if cole had hurt you? what if he’d dragged you into the field and left you for dead? what if—

but what they found wasn’t what they’d expected.

W froze, their breath catching in their throat as they stumbled into the clearing. you were there, lying in the dirt, your shoulders hunched and shaking as you sobbed. blood covered you—your face, your hands, your clothes—and it didn’t seem to be yours. it stained the earth around you, pooled in dark puddles, smeared across your mouth like some grotesque parody of a smile.

and then there was cole. or what was left of him, to be precise.

his body lay crumpled nearby, torn open, half-eaten. his chest was a ruin of gore, ribs splintered and jutting out like jagged teeth. his face—what remained of it—was twisted in a rictus of terror: lower jaw torn off and missing, ears half-bitten, empty eye sockets.

W’s stomach lurched, bile rising in their throat, but they swallowed it down.

“oh god,” they whispered, their voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

you looked up then, your bloodstained face contorted with grief and fear.

“elmo,” you choked out, the nickname slipping past your lips like you were five again. “i didn’t mean to. i don’t know what happened. i didn’t—”

W didn’t let you finish. they crossed the distance between you in three long strides, dropping to their knees in the mud. they wrapped their arms around you, pulling you close despite the blood, despite the gore, despite everything.

“it’s okay,” they murmured, their voice shaking but steady enough for your sake. “it’s okay. i’ve got you. you’re okay.”

you sobbed into their shoulder, your fingers clutching at their shirt as if you could anchor yourself to them, as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“i didn’t want to,” you whispered. “i didn’t want to do this. it wasn’t my fault.”

“i know,” W said, even as their mind reeled. they couldn’t stop staring at cole’s body, at the brutality you’d left behind, but they forced the thoughts away. you needed them right now, and that was all that mattered.

the rain had begun to fall harder, washing away the blood from your skin and theirs, mixing it with the mud beneath you. W gently cupped your face, their thumb brushing away the streaks of red that the rain hadn’t reached.

“listen to me,” they said, their tone firmer now. you’d never seen them so serious and determined. “you’re coming home with me, okay? my aunt and uncle are out of town. we’ll get you cleaned up, and we’ll figure out what to do next. together.”

you nodded, your eyes wide and glassy, like a child’s. “what about…” you trailed off, glancing at cole’s body, your expression crumpling with fresh grief.

W followed your gaze, their stomach twisting.

“it looks like an animal attack,” they said slowly, the words tasting foreign in their mouth. “there are wolves out here. bears, too. we’ll let the rain do the rest. nobody has to know.”

you nodded again, but your hands still trembled as you tried to wipe the blood from them. W reached into their pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and started cleaning your face as best they could. the fabric turned red almost instantly, but they didn’t stop until most of the blood was gone.

the rain was on your side, washing away the rest—your footprints, the drag marks, the blood trail leading to the clearing. W pulled you to your feet, steadying you as you swayed, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

they led you back to the car, their mind racing. they weren’t sure what to think, what to feel.

cole was dead, and a part of them—a small, shameful part—felt relief. he couldn’t hurt them anymore. he couldn’t hurt you. but the sight of you covered in blood, the memory of his mangled body… it would stay with them forever.

for now, though, they pushed it all aside. they focused on getting you to the car, on getting you home, on making sure you were okay. the rest could wait.

the rest would have to wait.

#well...#i think i cooked too much here #W is 100% gonna match MC’s freak tho 👀#‘bones and all’ is one of my fav movies ever so i got too excited with the prompt #um part 2 anyone?#also lemme know if i should tone down on the gore 💀#tw: cannibalism #cw: cannibalism #cw: gore #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro: w ostendorf #ro scenarios

131 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 5 months ago

Note

Fandom: HOTD

Characters: Aemond Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen

Pairing: Rivalry (romantic for both)

Type of fic: Concept

Extra info: Both Aemond and Aegon start to take notice of maid!Darling. I was thinking Darling being / becoming a handmaid of,, Helaena for example, could be a way for both Aegon and Aemond to have a way to constantly see Darling, thus letting their obsession grow even more

-🥝 anon 🤎🤎

Poor girl just trying to do her job only to have two princes after her....

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen vs Aegon II Targaryen with Maid! Darling

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Mature themes, Harassment/Unwanted affection, Murder, Targcest (Aegon and Helaena due to canon), Forced relationship(s)

Being Helaena's handmaid is usually a quiet job.

The woman often keeps to herself, muttering to herself as she plays with her insects.

You clean, speak to her, and act as a companion to the Targaryen princess.

You're around the same age and are always at her side.

However, this naturally gets you in contact with her siblings.

Both princes are bad in their own ways.

Aegon is bad because he's... touchy.

Aegon is infamous for bedding any woman he has access to.

Maids, brothels, any woman.

Which means you are constantly hit on, courted, and cornered when around Aegon.

Aemond is much better in this regard.

While he is similar to Daemon, his uncle, in many ways...

Aemond does not have the hedonism his uncle and brother have.

No... But he does have the very same bloodlust Daemon does.

Meaning he tends to duel (or straight up murder) those he thinks are too close.

So... both brothers are bad in their own right towards their obsession.

Them in a rivalry? Well, based on what I've seen and written...

Sibling rivalries within the Targaryen dynasty are quite dangerous.

Or any family at all in ASOIAF.

Would the two murder one another? Aemond might.

However, he knows better than just doing it.

He'd want to frame it as an accident or frame it on someone else.

An example of this in canon is during Season 2 of the show with Aegon vs Rhaenys.

He felt he could get away with burning Aegon with Vhagar during the battle.

And if Criston Cole didn't catch him?

He probably would've finished the job.

Now, would Aegon?

He seems to be the one more likely to tease or threaten, but not entirely follow through.

However, both princes are still dangerous and possessive.

It just appears Aemond, ironically the one who isn't trying to bed you every five seconds, happens to be the biggest threat.

I want to add spice to this request and say Helaena would try to support and protect you from her brothers.

Although... Her character isn't very... assertive.

She would probably try to keep you away from her brothers.

Yet Aegon would ignore her, trying to pull you away, saying you'd serve him better as his servant.

While Aemond may compromise, allowing Helaena to stay beside you while Aemond has your company.

Aegon's yandere behavior is both dominant and submissive I feel.

He can be intimidating, yet alone with his obsession and if you play your cards right?

Putty.

Aemond, however, is just dominant...

He's more attentive to your needs but is controlling.

Naturally, though, both princes like the idea of controlling a maid darling.

All while Helaena pities and worries for you... as when the rivalry occurs, you're barely attending to her.

Both brothers are affectionate in their own ways.

Aegon likes to corrupt you, offering pleasure and gifts to make you like him more.

While Aemond tries to be more of a chaste gentleman, still giving you gifts but often offering dances or walks.

Occasionally you're around to watch their sword practices... and the two destroy one another when they notice you're there.

Ser Criston Cole has to pull the maway from one another, both men bleeding and fighting like moody teens.

Alicent grows increasingly concerned that her two eldest sons are fighting over a handmaid.

She's been trying to work on betrothals for them in order to help them stay on track.

Yet both princes keep clinging around you while Helaena begs her mother to help her.

Helaena considers you a friend since youth, she just wants you happy.

She can tell you're overwhelmed by her brothers' infatuation over you.

You may be a simple maid, a woman made to serve...

But the princes don't care.

They want your hand regardless.

This is strange for both of them, especially Aegon who never even considered marriage for a long time.

The only reason Aegon begins to accept Alicent betrothing him to Helaena is because he has better access to you.

Which just makes Aemond more determined to marry you, begging Alicent to betroth you both so Aegon can be kept away.

You begin to wonder if you'd make better money somewhere else... serving some lord far from King's Landing.

Alas... fate isn't merciful to you.

As war eventually comes to be, more attempts at kinslaying come up.

During The Dance... Aegon is crowned king and Aemond is meant to serve him with his dragon Vhagar.

However, the two are still planning on keeping you to themselves.

Aegon may have more opportunities to keep you to himself, much to Helaena's dismay...

But the two brothers still have each other to deal with.

As more battles begin, the two siblings start plotting betrayal.

In fact, if we want to follow canon, Aemond may get Aegon back by burning him.

With Aegon bedridden or dead... and Aemond in power...

You'd belong to Aemond.

Although... maybe you want an alternate timeline, where Aemond is assassinated either by Aegon's order or Daemon's...

Allowing Aegon to keep you as his beloved maid.

Either way... it looks like you'll be stuck with one of them in the end.

Hopefully The Blacks will win against The Greens...

Maybe then you'll be freed from the twisted princes... maybe then you can go back to your old life with both of them dead.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere asoiaf #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere aegon ii targaryen

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lvndrfucks · 5 months ago

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ lil cole preston blurbs｡˚💌 ࣪𖤐💐

➤ no doubt you took the longest to get ready between you and cole. all he had to do was change his clothes, but you were in the middle of applying your makeup. a very tentative and rigorous progress. it was often frustrating at times, as well.

from the bed of your guys’ shared apartment, cole observed your routine. he laid on his stomach with his chin resting on the palm of his hand and disregarded phone in the other.

“can i try putting your mascara on you?”

the question surprised you. you glanced at him through the vanity mirror before turning around with a small smile.

“sure.”

he sprung up and took your place on the chair. your legs settled on either side of his lap. he kept both hands on your hips as you swiveled around to curl your lashes first. then, you held out the mascara. before he could grab it, you pulled away.

“be careful.” you narrowed your eyes playfully.

cole scoffed. “careful is my middle name.”

you hummed and let him take the mascara. he opened the tube and removed the excess on the edge. he placed his thumb and index finger on your chin to tilt your head up slightly.

you looked up at the ceiling as he applied the mascara softly to your lashes. you kept your hands wrapped around his stomach gently, your fingers ghosting up and down his sides.

it took a minute until he finished.

“is that good?”

you turned around to look in the mirror. “it’s amazing, my love.” you could see his smile of relief in the reflection. “do you want to do my other eye or should i just walk out like this?”

cole’s eyes squinted in thought. “i think you still look beautiful like this. really rocking the cyclops look.” he laughed as you slapped his shoulder gently. “okay, okay, come here.”

and the process started all over.

➤ during interviews, cole’s attention was mainly on you. even if you weren’t the one speaking. you guys often sat next to each other. he found your presence very comforting, as you did for his. you often stayed quiet unless spoken to. he would notice the look on your face when you had something to say and would redirect the attention towards you.

“we’re just very excited to see the fans on tour again,” dylan concluded after the question.

you nodded along, your jaw unconsciously clenching.

cole spoke your name. “did you want to add something?”

you looked at him, then braeden and dylan who were already staring back at you. “oh, um…” you were suddenly flustered at the attention. the boys laughed lightly, but let you have your moment to speak.

or when you retold tales from the past, cole enjoyed how animated you were. you had a habit of using your hands to speak and your voice progressively would get louder the more excited you talked. he always found everything you said funny.

“i think that was the maddest i’ve ever seen you,” braeden said to you during an interview. “like you were hardcore defending cole.”

“because he accused him of being on drugs!” your voice bursted. cole covered his face, but it was obvious he was smiling. “the bouncer was like ‘i saw what you were doing with your hands back there,” you deepened your voice to imitate him, “and i was like ‘what we were doing was waiting two fucking hours to get into this stupid club.’ i was so upset that night. i felt like a mother defending their kids.”

the four laughed at the memory.

➤ “i can’t believe you’ve never seen the lego movie.” your face held a look of disbelief at cole.

he couldn’t help but laugh. “i’ve heard of it, but i guess i never found the time to watch it.”

“unacceptable.” you shook your head. “we’re going to watch it right now and you’re going to enjoy every second of it. i’ll go make the popcorn.” you swiftly kissed his cheek before running off to the kitchen.

truth was, cole had seen the movie with braeden long ago when it first came out. he remembered being so annoyed at the fact he wouldn’t stop singing everything is awesome. cole knew it was one of your favorite movies, though, and didn’t mind reacting as if he was watching for the first time again.

➤ the band was in the studio recording a track for the new album. you had to admit these were moments where you got stressed the most. you wanted it to be perfect, just as the rest of the boys.

you were currently sitting at the piano, trying to figure out the melody to one of the songs. you played certain keys over and over again to get it right, but none of it appealed to you.

cole looked at you from across the room just as you ran your hands over your face. he stood from his drum set to make his way over. he sat so he was straddling the piano bench, facing your side.

“you okay?” his hand rubbed over your back in soothing circles.

you nodded with a heavy sigh. “yeah. it’s just not going like how i imagined.”

he nodded understandingly and stayed quiet while you continued to work. you hummed the lyrics under your breath from time to time and took notes on the sheets of paper scattered across the piano. cole knew better than to interject. of course, you loved hearing feedback to improve, but he could tell now wasn’t the right time. this was something you wanted to figure out on your own, for now.

when you rubbed your eyes again, that’s when he stepped in.

“do you want to take a break?” he asked.

you shook your head, fighting off a yawn. “i just have the bridge to finish.”

“hey. let me see.” at first, you thought he meant the music, but instead, he grabbed your chin to make you face him. “your eyes are getting red. probably from rubbing them so much. have you eaten?”

“cole, i don’t want to eat right now.”

“that’s not what i asked.” your brows furrowed as your lips pouted. he gave you a knowing look. “we’re going to get something to eat, then i’ll help you finish the bridge. okay?”

you didn’t answer. your shoulders falling in defeat spoke for itself. he leaned over to kiss your temple before standing.

“hey, we’re gonna go get some food,” cole announced. “do you guys want anything?”

“oh, my god, yes!” braeden was relieved to hear that. “my stomach’s been growling for the last ten minutes. i was ready to add it to the track.”

he told cole what he wanted, then dylan afterwards. cole nodded and grabbed his keys. he looked at you, nodding towards the door. with a quiet groan, you peeled yourself off the bench and followed after him.

in the car, it was hard not to fall asleep right then and there. your head lulled against the window as you struggled to keep your eyes open. cole’s gentle massaging on your knee didn’t help either. you didn’t even process you were at the drive-thru already. thankfully, cole already knew your order.

back at the studio, braeden and dylan eagerly dug into their food. you and cole sat on the couch together as the two of you ate quietly. by the time you finished, you had let out a big yawn you’d been holding in. you let yourself nestle further into cole’s your sweatshirt with your arms wrapping around your stomach.

cole looked back to see you had already dozed off. he chuckled to himself and readjusted you so you were properly laying down. he grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch to cover your body. he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

#wallows #wallows imagine #wallows x reader #cole preston #cole preston imagine #cole preston x reader #dylan minnette #dylan minnette imagine #dylan minnette x reader #braeden lemasters #braeden lemasters imagine #braeden lemasters x reader

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syndrossi · 1 month ago

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so, if the twins had been entirely identical with the silver hair and purple eyes, what would the dynamic be then?

how would daemon learn to identify them over time?

at one point, does he just instinctively know who’s who?

(funny or tragic enough the broken arm actually worked in identifying Jon at the beginning)

who would the twins play tricks on the most with their identical looks?

is aemond even angrier at the prospect of them being identical?

who’s better at playing the other and yes it’s Rhaegar, i know this, but does Jon ever get any good at it?

would otto even bother to learn who’s who?

do the twins and the cargyll twins laugh and chat about their similarities? do the cargylls give them tips on how to fight together as a duo against a foe that they may not know?

anything else i might’ve missed?

The funny thing is that I feel like Jon would still act in some ways as though he had his old coloring. And get super taken aback when people (like Crayne) are creepy over his hair too.

Would the twins have been treated alike at the Gates of the Moon if they both looked like Daemon? Quite possibly, especially if they were identical! There's no Royce/Redfort-esque coloring to favor.

I think their mannerisms separate them enough that Daemon could figure it out pretty quickly, broken arm or not, and I feel like Jon would still favor shorter hair, especially if people continue to be weird about it. Jon with Baelon hair would be adorable and even more of a mindfuck for Viserys!

The twins would troll the Kingsguard/Princesguard the most, I would guess, though it's very fun to mess with Laenor, so he would be up there. I feel like they'd give it a real try (aka play the game on hard mode) with Daemon to see if they could ever fool him, but Daemon knows how to find their tells, though he doesn't like doing it. (Basically, if he acts a very particular way around Rhaegar, the kid freezes for a second.)

You're right that Rhaegar is naturally the better imposter, but Jon can fake being him for short periods. Like, if you try to make him sing, the game is immediately up, but both of them do that quiet observation thing. Where Jon really struggles is with people he doesn't like; it just...always manages to come through. Jon could not fool Otto or Cole to save his life.

(So I guess the answer is yes, Otto does bother! It's impossible to miss that one of them is always staring at him with an expression ranging from hostility to at least mild disapproval, while the other is a damned cypher.)

For people who don't know the twins super well, it's much easier to succeed at pretending to be the other.

Aemond is very bummed that they're identical because it means Jon definitively looks more like Rhaegar. (Whereas in Resonant, Jon's "impure" coloring is a point in Aemond's favor.)

Now that I think about it, I feel like Jon would be more inclined to accept a Targaryen name from the get-go, since he looks so different (from his POV) to before. Like. It doesn't matter how much he still feels like a wolf, he's very visibly a dragon.

Definitely even more bonding with the Cargyll twins who can tell at twenty paces which twin is which, no speech needed, with 90% accuracy.

#resonant asks

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oldwritingm · 1 year ago

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Hopefully requests are open and if they aren’t then please ignore my ask!! I would like to request if you could write a platonic ninjago x younger sibling!reader where the Reader is basically the crying child from fnaf? A crybaby, easily scared and clingy in a sense that they only feel safe with the ninja or their older brother, if you cant do this then you are free to ignore this ask, Have a very nice day/night or evening where you are!

Here you are my darling! I hope you have a lovely day/night too! :D

Ninjago - Ninjas With a Sensitive Little Sibling

Kai

He's already a protective older brother, but with you being so sensitive, he's ultra-protective

Even when people are being nice to you he's hovering carefully, making sure they don't do anything that might hurt you

Not that he really needs to hover; you usually stick to his side anyway

Maybe that's also why he gets worried when you're on your own, though... he's not used to not having you nearby

Whenever he's forced to leave you, he makes sure you're in good hands (i.e. with the other ninja) first

He knows you're sensitive, but he's still Kai; you're not escaping a little sibling conflict

Sometimes he gets annoyed when you follow him around too much, and he'll get all quiet

He knows why you do it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't irritate him a bit

There have been times during which he'd snap and tell you to go find someone else to follow around

If/when that makes you cry, though, he does a complete 180 turn

He crouches down to your level, smoothing your head and frantically telling you he didn't mean it

"Aw, Y/n, please don't cry! I didn't mean it..! Please don't cry!"

Then he'll give you a piggyback if you want it, entirely forgetting his earlier desire to be alone

Cole

He's also pretty protective, but he's more focused on your character and emotions than actually defending you from the world

What I mean is that he'll watch for when you're upset, and when you do get upset he'll take the opportunity to try and build a little character

He's super gentle and always supportive, of course, but at the same time he wants you to grow

So when you cry, he'll hug you until you're calm but then he'll try and talk it out with you

"What made you upset?" ... "Why do you think that upset you?" ... "How can we make sure that doesn't happen again?"

I think he's just really emotionally mature, and he'd want his little sibling to have that maturity, too

Of course, he doesn't force it on you; you're just a kid after all

But he tries to get you on the right path

He still gives you lots of affection though, and is always checking to make sure you're comfortable

When you have to separate, he does try to leave you with one of the other ninja, but if he can't he'll offer lots of reassurance that he'll be right back

He'll be so proud if you're able to be alone for a bit!!

All in all he's just super supportive regarding your needs, but also wants you to learn and grow

Jay

Out of all the ninjas, he coddles you the most

When someone makes you cry he's on them like a feral cat

Once he's satisfied that they've gotten what they deserved (or when they're done beating his ass 💀) he'll come to check on you

He's a little scatterbrained, so he doesn't always remember that you're fragile

Sometimes he'll accidentally make a backhanded comment or leave you all on your own

When he realizes his mistake he flies into a panic, especially if he's mid-mission and remembers that you're alone

He hates seeing you cry, and just the thought of it makes his stomach churn

He always gives you the tightest hug when he realizes his mistake/gets reunited with you, apologizing a million times

Honestly he's more upset about it than you are

Long after you've stopped crying, he's still apologizing (and probably crying a little himself)

Just call him a crybaby and he'll stop on the dot

He'll just stand up and furrow his brows

"Okay, I see how it is. I was all worried about my little Y/n and now they're making fun of me. I guess that's what I get!"

(You're both able to laugh about it, dw)

Zane

As has been established, he's not the most emotionally intelligent out of all the ninjas

Sometimes he struggles to know what he's feeling himself; your emotions are a whole other realm to him

That doesn't mean he can't tell when you're upset, though

Whenever you start to whimper or cry he's at your side in a second, holding your shoulder affirmingly

He's not always sure what to say, but if you want to hug him he'll hug you back

He'll patiently wait for you to calm down, then he'll try to understand why you were upset

"Um, do you know why... what... made you... cry..?"

Be patient with him, I promise he's trying 😭

He starts to learn after a while which things upset you most, and he starts to look out for them whenever you're with him

Whenever he spots one of those things, he's already hurrying to your side before you even start crying

He feels really proud whenever he's able to catch a fit before it happens :)

Honestly, as protective as he feels towards you, he sometimes wonders if you're better off with the other ninjas

You're just so emotional, and he feels like the other ninjas might understand you better

He actually sometimes looks to them to help calm you down

But ultimately he does prefer to be the one to help you, both because he feels responsible and because he loves you the most

Lloyd

He was a pretty rowdy kid when he was your age, so he has a little trouble understanding you

He was rude where you're sensitive, he was cruel where you're gentle... when he thinks of you compared to his younger self, it's like night and day

So he doesn't always catch things that might make you cry

(makes it a little hard to be protective when you don't know which things to be protective about...)

Only when someone else points them out, or when he hears your high-pitched whine, does he realize that you've been upset

He'll rub your back and try to calm you down, but honestly he's a little apprehensive

Like I said, he can't really relate, so he struggles to empathize

That doesn't mean he won't try, though

He'll give you a hug and tell you everything is fine, but he's not sure if he's actually being helpful

"Hey, hey, it's okay..! Here, give me a hug!"

He just feels really bad for you, especially because of this

He asks the others for advice sometimes, trying to understand what it might've been like to be a kid who spent more time being afraid and gentle than trying to be tough and evil

They always assure him that he's doing a great job, with him being so great at showing kindness already

He still doubts himself, and he probably always will, but he'll never stop trying to be there for you

Nya

If you were anyone else's sibling, or just a random kid, Nya would absolutely coddle you

She'd be the most protective person ever, always at your side, ready to defend you from the world

But since you're a Smith...

Sorry, you're getting none of that

She'll never berate you or anything, but every time you start to have a breakdown, she tries to get you to toughen up a little

"Come on, my Y/n, dry those tears. It's not that bad. I'm here."

She'll still be hugging you anyway while she says this

The way she sees it, Kai can do the babying, and she can do the actual teaching

Though she can't help the distaste she feels whenever Kai treats you like a baby

She's talked to him before about getting you to grow up a little, and he does agree that you can't always be this sensitive

From then on they work together to find the balance between comforting you and toughening you up

(Kai still does most of the comforting and Nya still does most of the toughening)

She knows what it's like to be the "weaker" sibling, and she doesn't want that for you–not now, not ever

She'll even give you fighting lessons if it makes you feel stronger :D (tbh she probably will anyway)

Thank you so much for this request! And thanks for reading, take care sweet duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

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holy-harkers-47 · 6 months ago

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clemmie headcanons !!!

according to cole, their laugh sounds like bells

tends to get very very cold very easily

^^ always has cold hands

friend of all bugs

used to do ballet, still dabbles in it sometimes

doesn't like their hair being touched, unless it's by cole or perrine. perrine bc they trust them, and cole bc they're very tender-handed, and knows how to be careful and gentle

loves loves loves sweets !!! esp pastries

loves humming to cole's guitalele

very close friends w/ perrine, tends to confide in them abt cole

doesn't cry easily, but will start sobbing if cole accidently hurts their feelings :[

tends to be a bit bratty due to their childhood, and being raised in a very rich household

'speaks to the wind' and 'sings to the mountains'

big fan of bows, ruffles, lace, bells, etc <3

is insanely flexible

always smells like wildflowers

^^ speaking of which, loves flowers- esp getting to braid cole's hair with them / tucking them into cole's shirts ( says it makes them look handsome <3 )

^^ they also regularly give cole flowers they think look pretty / neat (cole presses and dries them, and then puts them in their notebooks <33)

commonly gets dizzy / faint

paints / decorates cole's guitalele sometimes

loves tea parties. the others don't really like them, but they like clémmie to be happy, so they participate

collects stuffed animals ( esp ones with big black / brown eyes )

very very neat

occasionally goes nonverbal due to trauma

^^ uses sign language to communicate when this happens

likes to read in their free time, has a small library in their room

total hopeless romantic

often labeled as a 'child prodigy' or 'artistic / musical genius'

hates eating meat. diet is mostly made up of fruit, pasta, cheese, and bread, but they will eat other things if offered ! only dietary restriction is meat

their name, clémentine, means merciful or gentle :]

first language is french ! they tend to forget some english words, and asks perrine what the word is ( perrine learned french for them <3)

cannot go an hour without chapstick. hates hates hates having dry lips

^^ same goes for lotion. hates having dry skin, so they always carry a small tube with them ( for themselves + the rest of the lark )

loves their nose and smile !!! makes them feel different and pretty :]]

has a very small appetite. usually only finishes one plate, or less than one. offers the rest of their food up, mostly taken by cole or kingsley. kingley will take it without thinking twice, but cole typically hesitates ; "are you okay ? are you sure i can have this ?"

loves loves loves making desserts, esp for cole !

not a morning person. loves their beauty sleep

huge fan of people watching and bird watching

^^ has a huge window on the wall their bed is pushed up against, so they can watch the others (if they're out) or the birds before getting up !

all of their shoes (aside from the ones they usually wear) are mary janes

prefers fem / neu compliments (ex. beautiful, pretty, etc.)

painted / sculpted all of their masks

curls their hair around their fingers when anxious

has extreme hair shrinkage, and when they fully stretch their hair out, it goes down to about their mid back

cole knows origami, and makes clémmie lots of little origami animals

daydreams a lot

gives out kisses / affection to the rest of the lark. lots of forehead / cheek / hand kisses + cuddles to everyone who wants em

is 4'11, 5'0 with their shoes on.

affectionate headbutts.

caution ; slight angst below !!

is used to being dehumanized / treated like an object due to their parents and childhood

^^ father generally treated them as a muse for his dolls, as well as treating them similarly to a doll ( dressing them up in lace / ruffles / bows / etc., and being extremely paranoid about clémmie's 'fragility' )

mother always put them on a pedestal and showed them off, as well as making efforts to keep clémmie quiet ( essentially making sure they knew that they didn't have their own feelings / thoughts )

doesn't like the words 'ladybug,' 'bumblebee,' or 'butterfly' as nicknames, esp when referring to them. all three are nicknames their dad had for them :[

^^ on a similar note, doesn't like being compared to dolls. (ex. 'you're pretty as a doll', referring to them as 'doll,' etc.)

more may be added later (might be in a reblog, might be just editing this post ! <3)

. * ° 🐇 🪕 🌾 ° * .

!! before commenting / tagging on this post, please know that clémentine uses neutral pronouns, and she / her or he / him pronouns are not appreciated when referring to them !! :[

#cole yaelokre #colentine #harpy hare #hayfields #meadowlark #yaelokre #perrine meadowlark #cole meadowlark #kingsley meadowlark #clementine meadowlark #clementine yaelokre #kingsley yaelokre #perrine yaelokre #yaelokre clementine #yaelokre cole #yaelokre kingsley #yaelokre perrine #keath osk

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notmyprey · 4 months ago

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Annon sent me an ask with a lot of Ninjagº sfw vore prompts, and this one caught my eye specifically, and I want to dedicate a post to it.

I dont have time to draw much, but yall can have a short story-

(Also, wanna preface this with: no, I dont ship Lloyd and Kai. They have a sibling bond imo, and idk it'd be kinda weird with the age gap for a lot of the show. But I'm not gonna send hate to those who do see it like that. Just know this is written with a sibling bond in mind.

Also, this is written abt Lloyd after he grew up and matured a bit. So like- season 5+ Lloyd)

Click

The sound was faint, yet Lloyd knew exactly what it meant. Drop, cover, and prey to the gods it wasn't aimed towards you. Not even a moment after he dove behind the nearest bolder did he hear the thundering boom followed by the bright flash. Wind rushed past him, throwing ash and debris his way. The deafening sound echoed through his very core. It never seemed to end, his body left still shaking minutes after it was done. The cavern bounced the noise, rolling it off one wall and onto the next. It felt like it lasted ages within the few minutes it actually occurred.

The fighting, the punching, the swords, and the guns, all of these never fazed him. But explosions? Those were his weaknesses. His mind would always race back to his past and, consequently, his father. Lloyd didnt know exactly why it reminded him of his dad, but the fact that, like his father, an explosion would hurt anyone, even those on its own side, seemed to be a part of it.

The cavern soon quieted down, but his fear did not. The images of his father still fresh in his mind. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the haze he was in.

Him and Kai had gone into a cavern alone since there were 3 diverging paths. Up until now, we had only encountered arrow traps and small pits. But this? This was a new threat.

Was it over, the blast? He wondered, slowly inching towards the edge of the rock. He turned his head, looking for the brightness that would signal it was not over, yet all he was met with was dark.

He peered his head around the bolder, scanning for any sight of Kai. The smoke and ash coated his vision, making it ever more difficult to locate him. After a moment, though, he spotted Kai's fiery red suit. No matter how quickly he wanted to rush over to him, he needed to keep low as to breathe in the least amount of smoke, and he needed to scan for any more explosive traps. So, as such, he slowly inched his way along the cave floor.

By the time he made it to Kai, he could see Kai was in bad condition. His breathing was uneven, meaning he probably breathed in a lot of smoke and ash, and although he didn't seem to have any burns, he still had a lot of cuts and bruises from flying rocks.

Lloyd turned his gaze upward once more, showing the smoke had mostly cleared now. Normally, he would call Cole, Zane, or even Kai over, and one of them would be able to swallow whoever was hurt down. But now, there was no one else but him and the now injured Kai.

He forced his head back towards Kai, who had now opened his eyes. "Hey," Lloyd started, unsure of how to even approach this, "uh... how are you feeling."

A small smile tugged at Kai's lips, even through the pain. "I-", he devolved into a short coughing fit but slowly gained his ability to speak once more, "I have been better." He had to stop to take a breath after every word, something that worried Lloyd further.

Lloyd nodded and continued to fumble over his words. "I... I think it's maybe best... maybe if I..."

"It's ok, do what you have to do, kid." Kai gave a weak but reassuring smile, which gave Lloyd that little extra confidence he needed to continue. Kai knew what had to happen, and Lloyd did too. Kai couldn't stay on the ground here, and Lloyd couldn't carry him either for fear of hurting him further.

Taking a deep breath in, Lloyd stretched his arms out above Kai, holding his palms down, and his fingers stretched out as well. He softly recited the words taught to him. He himself had only done this twice before, but both times were in a controlled setting, and neither times had he actually been the one to eat the person that was shrunken down. Green light fluttered down from his palms, brushing downward with grace. As he finished, he saw Kai quickly start to shrink down.

Soon, Kai was a bit shorter than Lloyds hand from top to bottom. It was strange, seeing Kai so small and fragile. In his mind, Kai was his stronger older brother, the one who had always taken care of him. And now, Lloyd had to be the one to take care of Kai.

He pried Kai off the ground, gently rolling him into his hands and carefully curling his fingers a bit to create a barrier so Kai wouldn't roll immediately off his hands. He lifted Kai to his face, prompting a small groan to come from Kai, who was probably in a lot of pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Now that he was face to face with Kai, Lloyd felt the need to say something. Cole and Jay normally said some sort of joke before eating someone, and Zane normally comforted them, but Kai, he would say something motivational. Perhaps that's why Lloyd always gave so many motivational speeches before missions.

Right now, though, as he thought on what to say, he found that he couldn't really say anything. He was speechless. He couldn't find the words to say to make Kai more comfortable. So he didn't. Instead, he gently brought Kai to his chest, giving him a sort of hug, and held him there for a moment. Kai's breathing slowed, and just for a moment, it felt as though everything was alright again.

Lloyd brought Kai back up to his face, smiling once more before gathering up the courage to open his mouth.

He maneuvered his hands, allowing him to slowly slide Kai onto his tongue. Immediately, Lloyd tasted blood and ashes on Kai's suit. He had to stop himself from gagging. Fighting every instinct that told Lloyd not to eat Kai, he slid him further into his mouth. Finally, only Kai's feet remained outside his lips, but due to how small his mouth is, he couldn't slip them inside without beginning to swallow Kai first. No matter what he did, Lloyd couldn't seem to get any saliva on Kai, his mouth joining in on telling him not to eat what his body must think is poison.

Regaurdless, he took a loud, thick swallow. Although it didn't do much, it did succeed in sending Kai's head into his throat and Kai's feet into his mouth. He promptly clamped his mouth shut behind him and desperately tried to get any amount of saliva in his dry mouth to coat Kai with.

It was horriblely uncomfortable having just a small portion of Kai in his throat. It kept triggering his need to swallow, but he couldn't yet. He knew he needed Kai to be at least lightly coated in drool to get him down, as learned from Jay not doing that once and nearly choking. Finally, after what seemed like too long, his mouth decided to cooperate, drenching Kai in thick goopy saliva.

He gave in to the instinct to swallow, almost happy to get rid of the unpleasant feeling of having someone on the edge of his throat. Kai slipped deeper into Lloyds throat, his muscles idly helping him along. With each gulp, Kai slipped further out of his mouth until finally he was gone. Now, a great lump sat in the middle of his throat. As he continued swallowing, Kai drifted deeper and deeper within him. When Kai went past his heart, he couldn't help but stop breathing for a moment.

After a bit longer, Kai drifted even further down and now was nearing his stomach. Lloyd braced himself. All of his brothers had told him this was the strangest part, but what he felt no amount of his brothers describing could ever replicate. At first, the feeling was sickening. A sudden bout of pressure built up inside his stomach, and it wasn't exactly pleasant. But after that initial sickness came the feeling similar to a hug.

He could feel Kai pressing against his stomach much more than he had originally thought he would have been able to feel. His stomach stretched a bit to accommodate for Kai's presence, and it didn't feel unnatural. As the last of Kai finally slipped into his stomach, Lloyd brought his hand up to his middle.

Gently, he pressed where he felt Kai, and to his surprise, Kai, although weakly, pressed back. This small pressure sent a strange shiver up his spine. He was able to keep Kai safe, ever so so safe. Nothing could get to Kai without going through him first. All those years of Kai helping him, he was finally able to start to pay him back.

Not being able to help the small smile that tugged at his lips, Lloyd got up, continuing on down the cave in search of their mission.

So yah, sorry I kinda took the turn of, whether Lloyd wants to or not- but yeah I still loved this prompt and idk I may make more stories based off of this prompt alone lol.

#sfw vore #extreme cuddling #e a/t #n.injago vore #nomjago

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anerdinallherglory · 4 days ago

Text

Approaching Sun (40)

Author’s Note: It may not seem like it, but I promise this story is “approaching” its end. I’m excited to write the last several chapters, so you won’t have to wait as long for the next one hopefully. Sorry for the wait!

Songs: 1) Butterflies by Tom Odell ft. AURORA, 2) Ghosts by James Vincent McMorrow, 3) Meet Me at Our Spot by THE ANXIETY, WILLOW, Tyler Cole.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39

Chapter 40: Selfishness

It was hours before dawn, the darkness still a shield that protected them from tomorrow, when Sasuke felt Sakura shift under his encircling arm. He inwardly groaned as she made to move away from him, because it meant that she was cutting this short, choosing to break into the soft sleepy realm of togetherness that the dark sky promised them. It had been a night unlike any other, a night of peace and safety as they slept in their bed, in their home, in their village. Sakura’s decision to try to sneak away was as abrasive as the sunrise would have been in that moment. Sasuke tightened his hold, pulling her back into his chest where he curled his body around her as if he could protect the peace of now just by holding her to him. He gave a grunt of protest as she froze.

Sasuke was usually the one who was up all hours of the night, hardly sleeping at times while he traveled across foreign territories. Typically haunted by nightmares and the past when his eyes closed, Sasuke was usually the one beyond eager to greet the next day, the sunrise the only interruption able to halt the endless torment of his mind. It wasn’t until this very moment as Sakura woke first beside him, that Sasuke realized he hadn’t been plagued by dreams of any kind for the last month at least, and he didn’t need to wonder as to why. The why slept beside him, trying to pull away from him and begin the day at an ungodly hour.

“Are you always going to have this annoying habit?” he whispered into her shoulder, not even allowing the strength of a solid voice to interrupt this stillness.

“What habit,” she answered back, just as quietly, but the mirthful faux exasperation still made its way through with her sharp exhalation of breath.

“The one where you sneak away when you think I’m asleep,” Sasuke chided. “This makes at least four times now, I believe.”

“I have to go and see—” she began, but Sasuke just pulled her in tighter, shaking his head against her shoulder. No. He simply wouldn’t let her go just yet.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. Just stay with me.”

And his own words fully woke him like an ironic nightmare. ‘So please. Just stay with me, Sasuke. And if you can’t, then take me with you.”’ He dug his nose deeper into her shoulder blades, shaking free from those lingering words that had never stopped ricocheting through the echoing chambers of his heart. But he was here now. They were together. And she had agreed to come with him. Sasuke Uchiha was determined to rewrite the story of them from the moment he had made his vows in an underground cave.

“I can’t stay in this bed for much longer if you want to depart the village by sunrise,” she informed him, and Sasuke wanted to say it didn’t matter, but that would be a lie, and she knew the Uchiha well enough to infer that he wanted to leave in the quiet as he always chose to do. “I have to talk to Kakashi…” she sighed, and then added more softly, as if the truth of it was fragile: “… before I leave with you.”

Sasuke stared into her back as she said it, and his heart climbed while his stomach sank with his guilt. Despite his initial resolve to make Sakura stay behind for the sake of her goals, her safety, and the village, Sasuke had asked her to come with him.

“Come with me, Sakura,” he had requested—a moment of weakness truly, the voice of the starved, desert man—and she had stared at him for a long minute after, as if waiting for him to take the words away again. Sasuke hated that it was in his nature to overthink everything, fail expectations, and create this pattern in Sakura of expecting the floor to be ripped out from beneath her. He hated it, but it didn’t change the fact that she was right to believe it of him.

“What?” she had voiced, expressing that uncertainty. “You’re asking me to come on your mission with you?”

“Yes,” he had doubled down, convincing both of them of what his heart had decided. “Come with me, Sakura.”

“Why the change in heart?” she had asked. “You said—”

“I know. I just—I’m selfish, too, Sakura. I shouldn’t be asking you this. It’s dangerous. But I—just don’t want it to be over yet. I need to find Kaguya, and I want you safe, and I shouldn’t—”

God, he had been a bumbling idiot. Had he ever rambled incoherently in front of anyone before? All of that usually took place in his mind, but this time, he struggled audibly, trying to make her understand with words that never came naturally to the Uchiha. He was only ever eloquent when he was being snarky or vindictive.

“Stop talking yourself out of it,” she smiled, shuffling closer toward him on the bed and pulling that green cotton comforter that smelled like her up and over their bare skin. “I’ll come with you.”

“I wish you would say no. I’m having a hard time doing what’s best for the both of us right now.”

“I’ve only ever dreamed of hearing you ask me that,” she had said in response. “Of course I am not saying no.”

But afterward, his thoughts had predictably raced throughout the night as Sasuke over-analyzed his request, the decision to bring his new wife with him, and what that would mean for her and the village. What it would mean for his mission. Was he really allowed such selfishness? What would Itachi think if he knew that Sasuke had committed himself to a similar life of sacrifice, but that his younger brother had faltered. Sasuke had put it on pause, hadn’t he? The moment he had chosen to meet her lips with his own back in Suna.

“Am I allowed this,” Sasuke voiced the words he had harbored to himself in the quiet after of sex and Sakura’s sleep-induced cadence of breathing, “Maybe I cannot be like Itachi, after all. Maybe I’m still too weak to live a life of sacrifice.”

The back of her head rested back against his shoulder, until their faces became parallel silhouettes. “You’re choices now are not going to interrupt your mission Sasuke,” she whispered, hitting straight to the concerns in his heart. “I’m going to help you, not become a hinderance to you like Shikamaru believes. The four of us—Team 7—we are going to protect this peace together. We all have roles to play.”

And that’s why it was selfish of him, Sasuke wanted to say, but, again, couldn’t find the words to explain it. Because he had juxtaposed her mission with being with him, while Sasuke planned to do both: execute his mission while she followed him. Sakura was so much more than his wife, especially to the Leaf, but Sasuke just wanted his wife to be with him a little longer. The problem was that it would be to her own sacrifice. Sasuke would be forgoing nothing, which felt counterintuitive to his entire goal. He knew no matter what he said, Sakura wouldn’t see it as Sasuke did.

“And I am taking you away from your role,” he tried to explain, but she shook her head.

“I choose my own role.”

Sensing the unspoken monologue of his mind, she turned under his clinging arm to face him. “You’re allowed to be selfish for once—” she began, but Sasuke’s sigh of despondency cut her short.

“I’ve allowed myself a lifetime of selfishness in a short few years, remember? I only thought of myself and my own goals and caused a lot of pain in the process. Being selfless is a part of my journey of atonement. You were never supposed to be a part of that—”

And Sakura interrupted him this time, stopping his self-critical speech before he could spiral further. Her left palm reached up to the plane of his cheek, staring at him through the dark. “Your future is going to be nothing but sacrifice, remember? Mine too, now. I’m going to be selfish this time, too, because we have nothing but a future of sacrifice ahead of us. The universe will be paid its due of sacrifice in full, I promise you.”

He tried to say more, something about how his past was not hers to atone for, how he wished he could spare her from this life altogether, but she kissed him before he could give voice to any more of his concerns. Concerns even about her safety despite everything she had proven to him recently. Like a persistent gnat, that dread that he would be the reason Sakura was pulled back into danger again now that she was safely in Konoha—it would always be there. But Sasuke was going to eradicate the threat that remained and ease his anxieties a bit by doing so.

“You can’t take it back,” she whispered. “I’ll continue my work wherever it takes me and I’ll help you with your goals. Just as before. We deserve this.”

She slipped from under his braced arm then, her inhuman strength always catching Sasuke by surprise no matter how many times she had reminded him of her abilities. He tried to blame it on her taking advantage of his lack of an appendage.

Sasuke heard the shower as she retreated into the bathroom down the hall, and he face-planted back onto the pillow in exhaustion. That is until he heard her tentatively call out, “want to join me?”

Sasuke shot straight up, all fatigue suddenly gone and that gentle undisturbed night gave way to the immediate, panicky present. He blushed furiously at that question, staring wide-eyed down the hall. Did she just invite him into the shower with her? Sasuke chided himself for his reaction immediately. He had just done unspeakable things with that woman not five hours ago, but here he was acting like a shy first-year genin at the suggestion that he shower with her.

He didn’t answer, reminding himself that she likely wore a blushing face to match his, even if she was the one brave enough to ask him. Sasuke Uchiha would be damned if he skipped the opportunity. He was still a man, even if his desires for her were kept strictly in the privacy between them. But beyond that, he was more tempted to accept her offer because there was something remarkably intimate about being with someone in such an exposed way that it went beyond comfortability. Sasuke didn’t want to miss out on the normalcy that developed between two people living their mundane lives beside one another, where acts such as showering together were almost as normal as showering alone. He wanted to participate in the mutual lifestyle, even if it wasn’t the sort of routine Sasuke would get to hold on to in the future. The fact that he was even getting the chance to be with someone in such a way, reminded Sasuke of how far he had come and the small miracles he was going to be getting despite that vow of complete selflessness he had made to himself.

Climbing into the shower, Sasuke had guessed right. Sakura’s face was the same rosy shade as her hair, which was just as lovely all lathered and molded into a crown atop her head. He even noticed how the blush spread down to the back of her neck and kissed the tops of her shoulders. They both locked eyes and immediately dropped their gazes to their feet, pointedly ignoring eachothers’ nakedness as if it they hadn’t just been intimate hours earlier. Their eyes locked again as they looked back up, and Sakura smiled at him reassuringly before she traded positions with him under the showerhead. She was pretending to be unaffected, continuing to massage her scalp and newly-short hair, the soap bubbles running in rivulets along the paths of the loose hair along her nape drawing Sasuke’s attention, and he desperately wanted to run his fingers through it. And to Sasuke’s surprise, Sakura must have been thinking similarly, because she reached up to his own wet black locks immediately and did just that. He closed his eyes as she stood on her tiptoes and began massaging soap into his scalp with two hands. Gods, that felt fucking amazing.

“Showers were such a great invention,” he announced, to which Sakura agreed, going into detail about how the homes were built with modern plumbing after Pain’s demolition of the Leaf, among other modifications and technological advancements.

The hot water was blissful, a luxury Sasuke did not often receive on the road, unless he was lucky enough to stumble upon a hot spring. Even a daily bath was often a rarity, and so Sasuke was determined to enjoy every second of it. He would enjoy it a lot more though, if she would let him bathe her in return. Boldly, but growing in the increasing confidence and comfortability he was finding with her these days, Sasuke turned Sakura so that she faced the stream of the shower head.

He moved his hand to her hair, mimicking her washing efforts single-handedly, fingering those pink, bubble woven strands.

“Do you like girls with short hair or long hair?” she suddenly inquired, and Sasuke halted for a moment at the question. Why did she suddenly want to know that? It immediately felt like the sort of question with no right answer, and his internal alarms were going off.

“Irrelevant, considering you’re the only girl I have, or will ever like.” Surely that was the right answer. It was the truth of it, anyway. Sasuke hoped it would be enough of a response to satisfy her, but Sakura pushed on as his single-handed massaging continued.

“This is going to sound silly, but all of us girls at the academy grew our hair out on purpose because we had all heard the rumor that you liked girls with long hair.”

Sasuke raised a curious brow, trying desperately, but failing to recall any sort of youthful declaration of preference. If Sasuke were to guess, he had probably said all kinds of things to ward off silly girl advances. If someone with a schoolgirl crush on him wore glasses, he would have told her he hated girls with glasses. If another girl was short, he would have said he liked taller girls. And so on and so forth. Anything to spurn them and send them on their way. Sasuke had never had a preference for such things. A preference would be admitting he liked anyone for anything at all. And to be honest, Sasuke hadn’t even paid attention to a girl’s hair until one specific day in the Forest of Death.

“I like your hair,” he admitted candidly. “Especially when you go and cut it off like it’s some declaration of war.”

He could tell she was smiling simply from the way she ducked her head slightly. “I guess in a way, it is,” she admitted.

Sasuke pulled his fingers away from her hair, curling them in hesitation, before deciding to trace a path in the soap at her shoulder blades, once again creating that symbol on her back. It had begun as a sort of declarative mark, a way to tell the world who she was to him; then that mark had become his hope for the future of his—their—clan; but more recently, tracing that symbol into her back was like a therapeutic reminder to them both. Of the choice he had made. When he did so now, Sakura laughed, but Sasuke was telling himself in his head: it’s real. This is real. This is happening. I can have this. I want this. She wants this. WE will make it work one way or another and no one is going to take it from me. Fuck complete selflessness. Just like this shared experience of showering with another person, the Uchiha symbol on Sakura’s back was proof of how far he had come from the man of three years ago, the one who would have killed her and Naruto for simply existing and being liabilities to him.

“So it was just a rumor then,” Sakura stated, refusing to drop her chosen subject even though Sasuke was now miles away from it in his head. It felt like whiplash, coming back to it. “All that time believing such a silly thing would make you like me, when it was power you only ever truly respected.”

Something in Sasuke’s stomach soured at those words and he called upon his years of practiced indifference to refrain himself from flinching. There was truth to her statement, they both knew, and Sasuke hated that he had been that type of person. Looking back on how Sasuke had treated those with power versus how he had acted towards others he believed to be weaker than himself. Had he not sought out Team Taka based on their abilities alone? Suddenly, the Uchiha sort of wished he had been the type of person to have a preference for one’s hair instead of one’s power and ninja ability.

Sasuke wanted to remedy his actions to her, explain it away, but like always, was going to fail miserably, he knew. He settled with trying to emphasize who he was now. “I don’t see people that way anymore. I think you’re the most powerful kunoichi in the world, but I loved you before any of that.” Sasuke wasn’t going to voice that it definitely eased his concerns knowing she was a sanin-level kunoichi who had proved to him countlessly now that she didn’t need others to protect herself. It wouldn’t be beneficial to bring that up again right now.

She turned back to face him then, once again moving to switch spots with him under the running water. Even though their conversation had taken a downward turn, Sasuke couldn’t help himself from trailing her body with his eyes as they pivoted, and her lower back brushed against his legs. It surprised himself how much of an affected man he actually was, even though he would convince the world he was impervious to such things. Just as Sasuke had admitted to the both of them last night, he would be alone in the near future and was eager to store as many visuals of her naked as he could before they parted. He wouldn’t ask her for anything more substantial now, though. Sakura was coming with him, and he could go back to allowing things to naturally transpire between them, instead of rushing into them like that starved desert man in his mind that Sasuke was having a hard time fighting against and reasoning with. He turned his own back to her when the evidence of his affectedness traveled south, and he disguised the concealing of it with the act of letting the water stream down into his face and over his chest. It was his ninja instinct that told him her eyes appraised him similarly while his back was turned.

It was obvious she didn’t notice his own elation, because she immediately asked with a bashful smile and redirected gaze, “So you’ve admitted twice now that you cared for me when we were genin. When exactly did that start?”

Oh, shit. Sasuke supposed he had alluded to that twice now—more like confessed it outright. He had angrily disclosed to Sakura in the heat of last night that his growing feelings for her was the reason for his inexcusable behavior towards her. Sasuke had told Sakura that he knew who she would become to him, which is why he had done everything to make her hate him and permanently cut his bond with her in every way possible. He chastised himself silently for admitting that. The truth to her question was that Sasuke couldn’t pinpoint when he had begun to care for her in more ways than a friend. Not exactly, anyway. At first, Sakura annoyed him. Like all the others. Naruto, of course, at the top of his list—but she wasn’t far behind, claiming she was in love with him when she didn’t even know him. He would say he had begun to care about her around the same time he had begun to care for the rest of Team 7. But when did he know that he would come to care for Sakura in a way that was more? The Chuunin exams? When he had woken from the effects of the Curse Mark to find her beaten and at the mercy of three sound ninja, and realized he would mangle and kill them for it? Or was it before then? Maybe as far back as The Land of Waves, when she thought he was dying and clung desperately to him as if doing so would keep him tethered to this world. Sasuke didn’t know exactly when it had begun for him, and so he avoided her eyes, scrambling to escape answering that question, afraid to not have the answer she hoped for. He reached back to turn off the tap before reaching for the towels beyond the curtain.

His wife’s persistent silence told Sasuke she’d wait the answer out.

“Hmm,” he stalled, then decided on an answer that sounded more like his usual self: “does it really matter?”

She immediately frowned, and Sasuke smirked as he began to towel his hair. It was getting too long and was longer than Sakura’s now when wet. Damn he wished he had two hands so he could dry off faster and leave the washroom that much quicker.

But Sakura was as relentless as usual, deciding to take a guess at it herself.

“In the Forest of Death? During the Chunnin Exams?” She gasped, as if suddenly realizing something and covered her face with her hands. “When I tried to kiss you on the bench? No, that can’t be right. You were so angry that day, calling me annoying for the first time.”

Sasuke halted his efforts of toweling his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re still going to pretend that you don’t remember that day?! You tried this the night you left, too!” Sakura reproached his forgetfulness. “I’ll never forget when you called me annoying because I was being harsh about Naruto’s upbringing…I thought you were angry because I had tried to kiss you, but I also sort of said some stupid things—” she confessed in a stutter, avoiding his confused stare

“No,” he clarified. “I remember that part. And calling you annoying. I lied that night and said I didn’t remember that day, but I do. But that’s not the part I’m talking about.”

She narrowed her eyes at his blatant provocation.

“I don’t ever remember you trying to kiss me,” he deadpanned.

“Seriously? You asked me what I thought about Naruto, and I gave an obnoxiously embarrassing speech about how I only wanted your acceptance.” She ducked her head in defeat, grabbing her own towels and wrapping them delicately around herself. “I learned my lesson after that day, and I never said anything like that again. Or tried to kiss you.”

Sasuke listened with roaming, blinking eyes as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. “I don’t remember any of that. I do remember being very angry that day because Naruto had—” Sasuke stopped talking abruptly as the pieces suddenly put themselves together. That day had been like any other normal day, until Naruto ambushed him in his room with his shadow clones. They tied him up and Sasuke was forced to watch as Naruto transformed into him, a perfect Sasuke Uchiha double. That damn idiot.

“What?” she asked, already in the process of adorning her morning work clothes despite the pre-dawn hour.

“That wasn’t me,” Sasuke smirked to himself. “That was Naruto.”

Sakura straightened in disbelief. “Wait, what?”

“That idiot had transformed into me. Caught me by surprise and tied me up that day. I watched him transform into me and run off. And after all this time, now I know what he did as he pretended to be me.” Sasuke wanted to laugh as if he were a genin genuinely amused by the shenanigans of Team 7 once more. Naruto had pretended to be Sasuke that day because he had wanted to get closer to Sakura, who had almost kissed him because she had been so infatuated with her schoolgirl crush. The idea of it had the Uchiha suddenly grinning wildly. Like a treasure in a time capsule, the revelation came to him like a precious piece of the past. Like the cicada song of Konoha, it made Sasuke feel warm instead of exasperated at Naruto’s trickeries that day.

In contrast, Sakura shrieked as the realization of what Naruto had done dawned upon her, too. “HE DID WHAAAAAT?! That IDIOT!”

Sasuke grinned mischievously, not passing up the perfect opportunity of teasing her. “You almost kissed Naruto.”

Her mouth fell open. She stuttered before emphatically tossing down her towel on the floor and promising, “I’m seriously going to kill him for that.”

When Sasuke laughed again, Sakura pointed at him with her own devious smirk. “Well, one of us really did kiss Naruto, and it wasn’t me, unless mouth-to-mouth counts.”

Sasuke threw his own towel at her face, his laughter dying immediately as hers picked back up again. “Don’t ever bring that up again. And mouth-to-mouth counts.”

She laughed, peeking under the towel over her head. “Then I guess both of our first kisses were with Naruto. Can you believe that? And I’ve technically kissed several people before you then, as well.”

Sasuke frowned at the thought of Sakura performing that medically necessary practice and changed his answer. “Ok. It doesn’t count.”

“Then I win.”

“What was there to win?” he asked incredulously.

“Nothing. But there was something to lose. Your dignity. You lose because you kissed Naruto.”

“His wife, the Hyuga girl, begs to differ.”

“You’re right. Kissing the world’s savior is not a bad way to live your life. I guess that makes you a lucky man, then.”

Sasuke scowled pointedly and Sakura giggled, moving toward him in the dim steamy bathroom, fully clothed now while he was still dripping naked. She splayed her fingertips across his abdomen, and he immediately wiped his face clean of emotion. She took the towel in her other hand and wrapped it around his waist to bring him closer to her. ��Not as lucky I feel getting to kiss you, the savior in the shadows.”

“I guess that’s true,” he murmured with a smug tilt of his chin. She went in for the kiss and Sasuke reached up to secure her neck, guiding her the rest of the way. Their lips touched briefly, a promise for that natural substantiality, after all. That starvation for connection flared to life inside him like that black, pulsating eternal sun of Amaterasu he had become for her.

And then a knock sounded through Sakura’s home. They both immediately stilled as Sasuke’s vision morphed into red and purple. Another knock. His gaze flashed in the direction of the doorway down the hall from them, and he quickly identified the two people, their two outlines of chakra concentrations flickering like flames just outside Sakura’s front door. At first, Sasuke was assuming it might be someone from the hospital again, coming to request her presence. One mass was impressive and flickering erratically, a figure dangling on the other as if supported. Sasuke sighed and deactivated his visual prowess, an unnecessary drain on his chakra now that he had a guess at who was at the door.

Before Sasuke could relay this conjecture to Sakura, the two individuals knocked again and announced their identities themselves. “Sakura?! You in there? Sorry to bother you at this hour, but Lee got a bit carried away drinking again! I heard you were back in the village, are you in there?”

“How often does this sort of thing happen?” Sasuke asked, instantly annoyed for several different reasons: 1) Sakura’s offered kiss had just been interrupted and he had been quite looking forward to that, 2) who in their right mind, because of drunkenness, would casually interrupt her sleep at this hour anyway, and 3) for some reason he would never confess aloud, Sasuke didn’t quite care that Rock Lee was one of the people on the other side of the door.

“Not often,” Sakura relayed, making to step around him. Sasuke scowled. “But when Lee gets like this, I told him to come to me without guilt or reservation.”

Sasuke couldn’t help but scoff distinctly at that.

“I owe him this much, remember?” she declared, making for the couch to grab her father’s old set of clothes from the spot on the arm where Sasuke had left them the last time he had stayed over. She tossed it to him as he continued to pointedly display his annoyed expression. “He fought for me in the Forest of Death and has helped me more since. Even without that between us, he is still a Konoha citizen and my patient.”

Sasuke almost asked ‘how exactly has he helped since’ simply because he wanted to know the specifics, but clamped his mouth shut. Do not be an irrational dick, he told himself. He technically owed Lee too, in a sense, for helping her. Sasuke shut the bathroom door as he heard Sakura receive them, Lee greeting her enthusiastically despite his supposed drunkenness, while Sasuke stood close enough to the bathroom door to eavesdrop while he dressed.

“Sakuraaa?” Lee stuttered, and Sasuke could hear him stumble his way into the small space, knocking his knee ungracefully into the doorframe.

“Leeee,” sighed an exasperated feminine voice that Sasuke recognized, placing it as the female member of Team Guy whom Sasuke couldn’t even recall having ever had a conversation with before. “Get off her! Sorry Sakura, he always gets like this when he’s had too much to drink, but you know that.”

“It’s fine!” Sakura assured them. “Here Lee, let’s get you to the couch.”

It most certainly was not fine, and Sasuke finished dressing, quite done eavesdropping. He had thought he might sit it out in the bathroom, but not after that exchange.

Opening the door, Sasuke casually strode into the kitchen as if he couldn’t be bothered by any of them. He heard the room fall silent as he pointedly ignored them, heading straight to the kitchen in search of that cabinet where he had once retrieved some medication for Sakura’s hangover not several months ago.

Sakura didn’t miss a beat, pretending to be unphased by Sasuke’s sudden unexpected passing, as if this was just as normal as Lee showing up to her house, apparently. “What happened exactly?” she inquired.

“It was an accident,” Tenten explained from the other room, stuttering as she recovered from the shock of randomly seeing Sasuke here after so many years of absence. “We were eating with Choji and Shikamaru, and Lee somehow got his drink mixed up with Shikamaru’s. Next thing we knew, he was hanging from the rafters.”

Sasuke clutched the container with the yellow label marked “Cys/Potas,” the same one that Sakura had indicated had been especially made for Lee’s drunken fist. Next, Sasuke grabbed a glass from a nearby shelf and rotated it in his hand as he thought about that particular information Tenten just divulged. Mixed up drinks? With Shikamaru, of all people? Sasuke pursed his lips as he considered that in the context of recent events. Maybe the shinobi world and his latest interactions concerning the spikey-haired ninja had made him paranoid, but Sasuke scowled down at the reflective glass, overthinking the likelihood of that happening with the Hokage’s right-hand assistant. Shikamaru was a genius, and to put it bluntly, didn’t like the Uchiha (Sasuke didn’t really care, because he didn’t like him all that much either), but would he really go as far as to purposefully get Lee drunk, knowing it was a habit for Lee and his companions to seek Sakura’s assistance? What would be the point of such a calculated move? To spy? To interrupt them? To wake Sakura so she would report to Kakashi? To remind her of her critical function in the Leaf and her other male options? Hn. Sasuke wasn’t going to assume any of that, but he wasn’t going to entirely discredit it as paranoia either.

Sakura didn’t hesitate a second at Tenten’s statement, saying, “Yes, this isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened. Has he eaten anything?”

“Yes,” Tenten replied immediately. “He ate two plates before—” she halted when Sasuke came back into the room.

“This is what you need, correct?” Sasuke ignored them altogether, placing the glass of water and medication he held with one hand onto the table in front of the sofa.

“Yes,” Sakura answered him, not entirely sure whom Sasuke was addressing, but assuming it must have been her, since Sasuke paced to take up his usual shut-eyed spot against one of the walls, making no effort to talk to either of her guests. Sasuke wanted to tell them that they had gotten what they needed so they could leave now, but Sasuke was reminding himself to hold his tongue because he was trying to not come off as the asshole Shikamaru and the rest of Konoha 13 thought him to be. He may not be doing a very good job at it by blatantly ignoring them, but it was better than the annoyed words on his tongue.

Tenten didn’t seem to be too bothered by his predictable stony silence, because she said boldly, “So the rumors are true then. You’re back, Sasuke.”

Sasuke opened an eye to acknowledge her, giving her a polite but not out of character, “Not for long.” He could have remained silent completely, but Sasuke supposed he didn’t want to give the rest of Konoha any more reasons to hate him than they already had, especially those connected to Sakura.

The medicine seemed to be working as Lee began to come out of his drunken haze slowly but surely. “Sakuraaaaa,” he whined again, slumping forward on the couch her general direction. “I know--*hic* that you love Sasuke and all, but *hic*--” he didn’t get further before Tenten slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t say anything more,” she chastised him, then turned to Sakura. “Sorry, he gets emotional and confrontational when he’s like this. He doesn’t mean half of what he says. Thank you for the medication, Sakura. I’ll take him home now.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow at the words that had come from Lee’s mouth, and the challenging glare framed by those bushy brows of his. Confrontational when drunk, indeed; Lee had acted completely different towards him several months back when he had met up with the caravan Lee had been escorting into the village. He had been full of the ‘spirit of youth’ back then, and very enthusiastic to see Sasuke well. And for the first time since all those years ago, Sasuke remembered Lee’s crush on Sakura. And with that memory, Sasuke suddenly had his answer to Sakura’s question from earlier, too. The first time Sasuke had felt something other than comradery toward Sakura had to have been when Lee boldly—still was bold, apparently—confessed his love for her on that first day of the Chuunin exams.

And now that Sasuke held Lee’s gaze, the Uchiha remembered that he had felt a deep annoyance for the ninja’s admiration for Sakura, but it had all been eclipsed once Lee brought up the Uchiha clan and proceeded to challenge Sasuke to a fight. Sasuke had also overlooked his annoyance when Lee had stood up for Sakura in the Forest of Death at a time when Sasuke and Naruto had been incapacitated. It was for those same reasons, that Sasuke chose to not say anything more now. He had always respected Lee, even if the bushy browed ninja did still harbor affection for his wife. A couple months ago, Sasuke would have conceded to Lee for Sakura’s attention, even going as far to push her in the other man’s direction, knowing in his heart that Lee deserved her, would be good to her, and might even make her happy someday through his consistent presence—be Sakura’s doting husband and the father of her children.

Not now though. Whatever Lee had wanted to say to her tonight, it would have been three months too late anyway. Even Lee knew it, because the drunken man sighed as he made to stand, picking up the medication to take with him. Lee was removing the excuse to visit her himself and they all recognized that intentional act. “I’m sorry Sakura. For bothering you again, especially at this hour. I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

“You’re no trouble, Lee. You can always come to me for help. You know that. Tell Shikamaru to be more careful with his drink placement, next time.”

Sasuke glanced at Sakura at that statement. He supposed that he wasn’t the only one who squinted their eyes a bit at the circumstances of tonight.

And even though Sakura had offered Lee her continued assistance, Lee had still taken the medication with him. And Sakura didn’t insist he leave it behind.

They didn’t talk about Lee, or much of anything after the two ninja left, really. Sakura had felt uncomfortable, but firm in her practices whenever the two members of Team Guy had arrived at her door. She had to admit she was a little surprised that Sasuke had retrieved Lee’s medication from her cabinet like he was as familiar with Lee’s drunken care as she was, placing it down on the table for him in her stead. But then again, the Uchiha had done stranger, bolder things in the last couple months that had surprised her more. Sakura knew Sasuke well enough to know why he had done it, doing his best to casually, but firmly reveal their relationship to Tenten and Lee (he didn’t have to come out of that bathroom, and Sakura hadn’t expected him to.)

She raced against the growing hour, throwing things randomly into a travel sack, already determined to leave with him. Sasuke watched her stonily with pursed, tense lips. She ignored him, knowing the Uchiha was still having second thoughts about asking her to continue their traveling together even in this moment. She wasn’t going to give him another out.

“I want to check in with Kakashi once more before we leave,” she announced for a second time, moving through the motions of packing, just as she had done several months prior, and not really paying that much attention to what she was throwing in the bag.

“Sakura..” Sasuke tried, but Sakura anticipated his words and cut him off instantly.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“The Otsusuki—” he began again, refusing not to try one last time to emphasize the primary threat they’d be facing together from this point on.

“Can go to hell,” she finished, handing him her rucksack before boldly fisting her hands behind his neck, her palms sliding to the forefront of his cheekbones. In the dim pre-dawn, lantern-lit hour, Sakura searched both of his eyes. “We get to be selfish.” The window that they had left open all night long, gifted them one last Konoha breeze, the cicadas of the previous evening now silent. Not even they wanted to disturb this quiet solitude, but Sakura had to be the one to set things into motion. For the second time this year, she would tell Kakashi that she was leaving.

Sasuke closed the space between them, taking that kiss that had been interrupted earlier, and Sakura knew this was his way of saying, ‘Okay. Let’s do this, then.’ His mouth was warm and Sakura wanted desperately to climb back into that bed, kiss him into the dawn, and listen to the night give way to birdsong. But Sakura wanted to follow him the rest of the way toward accomplishing his mission more.

To her surprise, Sasuke broke the kiss, he too preparing for the imminent future. She knew he was eager to be gone from Konoha and to resume the hunt for the Otsutsuki.

“Meet me at the gates?” she asked, already gasping, but holding her breath like she could cling to the quiet present shared between them if she did so.

“I’ll meet you there.”

And Sakura assumed he had simply agreed. Donning her white doctor’s coat, she sprinted off into the night, heading toward the spot Sakura knew Kakashi would be.

The pink-haired Kunoichi once again, left her home with a silent farewell, the residence a loyal and waiting fortitude that would forever preserve the short Konoha chapters of their lifelong story together.

Kakashi was a worldclass ninja, and being a ninja, was not in the habit of being snuck up upon, especially here. It was common for the Hokage to upgrade into more secure housing once they became officially titled as the head of the village, but Kakashi had reallocated the Hokage’s quarters for other purposes recently, taking up residence in his old apartment instead. He had meant what he had said this morning about running out of space to house all the individuals flooding into the Leaf Village. He had given up the Hokage quarters to shocked refugees a month ago, preferring to keep his old discreet lodgings for himself. To everyone else’s knowledge but a select few, he had simply upgraded to something more private.

He sat up at the knock, wondering which of those select few had decided to interrupt his sleep, and then shot out of bed as he registered the night out his window. Because if the Hokage was being sought out at this hour, it must be an emergency.

But when he opened the door, Kakashi’s anxiety skyrocketed for an entirely different reason. It was Sakura on the other side of it. He looked down at her, her determined expression as she stared into his chest was all he needed to see to know exactly why she was here. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m leaving,” his pink-haired student blurted out, like it had taken her significant courage to do so. And in a smaller guilty sort-of voice, added, “again.”

“I guessed as much,” Kakashi admitted, opening the door for her to come inside. The action gave her pause and Kakashi knew she was thinking he was inviting her inside because his goal would be to talk her out of it. She met his eyes to try to read his face and her emerald irises widened.

Kakashi sleepily raised a curious brow when her hand went to cover her mouth. “Your mask—it’s OFF?!”

Remembering suddenly that he had chosen to forego the mask while he slept, Kakashi clutched Sakura’s wrist and pulled her the rest of the way inside. When the door was shut behind her, he released her and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I typically sleep with it off, in the privacy of my own home.”

“Um,” Sakura stumbled over her words, her eyes the size of full moons and mouth hung open like the door he had just slammed to avoid prying eyes. “Why do you even wear that mask when you have a face like that, Sensei?”

He turned his back on her in search of said mask, cringing internally that she had seen him without it. “It doesn’t fit me, this face,” he admitted finding the cowl and pulling it down over his chin and nose. “It’s my father’s face. The face of the White Fang.”

“You don’t want to see it?” she asked, moving more fully into the room. It was a labyrinth of books, paperwork, and gifts from the citizens of Konoha. He hadn’t known what to do with such items, but didn’t want to throw them out either, feeling it to be highly disrespectful to do so. So, it had become his surrounding, the insulation of his small apartment.

“No,” he confessed, as unaffected by emotion as possible.

“Then avoid reflective surfaces, but don’t do the rest of the world the disservice.”

He laughed then, enjoying his young student’s playful humor. He would never live this down; she’d never see him the same. Which is precisely why he would wear it to the grave. Kakashi had initially worn it for the reasons he had confessed to Sakura, but it had also just become a part of his persona. Like a pair of glasses or an Anbu mask, Kakashi had grown accustomed to the pressure on his face and now preferred the comfort of something so consistent. It didn’t hurt his shinobi reputation, either, to wear an elusive, intimidating mask. It separated him from his father, distinctly characterizing him as his own person to others. It was quite literally stitched into his identity.

“But seriously,” Sakura continued, “find someone to show yourself to, Sensei. Just because you’re the Hokage doesn’t mean you need to be alone.”

Kakashi sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. Is this what it felt like when he interfered in his student’s love lives? “Not really interested in anything of the sort,” he confessed. “Living vicariously through my students is quite enough—”

Sakura wasn’t backing down it seemed, pointing a finger in his direction, “Don’t act like you’re not just as bad as Jiraiya, Kakashi Sensei. You read nothing but Makeout Tactics for years.”

He coughed loudly, suddenly confronted with a behavior that had never been a secret. Everyone knew how much he enjoyed that book series. “A healthy outlet,” he excused, “for a loveless life.”

Before she could say anything more, Kakashi turned the tables on her. “It seems you and Sasuke, however, have chosen to continue traveling together. When do you leave?”

She went from teasing back to serious as she came forward and stood a little straighter. “Sunrise.”

In just a couple hours, then. That soon? Kakashi supposed that this was going to be his last chance alone with Sakura to express his concerns before she inevitably followed the Uchiha back into the wilderness.

“Sakura,” he began, and he saw her physically brace herself as she searched his eyes for the words he had yet to speak. “I have wished for nothing more than you and Sasuke to be happy. Seeing you both choose each other was the highlight of my year, I promise you. But,”

She ducked her head. “I was afraid there might be a but this time.”

“Recently, there has been some tension where Sasuke is concerned—” Kakashi stated, but Sakura interrupted him.

“I already know,” she confessed. “Shikamaru told me.”

Kakashi squinted his eyes as he considered that, knowing that his assistant would have not been soft in his delivery of their mutual concerns. He sighed, wishing Shikamaru would have let Kakashi be the one to do so first as the leader of Team 7. He supposed Shikamaru had little faith Kakashi would address it at all for that very reason.

“But it’s not like that Kakashi. Naruto and I—” she began, but Kakashi waved her panicking declarations away.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he came forward and placed a hand on her shoulder groundingly. “And I still extend my congratulations to you both. I am happy for you, Sakura. But this time, I’m going to also extend a word of caution.”

She waited for it, and Kakashi could hear her breath catching, her chest tightening as if waiting for impact.

“I came to the conclusion that Sasuke’s threat wasn’t ingenuine like Naruto claims it to be,” he said and Sakura’s wide eyes jumped to his. “I think Sasuke will always struggle with his nature, and there is always the possibility of his relapse.”

She shook her head, attempting to resume Sasuke’s defense, but Kakashi finished his speech with, “However, I am choosing to have faith—just as Sasuke is, himself—that you and Naruto are enough security in the instance that one of Team 7 may eventually—heaven forbid—be lost.”

“I think that, too, Kakashi. But it will never come to that. Sasuke vowed to me last night that he would never become that way again, even if Team 7–.”

“But it’s not only Team 7 that I am concerned about, Sakura,” Kakashi confessed, stealing himself to admit to her what he had silently worried about ever since the Uchiha’s declarations in Sunagakure. As much as he didn’t want to, Kakashi was going to bring it up. He wanted her prepared. He wanted Sasuke prepared.

“I don’t understand—”

“A child, Sakura.”

In the eclipsing mist-lurking darkness, Sasuke traced his fingers along the Uchiha memorial, finding Itachi’s name carved into the plaque at the bottom. Sasuke hadn’t understood until now that whoever had created the memorial had listed each member of the Uchiha clan massacre and saw it fit to add UCHIHA ITACHI despite his role in their deaths. Sasuke was surprised to find it there, knowing that those who had died by his hand deserved their own plaque apart from their murderer. But whoever had designed it had added Itachi, and Sasuke couldn’t think of any other reason other than that, at the end of the day, it had been determined Itachi was a victim of the Uchiha massacre, too. There weren’t many people who knew about Itachi’s secret, which led Sasuke to conclude once again that Kakashi was responsible for this memorial. Sasuke had missed it the first time he had visited several months ago, but seeing it now made a flicker of guilt spark inside him about his behavior towards Kakashi the past few days. He was still angry with him about his recent actions regarding Sakura, but he appreciated him all the same for his efforts to maintain and honor their rocky back and forth relationship.

Sasuke sighed as he traced his older brother’s name, feeling like he was visiting his grave for the first time despite the fact that Itachi’s body didn’t lay beneath his feet. How incredible it was that a simple name engraved on stone suddenly became like an open conduit to one’s lost soul where there hadn’t been one before. Like an unexpected winter wind that whipped around you, the ghosts of the past arrived to surround Sasuke, the one from their clan who had survived, the one who had tried to avenge them. They stared back at him now, shadows of their former selves with hollow eyes pacing around Sasuke to survey just what kind of the man the last living Uchiha became. He fixated on the silhouettes of his imagination that felt like home as his fingers found his mother’s and father’s name placed beside one another on the monument just as they had left this world side-by-side.

“Mother,” he whispered, “Father,” uttering those words for the first time since the night they had left his throat in screams. “I don’t feel so alone anymore. I’m going to be my own man from now on. I’m going to make my own choices for myself, now. Wherever you are right now, I hope you’re together.”

Sasuke suddenly looked up into the eyes of a grim funeral bird, a crow landing to perch on the top of the memorial, a figment in the darkness that cocked its head in evaluative listening. Sasuke stilled, imagining his brother in its place, perched on top of that gravestone and looking down at him with a bone chilling, “Sasuke.”

“And you, Itachi,” Sasuke whispered among those pacing shadows, acknowledging the ghost above him. “I hope wherever you are, you’re finally free, and that your sacrifice paid for an afterlife of happiness. In the end, I don’t think I want to be like you, Itachi. You gave up all the things you wanted and dreamed about and for what? You were manipulated Itachi. Your sacrifice was for the benefit of a crazed man. I killed him for what he did to you.”

The crow tilted its head as it listened. It cawed loudly whenever Sasuke fell silent.

Sasuke continued, saying, “Instead of living a life of complete sacrifice, I think I want to simply live my life by doing what’s right. I want some of that happiness now, in the present.”

The cawing turned to words of warning that Sasuke heard in the chambers of his heart. “The Uchiha cannot determine what is right. Their emotions cloud their judgement. The Uchiha have always brought about destruction by conceding to their selfish desires. Selfishness will be your downfall.”

Sasuke scowled at the talking bird, shaking his head in denial at the very words that haunted his heart like his brother’s ghost did now. “I have Naruto and Sakura to live by. I’ll stand by their sides to protect the village. I’ll choose what theychoose. I won’t become what I was. Never again. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you wrong. Proving everyone else wrong.”

The bird did not speak, but its black beady eye surveyed him carefully as mist curled around them, as if the creature before him possessed a sight beyond the abilities of the Rinnegan. Sasuke suddenly felt exposed as it sized him with otherworldly measure, as if it could discern the very colors of the sins that stained his soul. As if it could scry into the various futures that could manifest according to Sasuke’s life-altering decisions.

Sasuke doubled down, convincing his brother and vowing to himself. “I’ll hunt the Otsusuki because I want to protect my loved ones and the Leaf, not because I want to live up to your legacy of martyrdom. I don’t want to live in the name of vengeance, in the name of sacrifice, or in the name of losses anymore. I think I want to live for me. I want to live for the ones who remain. Is that so terrible?”

And the crow tilted its head in contemplation, before croaking, “Maybe you’re different. Maybe your ties will save you, Sasuke. Maybe you can be selfish if your selfishness means living for others. Maybe it is love that will keep you from falling after all. It was my love for you that sustained me.” And then Sasuke imagined that the crow bowed its royal head, a show of the black plumage crown of the grim, before it cawed in finality, flapping its magnificent wings and bursting from its haunting roost in a loud cacophony that startled the souls of the grave back into the mist of the morning. Sasuke wasn’t sure what sort of answer he was given, or if he had imagined the entire conversation altogether, but he felt lighter. He felt righted in his downward spiral.

That feeling of lightness continued as the stripe of sun began its rise on the horizon, the warmth of the sun casting out the chill of shadows in his mind as Sasuke headed to that spot. It was its own kind of haunting, that expanse of cobblestone parallel the stone bench on the only road out of the village. The very place where he and Sakura’s first real confrontation took place and the spot where they had met multiple times since. Just a few months ago, it was the exact same location that Sakura had pretty much told Sasuke he wasn’t leaving her behind again. She had chosen to follow without his initial permission. But this time was different. This time, Sasuke wanted to face the ghost of it as he had his brother’s, the painful memory he had created there. This time he would rewrite his wrongs and their history.

Except that lightness won from earlier was replaced with unease when Sasuke got there as the sunrise fully cast its violet banner in the sky, and Sakura wasn’t there waiting for him. Activating his visual prowess, he looked down the path back toward the heart of the village, but did not even see the essence of her.

Was this how Sakura had felt that night? Waiting for Sasuke to arrive and fearing that something was wrong? Just as she had done for him all those years ago, Sasuke would wait for her because he knew she would come. And he realized suddenly how easy it had been to tell Naruto yesterday that Sakura would be staying behind in the Leaf where she belonged, but how impossible it now seemed to face such a reality. The Uchiha wasn’t leaving without her.

Sakura had carried Kakashi’s words like weight in her chest as she had clamored into the medical labs at five in the morning with a newfound vigor.

“It’s not my place to pry like this,” he had begun when Sakura’s shock had left her speechless. “But as your sensei who knows all three of you best, would you or Naruto be enough insurance for Sasuke, or even you for that matter, if for some reason, a child—your child—was lost to the both of you?”

“You’re right, Kakashi Sensei. That really isn’t anyone’s business,” she had responded steadily and formally. “No one else is being asked what you’re about to ask me to do—or rather, do without.”

Kakashi had begun a long stream of consciousness in an attempt to clarify. “I don’t want to make you promise such a thing, Sakura. There’s nothing I want more for you than that. But I just want you to consider the answer to that question first. You’re not responsible for the path Sasuke takes from now on, so don’t mistake my words for that or let Shikamaru convince you that you are. I wholeheartedly support your choice to pursue this ‘newfound happiness’—as Naruto put it. We can leave the future in the future. I don’t intend to burden you with my worries, but I want you to be informed of the steaks at hand, to protect yourself. Sasuke’s reaction was intense, to say the least. And I know you Sakura. You’d throw away your life to protect him, side with him, or even stop him. Despite what you are to him now, know your worth to the rest of your loved ones. The entire shinobi world of medicine has advanced from your contributions alone. You are so much more than Sasuke Uchiha’s lover or his children’s mother.”

Sakura’s eyes had watered at that, her steely resolve softening at her sensei’s uplifting articulation. “I know Kakashi. I know what you’re trying to say, but you don’t have to worry. I’m being careful. I’m not taking any chances right now either. But I can’t help myself, Kakashi. I can’t walk away from him indefinitely.”

Her sensei had nodded, accepting her answer before his expression had turned a different sort of heavy. The speech concerning Sasuke had been fatherly. This sort of look on his face morphed into a sadness of regret. He had proceeded to apologize to her, for allowing her to go after the Zenshin organization alone back in Suna, saying, “I shouldn’t have allowed you to put yourself in any situation where you might have compromised yourself or felt pressured to—you know—for the sake of the village.”

Sakura had blushed embarrassingly at his apology. “Oh Kakashi, I didn’t.”

“That’s not what Uchiha Sasuke said to me.”

Sakura had waved his concerns away. “You know how dramatic he is. I had it under control. I didn’t do anything extreme.”

“Sasuke wouldn’t be angry without cause. He has a right to be angry with me about it. I should have never agreed to let anyone use such a disguise, especially one of my own.”

She had left shortly after, but not before the Zenshin organization, and those that continued to hunt her at a distance, were discussed in full. She had tried to listen to the Hokage’s concerns, plans, and questions carefully, but Sakura’s brain was planning for the now. Her time had been ticking and honestly, she was sick of caring about the organization known as Zenshin. They had come at her carelessly, unprepared, and with an underestimation of Sakura. She would deal with them when they came to find her again despite how proactive the Hokage was being on her behalf. To Kakashi’s chagrin, Sakura had expressed as much before parting with a tight hug around her sensei’s waist, a special request to keep an affectionate eye on Isao in her absence, and running toward the hospital.

Sakura didn’t know where they were headed next or for how long, but she wanted to have everything in order. She made more chakra pills even though she had made a batch before leaving Suna, medical supplies for injuries, capsulized more of the antidepressant, H. Perforatum, for further study, and yes, even more contraceptives for both Sasuke and herself. The Kunoichi hadn’t lied to Kakashi when she said she was being careful. Sakura had started her doses before leaving Suna and had consistently taken them, and now Sasuke was, too. She hadn’t chosen to do so for the sake of fearing Sasuke’s future, or because she was under the sick impression that they should sacrifice their happiness in order to protect any part of the shinobi world from Sasuke. She just wanted them both to be ready, and she knew that Sasuke clearly wasn’t any sort of ready from their conversations in the cave alone. She’d cross any other bridges when she came to them.

Taking a note from Sasuke’s handbook, Sakura began sealing all of her items within a concealment scroll for easier transport. She had just finished finalizing another canvas bundle of medicines and placing it in the scrolls, when she heard the birdsong. Glancing over at the window, Sakura was greeted with the flush of dawn. Stripping her Leaf medical attire and abandoning it in her office, Sakura clutched the scroll and ran.

It was such an odd sensation, racing the fuschia sunrise, pounding your feet down a stone path you had walked countless times, but now it miraculously felt different. It felt like the path to him. Before, it had been the path Sasuke had chosen to use to walk away from her that night and had done so several times since. She hadn’t been able to walk it a single time in his absence without remembering the pain of that night. But suddenly, it was like it had thawed from time, as if it were beginning at the sunrise after that night, picking up where it had left off and resuming what it always should have been. It should have always been a path they took together.

Sakura didn’t realize just how nervous she was that he might not have waited for her, until she saw him. Cloaked in black, traveling poncho once again adorned, and Sakura’s pack on his shoulder, a relieved sort of expression passing his features as he saw her. To be honest, Sakura hadn’t expected to see him there, standing exactly where she had all those years ago and where they had rendezvoused once more a few months ago. It clicked for her then, what Sasuke had meant by “I’ll meet you there.” Not at the gates as she had requested. But here. This spot. Before she could stop herself, tears pricked her eyes at the significance.

She wiped them away as she came to a stop before him, panting from the run. He sighed with a raised eyebrow and Sakura laughed slightly, assuming that he was annoyed at her tardiness. She didn’t care. She was high on the exhilaration of now and immediately chirped an old nostalgic excuse that also happened to be the truth. “Sorry I’m late. Got lost on the path of life.”

There was a mischievous poke to her forehead and Sakura rubbed it with a smile. “Never took you for picking up on Kakashi’s bad habits. I thought something must have happened. You did say sunrise, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. I was prepping some

medical supplies,” she smiled. She felt stupid for how much she was smiling. “We can go, now. I’m ready!” She made to walk past him, giddy with the love she felt for this man and the excitement of their continued journey, however long or short it would be. How different this scenario was playing out from the past. But Sasuke grabbed her fingers lightly with his own.

“Wait,” he breathed, a whisper on the birdsong dawn that no one would be able to hear but herself. “I wanted to tell you something.”

She turned, that elation coming down like the fall of adrenaline.

“I wanted to tell you that if I could make the choice over that night—”

Sakura shook her head immediately, wind-blown hair brushing her cheeks as she did so. “I would have you make the same choices,” she confessed. “Because it led us to here and now. I do not wish you would have chosen differently Sasuke, even though it was painful.”

He smiled sadly, before adding. “I’ve decided something, today. My reason for living is not revenge this time. After all these years, I think I am finally like you and Naruto. Our paths will still be different, but maybe we can walk together sometimes, share them along the way. Like our orbits.”

And Sakura knew he was referring to the words of that painful night. The words were written into the memory of her soul.

“My words from that night have not changed,” she smiled. “I still think that I can make you happy. I know that you won’t be able to stay in Konoha with me like I had begged you to. And I can’t promise you that every day will be fun and happy, but our sometimes is better than nothing.”

“I’m attempting to rewrite one of my most shameful moments,” he continued, confidence increasing with her adoring words. “This time, I’m asking you to come with me.”

“What if you regret it?” She teased, squeezing his fingers with her own. “I’ve been told quite often that I can be annoying.”

“I don’t see that ever changing,” he deadpanned, grunting as he received an elbow to the ribs.

“I’m not sticking my nose into your business?”

“You most definitely are,” he dodged her next jab, grabbing her wrist and bringing her closer to him. “But I want you to.”

After a moment of staring into one another’s mirthful eyes, flushed with daybreak. Sasuke released her and Sakura nodded down the path to the gates. “Then let’s go.”

“Hn,” he agreed, shouldering her pack just as he did months ago.

Kakashi wasn’t a snoop, but he wanted—had to— see it for himself. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he had told Sakura he was vicariously living through his students. That moment where Sasuke had reached for her fingers with his own had been a breakthrough in Kakashi’s mind about Sasuke’s character. His words had been too hushed, and Kakashi was now without the sharingan to make out what they were saying, but he knew his students well enough to see it for himself: the tenderness, the regret, and the love they had for one another. Not to mention the degree of playfulness between them that Kakashi hadn’t even witnessed between their genin-selves.

And, Kakashi couldn’t believe his eyes as they made to walk away. Was that the Uchiha crest on Sakura’s back? He blinked, even going as far as to rub his old, now sharingan-less, eyes. It sure as hell was. Those two sneaks, Kakashi laughed to himself. Well, he now sort of felt like his speech earlier had been a bit pointless. It wasn’t a matter of if they had a family together, but a matter of when. If Sasuke’s feelings had grown enough where the Uchiha had actually gone as far as to marry her despite his resolution of independent atonement, then he would probably do pretty much anything for that woman. And Kakashi knew Sakura and the dreams she had for herself. Kakashi both sighed and smiled as he shook his head in disbelief and awe.

It wasn’t only Kakashi who had been a silent spectator. Eight anbu landed beside him, the very anbu Kakashi had detailed to follow Sakura while she was in the village. His concern for her safety rivaled the boys’ at this point. The Zenshin who wanted her life was still out there. The Anbu were silent witnesses to the pair’s exchange as well, as they stood beside Kakashi, waiting for their new orders now that Sakura was leaving the village with Sasuke.

Once his students were out of sight behind the Leaf Village gates, Kakashi performed the summoning seal. There was the telltale poof of materialization, a cloud of white revealing Kakashi’s eight ninja hounds. Pakkun, perched upon Bull’s massive head, looked up at Kakashi past his graying muzzle and misty eyes.

“Aren’t we a little too old to be summoned for work?” Pakkun complained. “When’s your retirement again?”

“Not getting here fast enough,” Kakashi answered before saying, “I hate to ask for your help. But this has gotten personal.”

Kakashi divided the hounds amongst the anbu present, giving precise orders for each four-cell team. Two dogs per two anbu was the goal, creating four teams total with the ability to move discreetly but have enough support within the squad, operating just as a leaf village shinobi team.

One orange-haired Anbu remained after the others received their orders and dispersed, Pakkun quickly attaching himself to the ninja’s shoulder.

“I want to hunt the Zenshin who remain,” Kakashi informed him. “Even if it takes us outside of the village. We will have to be discreet as a whole. Can I count on you to lead this mission and report on these four teams?”

“It would be my honor, Lord Hokage. I would do almost anything for Sakura-san.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow at that, marking the distinct fox shape anbu mask and orange hair. There were several ninja sporting that color of hair, but Kakashi had a hunch as to who it might be. A ninja with the surname Mizuno. Kakashi knew him to be one of Chino’s exploding human bomb burn victims, and assumed his filial sentiments toward Sakura were due to her recent treatment of his burns.

“Give any remaining members you discover the same options she gave the others,” the Hokage ordered. “They can spend imprisonment here or be transported to Sunagakure to the Kazekage. There is no third option.”

“Yes, Lord Hokage.”

“Where to now?” Sakura asked Sasuke once they were at the crossroads out of the village and Sasuke came to an abrupt stop. She took the opportunity to tuck the scroll she had been carrying into the side pocket of her bag that Sasuke had refused to relinquish over to her twice now. He had ‘plans to store it in his own scrolls soon’ and it ‘wasn’t a burden,’ he had claimed when she tried to take it.

Sasuke didn’t miss a beat, saying his next words as if it were the most normal conclusion. “Orochimaru’s hideout.”

Sakura, however, tripped over her own feet and came to a stumbling halt. Did she just hear him correctly? “Wait, what? WHY?”

The Uchiha kept walking down the forest path, seemingly unbothered by her obvious worry, but Sakura quickly caught up to him and grabbed his right arm, gently guiding his body back around to face her. She searched his eyes before identifying the resolution in them. Her shoulders sank at finding it there. This meant that Sasuke knew she would object, but he had a plan in place and was set on it.

“Is this for your mission?” she inquired, mentally preparing to see that slimy snake of a devil who had taken Sasuke from her all those years ago if it meant furthering Sasuke’s goal to find the Otsusuki. What could Orochimaru possibly have to add to the search?

Sasuke removed the emotion from his mask, slipping into the Uchiha persona she knew as the shinobi elite that could and would help save the world. “No. I meant what I said about finding the remaining members of Zenshin who are after you. There’s someone there that can help me do that.”

“Wait,” Sakura raised a hand to stop his explanation, a specific red-haired ninja who could identify someone by their chakra coming to the forefront of her mind. He couldn’t mean that woman, could he? “Just wait a second.”

“You can’t talk me out of it, Sakura.”

“Listen,” she began, sighing as this topic was brought up yet again. “Kakashi’s on it. He plans to hunt them down himself.”

Sasuke turned to continue walking, unphased by this knowledge. “He won’t get far, because I’ll beat him to it.”

She stumbled in front of him, blocking his path with an awkward rub to her neck. “Can we not do this,” she implored. “Please?”

He sighed in exasperation. “You want me to just forget about those still after you? Not do anything about it at all?”

“Yes?”

“What kind of man—and partner for that matter—do you take me for?”

“The kind of man who has already put off his own goals for my sake for a month and a half now. Come on. Let’s leave it to Kakashi, and if Zenshin shows up, we can deal with them at that point.”

He glared at her as her hands found his waist, reaching up under his poncho and tangling her fingers at his back, bringing their bodies close together. It was a method of entreating him that she had used a couple times now.

“That’s not going to work,” he hissed, an embarrassed blush staining his cheeks despite his harsh words.

“I’m not worried about them, and you shouldn’t take on that burden either. You have a different burden, and as long as I am with you, I’ll be out of harm’s way. Let’s just leave it all behind, remove ourselves from the equation while Kakashi and his team handle the rest.” It was her turn to blush when the fabric of Sasuke’s poncho came down over her head, entrapping her like a child under a blanket. His smirking face was peaking down into the neck of the fabric as she looked up at him with a crumbling glower of her own. Her smile spread free at her success. This was definitely working.

“Kakashi’s got hounds tracking them,” she said again. “They’re better at that sort of thing than anyone you have in mind anyway. So, let’s just forget them, yeah?” Sakura did not want Sasuke going anywhere near Orochimaru or Karin. She knew that both of the rogue ninja had helped at the end of the war, but Orochimaru was still suspicious enough of a character that the Leaf kept twenty-four-hour surveillance on him and his activity. Not to mention, how absolutely traumatized she was of him. And Karin, well—Sakura knew how the woman had felt about Sasuke at one point in time and didn’t really feel like facing that awkwardness anytime soon.

“So where to next?” she practically pleaded as Sasuke searched her eyes and raised a suspicious brow. Did he know where her thoughts had gone to?

After a moment, the Uchiha sighed, and Sakura immediately felt ten times lighter. “The plan after that was to head north, to the Land of Snow.”

Sakura tiptoed, popping her head through the neck of his poncho like a curious mole sticking its nose above ground. “The Land of Snow?”

“The environmental conditions of the Sunagakure desert helped connect me to Kaguya’s desert realm,” Sasuke explained, staring down into her face as he did so. “It made bypassing the central dimension altogether possible with the help of your chakra pills. In theory, bypassing the center dimension for Kaguya’s Ice realm would be achievable if I could find a similar environment; the Land of Snow is the coldest place in the shinobi world.”

“Excellent,” she piped, already dreaming of snowy landscapes and sub-degree temperatures. She recalled their time in the Land of Snow as Genin fondly, remembering that the land had a seasonal spring now that rivaled the beauty of its frosty contrast. She teased Sasuke by pretending to go in for a kiss, before retreating from his poncho and tossing it over his head just as he had done to her. “To the Land of Snow it is, then.”

Clutching the fabric with one hand, he dragged the material back down his face, mussing his wrapped head of hair as he did so, and revealing another smirking scowl. She heard him mumble something about her being the death of him as she turned and marched north before he could begin walking toward Orochimaru’s hideout.

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