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florencemtrash · 9 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free.

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground.

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes.

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home.

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls.

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance.

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion?

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room.

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those…

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done?

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water.

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-”

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely.

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.”

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.”

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that.

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.”

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor.

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae.

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets.

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed.

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger.

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip.

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands.

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it.

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief.

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye.

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved.

“I made a mistake don’t-”

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather.

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic.

“No, no I didn’t.”

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple.

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman.

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said.

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side.

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.”

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…”

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.”

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice.

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed.

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea.

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly.

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.”

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood.

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.”

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night.

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.”

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him.

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for.

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.”

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x mate reader #inner circle #azriel acotar #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

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risuola · 5 months

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ENTRY #4 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // Your fingertips brought me back from the death.

contents: arranged marriage!au, slight hurt-comfort — wc. 921

series masterlist

„It hurts, Satoru.”

Pain. Agonizing, paralyzing pain was something Gojo had to teach himself to live with. He wouldn’t tell anyone, he’s the strongest, the honored one, he’s… a human. No matter how trained he was, how much control over his own body he had, how efficiently he managed his cursed energy, he never learned how to deal with the side effects of the cursed blessing he inherited.

It felt like he’s dying. Every time his six eyes were put to work for more than enough, a part of him was begging for an end to the suffering he had to endure. He felt like his head was splitting open from the inside out, like his brain was bleeding, his eyes were burning. He could feel the pounding of his heartbeat, fast and uneven, in his temples, ears and neck; he was sweating and frowning. He was miserable. Vulnerable. He couldn’t focus on anything and every move he made only made the anguish worse. It was a misery. Excruciation. But then–

“What do you think you’re doing?”

–then your soft, warm palms planted themselves on top of his closed lids oh so gently and Satoru realized that he held your wrist in an iron grip – a defense mechanism he couldn’t control whenever anyone got too close to his eyes. With his infinity turned off, he felt helpless against your touch, but submitted himself to your mercy and it tingled. An odd sensation that seemed to envelop his head in a protective hood of something he couldn’t understand slowly soothed the torment inside his skull. The pounding mellowed and the muscles between his brows and in his shoulders began to relax underneath the calming influence of your doing.

Satoru let out a shaky breath, one that he just noticed he was holding in, and his fingers that once wrapped around the fragile bones of your forearm now shifted to the top of your knuckles, greedy to hold your hands there longer. His senses were calming, coming to the sharpness he’s used to have and slowly he started registering more than just the balm of your hands. Slowly he became aware of you. The subtle, sweet scent of your perfume mixed with equally pleasant, slightly flowery note of washing detergent you bought recently – the one he had to carry for you the other day because you had enough bags in your hands and texted him for help. He felt the softness of your stomach against the top of his hair as you stood behind the couch on top of which he was sitting, with his head tilted back.

“You’re hurting. I’m helping you,” and the melody of your voice, quieted and gentle that now he was finally able to hear clearly once the echo of his own heartbeat stopped deafening his eardrums.

Satoru couldn’t tell what you were doing. He felt the very distinct signature of your cursed energy flowing through your palms but it wasn’t something he could recognize. He also couldn’t tell what gave away his suffering – was it the way he entered the house that day? After a week-long job outside the city, he dropped his coat and kicked off the shoes and then, without acknowledging you he nearly collapsed onto the couch. It wasn’t the first time he ignored you and surely it wasn’t the first time he was in pain in your presence. Maybe the grunt he let out when dropping his weight onto the cushions made it too obvious that he was in agony?

“How do you know I’m hurting?” He asked, too curious, too unsure to let the question go.

“You’re always hurting after those longer jobs,” you replied and he hummed, perplexed to realize that you’ve been seeing his misery before. “It’s the six eyes, right? Your head hurts when you overuse it.” Your words made him speechless; the tone you used – full of care and concern, it got him frozen for a moment or two. “You saved me many times, so I learned this to save you.”

“You learned this for me?”

“I did,” you let out a soft chuckle, the kind that flows on top of a breath without much sound to it. You moved your hands a little, resting your thumbs on top of his skin and moving them in little circles, rubbing the tension away from his forehead and temples. It felt intimate in a way and Satoru wasn’t used to stripping his infinity off to connect with other humans in such private level. “I wasn’t sure if it’s even going to work. I couldn’t test it before because it only applies to you.”

“A technique that works only on me?” He repeated the words that didn’t make sense in his mind. Why would you go so far for him? He wasn’t a man you chose to spend your life with, he wasn’t even good to you. “How?”

“Well, it’s a little mix of my cursed technique and yours and subconsciously you allowed my energy to enter your head and release the tension that built up after you overused your eyes. It’s not really reversed cursed technique, I don’t know how to explain this… but all that matter is that it works,” you concluded with a soft sigh of relief.

“Why?”

“Because I’m your wife, Satoru. Because you carry enough weight on your shoulders to pay the price of saving the world. Because you don’t have to be the strongest all the time and you don’t have to do this alone.”

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hpgal · 22 days

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DC x DP : Those Glowing Green Eyes

CW: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Violence

TLDR: Danny is on the run from the GIW and ends up in Gotham heavily injured where he gets found by a gun wielding vigilante.

Word Count: 2313

Everything hurts.

But when did it not?

But this time it wasn’t just injury number 67942 causing these aches and pains, though it did contribute to it. The mental anguish of being ran out of my own home and turned away by those I loved. Because I was a ghost. That pain was worse than the wound in my side.

Now the GIW is chasing me across the country and my last scuffle with them left me hurt worse than ever. They’ve been pushing hard this time around, new toys, more numbers. It was ridiculous. Seeing my own family there made me hesitate when they jumped me too. I didn’t react, just stared in horror as my own mother aimed a gun at me and my own father cheered her on.

Despite it all, I am still convinced there is hope. That there was. But when she pulled that trigger, all hope was gone.

Now, that leads me to the present. Somehow I escaped and now was walking around with a gunshot wound in my side, a bum wrist and I think a head wound in an unknown city. Thank The Ancients for the luck I had with a portal to The Ghost Zone being nearby. I fell through it but had to immediately find another door to the mortal realm when I saw Vlad nearby, who has also been hunting me since this began.

So here I am, in a dark, dank city. The ectoplasm here is toxic as hell and tastes like multiple smokers' houses smashed together and death. Night was falling and it got cold here fast. That could just be my core or it could be that I am slowly bleeding out. That was unclear at the moment.

Either way, I walked the street looking for shelter, mostly ignored by others or simply stared at. Honestly, I did not mind, I didn’t want the attention. Even with the toxic ectoplasm here I could heal up quickly and bounce back to the Ghost Zone to expel the toxicity of it with the help of the feeder ghosts and be good as new. It was abundant here, not nearly as much as Amity Park but it was a close second. That little fact told me this city reeked of death which meant it was probably also dangerous.

Maybe once this whole my parents and the government trying to murder me passes, I could come back here and purge the toxic ectoplasm as Ghost King. Because that is the only thing left for me to do, become Ghost King since my human life seems to be over. I have no clue what there is left for me to do with everyone I loved and the U.S Government wanting me dead

Too bad I can’t fully exercise that power of King until I come of age next year. I could’ve resolved this and just hid in the Ghost Zone for the rest of my undead life. Vlad wouldn’t be able to touch me then. Curse my stupid half alive and half dead existence, no other ghost would’ve had to wait but the council likes to be a pain in my ass. Probably in spite of Clockwork in all honesty, I half joke to myself.

My mind reels as I think about home, my friends, even Vlad. All of them had turned overnight. Even Jazz, though she showed hesitancy at every turn. Their eyes seemed to have a tinge of red when I saw them attack me for the first time, reminding me of Freakshow and his mind control abilities. That was the only thing I could justify holding out hope. But I didn’t see that in my moms eyes this time when she shot me.

Even Vlad switched from the whole crazed rich fruit-loop routine of trying to make me his son to attempts on my life. By the Ancients, if he were there this last attack and not in the Ghost Zone, I would��ve been dead. I had no doubts about it. It was pure luck that he didn't notice me in the zone.

I grimace as I continue walking, holding my side, warm blood seeping through my white shirt and the bandages I put on it already. My vision and mind feel foggy as I turn a corner, instantly clearing for a moment when my ghost sense activates, sending a shiver down my spine, hair standing on the back of my neck.

Now?

Really?

I nearly groan both in pain and frustration at this change. I look around pissed off only to find a guy in a red helmet across the street. My entire being on edge as I see him. He didn’t look like a ghost but he gave the impression of having an association with ghosts. He had higher ectoplasm in his body than normal. Even more so than most Amity Park citizens. For a second I thought I saw the flicker of a core but just as quickly as I saw it, it goes away.

Could he possibly be possessed?

The gears turn in my head as everything screams at me that he is bad news regardless. The moment this masked man steps towards me, I muster all the energy I can and start to run, my decision being made. There was no way I could fight in this condition. Every inch of my body, my muscles scream at me for this. My side burns and my vision is blurry at best.

I risk a glance back to see him following and pick up speed. Grateful for my inhuman abilities still being of use despite my injured state. It’d be easy to go ghost or phase through a wall on a normal day but this was not normal, even for me. There are so many ways I could lose this guy but no, I keep running, oblivious to anything except the urge to escape this new, unknown threat.

Him following me all but confirms my suspicions that he is bad news. I mean I saw those guns on his side. They could be loaded with anti-ghost bullets. I’ve been shot once today, I do not plan on doing that again. Ever. He has to be a hired gun by the GIW is the only explanation to this.

At some point in the chase, I look back to see he is managing to keep up with me, which in hindsight made so much sense with my injuries. I turn right only to find this was the wrong choice. Because of course that would be my luck today. I screech to a halt, nearly crashing to meet the dead end head on, a brick wall separating me from escaping. I lean against the wall in frustration before turning to see if he was in the alley yet.

I could just phase- ”Demon brat what have I told you about stepping in my turf?” Damnit.

I am so tired. I am trapped. I am injured. This day just freaking sucks.

I glare at him with as much intensity I can muster. If only I could use my powers, scare him away. Now that he was closer it was clear he was a human who experienced death. Not a ghost. Not a halfa like him, just a human. But if he did that then the GIW would be sure to find me again in no time. And the stranger called me a demon brat. That has to be some sort of slur to ghosts, although I am not familiar with slurs for ghosts. Is that even a thing?

I shake the thought away and focus on him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance and movements, ready to fight back.

Despite the mask covering his face, I could feel this stranger looking at him up and down despite it being dark. Maybe his mask had some sort of night vision built into it. He was assessing and judging him. And I was doing the same to him between the glares, my superhuman night vision letting me miss nothing in this dark space.

He looked like what I imagined a human vigilante would look like. Except 10 times scarier like he wouldn’t care if he helped civilians or not. Maybe this guy was just here for an adrenaline rush or some other bullshit reason a normal human would act like this. The red mask was intimidating, he was well built and tense, ready to pounce on him like I was on him. Except he wasn’t fighting death itself right now so he for sure would win without me using powers. Maybe he is a hired gun by the GIW with how he is sizing me up.

The vigilante takes a step towards me, “Woah, woah, you're bleeding.” he seems to hesitate but I glare back up to him like a feral animal. This had to be a trick right? The care and concern in his voice wasn’t real.

I backed up against the cool brick wall behind me, sinking into a low stance, ready to jump and fight back. I let the wall support me where it could and where it couldn't, I sucked it up with gritted teeth. I had faced worse before. If I died here I’d probably become a full ghost anyways so I could haunt his ass for the rest of his life, exercising the full power of Ghost King just to be petty for the inconvenience. Serves him right for the scary vigilante routine. Too bad for him, I am scarier and I would not fall for cheap tricks.

I try to make myself as intimidating as possible. Hell, the blood seeping from my head and how ready I was to fight probably made me look like a feral, wounded, animal right now. I mean that is what everyone else thought I was anyways, right? I bare my teeth at him, my canines most definitely unnaturally pointed.

“Seriously, kid? Two can play this game.” The man takes a step closer, I watch, calculating.

Then his eyes glowed green.

At least that had to be what happened under the mask. I felt the surge of ectoplasm being used when it happened and I snarl at him in response. This would be a harder fight than I thought. How did I miss the ectoplasm tainting him, enhancing him this way? The fact he could willingly do it meant he was trained and well versed in his abilities.

Well shit.

He seems taken aback at my response, not expecting me to not be frightened. Well tough luck buddy. “I can do that too.” I say with venom dripping off my tongue between gritted teeth, not willing to let this guy get the best of me.

I look up at what I presume are his eyes based on his mask and allow my own eyes to flare neon green, brighter than his. A show of power and dominance that some ghosts use to avoid a fight. Maybe I could avoid this fight entirely if he had the innate understanding many liminal beings had when experiencing this with or without knowing what it means. Either way it was clear he knew something.

“I have been hunted, shot, maimed, and tortured by much, much worse.” I threaten. “You do not scare me. And I sure as hell am not going to go down to a nobody like you.” My vision continues to blur and darken at the edges as the adrenaline from the chase starts to wear down, the rapid heart rate pumping my blood much faster than I need it to be to prevent blood loss as more blood seeps from my wounds. That little trick took more energy from me than I anticipated.

The unknown man looks at me, his body language indicating he was confused and concerned. I nearly wanted to laugh but I needed all the energy in case I had to fight. “Shit.. you’re not Demon Brat. Kid,” he starts, his body relaxing ever so slightly, “you need help, let me help you.”

The man takes another step forward, holstering a pistol. When did he draw that to begin with?

I flash my eyes again, a bit weaker this time as I feel my legs start to buckle under me. No. Not now. I can’t go down now. Panic welling up inside me as I growl at him and try to steady myself against the wall.

“Go away,” I muster, throat dry, “this isn’t your problem.” I manage to say as my last attempts to get him to screw off.

The man takes another step towards him, now in arms reach, “Look, I know a doctor who might be able to help you. She-” I stumble a bit and he reaches out ready to catch me, still keeping from touching me, “Shit- kid. She won’t turn you away. She can help. She doesn’t share the identity of her patients. She treats the Bats. You can trust her if not me”

My body shakes at his words. Or maybe I was shaking the entire time. God it was so cold now. Almost as cold as being dead for real. And man do I have experience with that. My entire body felt so heavy and aches everywhere. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Except I hated how dark my vision had gotten and blurred.

Something about how he speaks and acts, I decide in my haste, wanting to not die a second time to trust him. My body relaxes, no longer ready to fight him. Was it a bad idea? Probably but I did not want to die in an alley this time. My vision darkens and the last thing I remember is falling into his arms as my answer to him.

Please help me, stranger.

--------

A/N: This was a fic I planned on writing but got burnt out after writing the first chapter so I figured I'd post it here, maybe it'll motivate me to continue it.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #dp x dc #ghost king danny #dp au #jason todd #red hood #danny phantom headcanon #gotham #infinite realms

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buggybambi · 8 months

Text

lost in translation | carmen berzatto

you get a job working as a waitress at the bear. if only you knew it would get you here. ─ 3.68k ─ angst and fluff, breakups / fighting, some cursing, reader is younger then carmy.

THE STRANGERS PHASE

The first time you and Carmen met was when Nat and Richie had hired you as part of the Bear staff.

A waitress, and a sweet looking one at that. Younger than him. "You guys finally settled on a candidate?" Carmen asks as Natalie and Richie watch you from the small window in the kitchen.

You sit there for a moment before adjusting the silverware, passing Richie's test almost immediately. "I believe we just did." Nat confirms. Carmen takes a look for himself and swears his heart skips a beat as he watches you for a brief moment before clearing his throat, having to pull himself away. "Okay. Cool." He brushes it off.

He didn't get the chance to meet you right away, not until the night before their soft opening. You'd been through training, getting used to the system at the Bear and getting accompanied with staff. All but one. The head chef and owner, 'Carmy' as everyone called him.

"Hey, you're the new hire, right?" A voice asks as you shut your locker. You jump a bit, as you turn, smiling. "I am." The male nods, holding out his hand. "Sorry about scaring you. I'm Carmen Berzatto, don't think we've had the chance to meet." He introduces.

You accept the handshake, swearing you feel a little spark between you two just from touching him.

───

From there, it was like clockwork. You and him would get stuck closing together, and each night you'd dive into a new part of his past. "So, what made you wanna open this place?" You question. He exhales, momentarily pausing his movements of scrubbing the counters before he sniffles. "My brother left it to me after his death."

You pause, staring at him. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked-" He laughs. "You couldn't have known. It's okay, really. I actually wanted to work here, or what used to be here, for the longest time by his side but he didn't let me. Never knew why. It was the thing he left me in his will." He gives a more in depth answer.

You nod slowly. "I'm sorry about that, Carm. His death and not letting you work here." You specify as you look at him. "If it's any comfort, I think your brother would be really proud of what you've turned this place into." You say.

He nods, sniffling again. You set your rag back in the soapy water, sighing as you mark off your final station to clean on the clipboard.

"See you tomorrow night?" He asks as you begin walking to the lockers.

You smile. "It's a date, chef." You confirm. He blushes at the idea of you and him being on a date.

───

Carmen swore to himself he'd take you on an actual date. The planning was easy, it was actually asking you that he found to be a challenge.

"So, are you seeing anyone?" He asks, trying to sound as casual as he can the next night when you two are closing, which didn't come for almost a week. Though he was grateful, it also felt like torture having to wait to get you alone.

"No, I'm not actually. Chicago hasn't exactly been my Paris, you know? City of love and all that bullshit." You answer as you stare at the chore list for that night. "Check the mayonnaise labels. Does Nat think our mayo is expired?" You question.

“Nat thinks all of our stuff is expired one way or another. It doesn’t expire ‘till the nineteenth of May.” He grabs out a knife to start chopping the vegetables. “Anyway, Chicago isn’t really known for its romance.” He points out.

"So I've been told." You stare at the menu. "What's a vegetable medley?" You question as you look back up at him, catching him staring at you. He clears his throat and quickly sets the knife down, wiping his hands on a towel. "Uh, it's a bunch of veggies like green and yellow bell peppers, asparagus and squash topped with balsamic vinegar.” He answers.

You nod slowly. “Only you can explain something like that and make it sound so good right now, Carm.” "Did you eat today?" He doesn't hesitate to ask. "Haven't had a chance to. Richie had me running around all day with the new system, but don't worry, I'm gonna make myself something at home."

"No, come on. I'm- You're not driving home hungry like that. It’s a safety risk. Sit." You go to protest before he repeats himself. "Sit."

The entire night was spent with you and Carmen eating his way too fancy dishes and talking. Sharing memories - childhoods, dreams, stories.

He likes to consider it your first date.

You like to consider it the night you fell in love.

───

You weren't sure what you and Carmen were after that night in the kitchen. Or how to even ask. Do you just come right out and say it? Is there a specific way or time to ask? Google provided zero help, so it was up to you to solve this one.

Maybe that’s what was driving you and Carmy apart for the next week: your mind trying to run through how to even approach that with him. It wasn't until he ambushed you at your locker that you were forced to approach the topic with him. "Not talking to you all week has been driving me insane. Are we okay? If dinner was too much.." He lets his voice trail off.

You smile, as you exhale. "Carmen, I loved dinner. I was just unsure of where we stood. Thought I was driving myself crazy trying to figure out if that was a date or not." You admit. He stares at you, nodding slowly. "Let me take you out to an actual dinner. A real date night." He requests.

You nod. "Okay, I'd like that." You barely have another chance to speak before Richie's calling your name. You place a hand on Carmen's shoulder as you pass him, giving him a small smile before you rush to find out what Richie needs you for.

Carmen watches you leave, wishing you'd come back to him.

Carmen had thought of your date night perfectly. A romantic, rooftop dinner overlooking Chicago’s nighttime streets. “You bring all the girls up to your rooftop, Berzatto?” You question as you stare at the cars passing by.

“Only the special ones.” He’d answer with a grin.

You wished he kissed you that night, but he didn’t. Instead he settled for dropping you off at your apartment before leaving. You could tell he wanted to kiss you, too, but he wanted to wait.

"So, you and Carmen?" Sydney asks as you help her open the Bear that morning, cutting vegetables up with her. You sigh, a smile on your face regardless. "How'd you hear about that?" You question in return.

“It’s the Bear. There’s no such thing called secrets when you work here. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Now, you and Carmy?” She asks again as you laugh. “There’s nothing going on between us. He and I got dinner a few times, but I don’t think it’s going anywhere.” You say with a shrug.

She stares at you, noticing the blush in your cheeks. You grin. “Don’t even. Nothing has happened between us.” You reiterate. She laughs, grabbing her bucket of vegetables. "Whatever you say!"

You roll your eyes, turning and staring at Carmen in the doorway. There he goes again, staring at you when you aren't looking. It doesn't slide past you that he has a noticeable sparkle in his eyes.

───

Of course the universe would have it out for you and Carmen to close together that night. As you two stand over the counters, cleaning them down, you decide to ask the question that had been plaguing your mind.

"What are you and I?" You ask, looking up at him for the first time. His scrubbing stops, as he looks back at you. "I want us to be together." He answers honestly, and you're a bit taken back by his honesty.

“You seem like you’ve thought about this.”

“More than you know.” Translation: I’ve thought about you.

You nod slowly as you walk over to the sink, beginning to wash your hands. "I want us to be together, too. I just don't want this to be weird between us because we work together, you know." You voice your concerns as you grab the towel, drying your hands.

You turn, finding him standing behind you. "I don't care if we want us to be together. I want us to give.. us.. a chance." He says, taking your hand in his. You stare at your hands interlocked as you hum. "Carmen."

"Yes?" He asks softly.

"If you don't kiss me right now I might just walk out and not come back." You tease.

He doesn't have to be told twice, and he kisses you like he's been thinking about it. Like he's been needing that. Hands cupping your face, yours finding his waist.

You didn't need much of an answer as to what you and Carmen were after that.

THE LOVERS PHASE

You and Carmen had agreed: the staff didn’t need to know you two were officially dating. If it was important enough to share, sure. But other then that, you two wouldn’t go around publicly announcing it.

Turns out, dating Carmen wasn't much different from being friends with him. Except now you were in the kitchen at two in the morning, slow dancing with him.

It'd started with dinner that night. Him holding you from behind,

Frank Sinatra plays lowly on the radio as he spins you around, with you grinning as you sway with him. “Who taught you to dance, Berzatto?” You question.

“Nat did. Taught me for her wedding. Said if I looked like a fish outta water she’d ban me from the reception.” He answers with a lovesick grin. You laugh, throwing your head back. “Sounds like Nat.”

He smirks. “And who taught you?” He asks in return. You hum as he pulls you closer to his chest, as Sinatra’s ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ plays. “I did. Convinced myself when I was a little girl I'd be like Misty Copeland.” You answer.

He grins. Only two weeks had gone by with him being officially yours, and he was falling in love with you. Maybe that’s why it spilled out as he held you close.

“I love you.” His voice is hushed.

You pulled away only a bit to look at his eyes. Maybe searching to see if they were genuine, if he said what you think he did. "Carmen..." You smile, a laugh coming out. "I love you, too." You repeat it back to him.

"Take the too out. Makes it sound like you're just agreeing." He requests softly, lips brushing barely against yours. You giggle at his plea, but comply anyway. "Carmen, I love you." You say it again, this time it feels more real.

Two weeks in, and you two are in love. If you knew any better, you'd assume you were screwed.

───

"What do you wanna do with your life?" The question startled you as you and Carmen sat on the balcony of your apartment, overlooking downtown Chicago. Buildings illuminating the night sky, car horns blaring every few minutes from the nighttime traffic.

"I wanna open a bar. Maybe go to Los Angeles or New York, just open my own place. You know?" You hold your knees up on the patio chair with you, a cup of tea in hand. "Some dive bar but... fancier. Live music, live entertainment."

He nods slowly, grabbing out his notepad. "Get out of Chicago?" He asks. You laugh. "Pretty much. Don't get me wrong, I love this city. This just.. isn't the plan." You say with a shrug.

"Mm." He says, scribbling something down on the paper. You lean over, staring at it. "What are you drawing, Berzatto?" You question. "Nothin'. It's a surprise, if I show you it now it won't be a surprise." He points out.

You grin as you lean your head back. "Okay. What about you? Is the Bear your final dream?" You question, still looking over at him. He sets the pen down, looking over the skyline. "I don't know. Though until I met you I had all my dreams and goals figured out."

"Don't say it-"

"You're my new dream." He grins, looking over at you. You laugh, rolling your eyes. "That was unbelievably cheesy, Berzatto. I don't know if I can ever look at you the same after that." You tease.

"You don't have to look at me to kiss me." He points out as you roll your eyes, standing up. You give him a quick peck as you open the door, stepping halfway inside. "Don't take too long getting to bed, okay? It's cold out here." You comment.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." He waits until you're fully inside to pull back out the notepad. Sketched on is a logo for a bar, your bar. Your name written in what he imagines is neon lights. 'ANGEL'S BAR'. The way he views you, an angel. His angel.

He hums, standing up and making his way inside, the notepad tucked under his arm. He finds you in the living room, sorting through the mail. “Hey, hey, my old college roommate’s getting married. New York. What a terrifying city.” You laugh as you set the invite down, before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you down to the bedroom.

───

Carmen had spent so much time in your apartment that it practically felt like his own. So, the idea of asking him to move in wasn’t totally crazy. His clothes were now hung up in your closet, his cologne and cedarwood soap lingered.

Your relationship with Carmen had grown, so much so that you were now spending time with his family. You stood in the kitchen of the Berzatto home. Your first family dinner with them, and it had been more drama filled then a soap opera. Soft music filled the room, cinnamon roll scented candles lit making the house smell like a bakery. Your scarf hung on the staircase banister.

"First official Berzatto dinner. How ya holdin’ up?" Sugar asks as she slides beside you, handing you a glass of wine to match her own. "Oh you know me so well. It's going.. as good as I expected it to be. Are they always this chaotic?" You question.

"Hell yes. The Berzatto family has never been calm, y'know?" She laughs. "But you seem to be fitting in nicely. And this is the first year of us doing one of these that Carmen truly seems happy, I think you're to thank for that."

You grin. "Well, as long as he's smiling." You and her watch him in the living room, chasing down the younger family members, laughing as they tackle him down to the floor.

"Yeah, well, I've seen Carmen with other girls before, and none of them have made him this happy. So, on behalf of the Berzatto family, thanks for bringing us a smiling Carmy." She raises her glass to you as you laugh, lifting yours as well.

Carmen watches as you clink glasses with Nat as he enters the kitchen. "You two doing good in here?" He asks. "Oh, we are doing wonderful. I should go find my husband." Nat says, smiling and walking out of the kitchen.

You sigh, setting your wine glass down behind you on the counter. "Hi." He greets, arms wrapped around your waist. You hum, wrapping yours around his neck. "Hey you." You reply, pressing your lips against his.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” He says quietly after he pulls away, placing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

You smile, placing a hand on his cheek. “I’m glad too, Carm.”

───

Arguments in relationships are common. They’re healthy, they bring growth. You and Carmen had a fair share of disagreements but never ones where he called you the name he did tonight: clingy.

“Can you just fucking leave me be for a second?! I don’t need you crowding me and being so- so fucking clingy.” Right in the office of the Bear, as you made sure he understood what was happening with Syd’s plans.

Now here you were, in Nat’s living room. “He probably didn’t mean it, you know?” She asks softly as she pushes some of your hair out of your face, wiping tears that fall down your cheeks. “I think he’s just been so worried about our mom, her issues and the Bear.”

“What if he did mean it though? What if.. What if he was just with me out of convenience or pity?” You voice your worries. She shakes her head. “I have never seen Carmy as happy anywhere else as he is with you. He loves you, Y/n. He wants to be with you, no one else.” She replies.

“You don’t call the people you love clingy.” You point out. She sighs, letting you lay your head on her shoulder. No matter what she said, nothing changed how you felt. Carmen thought you were clingy. Whether subconsciously or not, he thought it.

The thought made your heart ache.

───

You were younger than Carmen, you knew that much from the moment you met him. But it had never been an issue in your relationship, until now it seems. A simple, offhand comment about kids and marriage you had made to Syd. You wanted those things, and you wanted them with Carmy.

That’s what landed you in this position on a cold night, with him sitting on the armchair in front of you and you on the floor, crouched to try and read his eyes. Find any sign that you could get past this.

“We’re just on different paths. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get this close to you. And I should have stopped myself before I hurt you.” Translation: you’re still young and I can’t hold you back.

He didn’t stay after that. His clothes still hung in your closet, with you on the floor of the living room.

Translation: what now?

THE ENEMIES STAGE

“So, plans for you being in New York?” Diane asks as you and her sit on the rooftop of her apartment building. You sigh, as you lean back on your chair. “Drink a lot. Forget my relationship problems in Chicago and hope for the best.” You answer with a nod.

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. You can’t expect to fix your relationship in different states without talking.” She points out as you look over at her. “When did I hire you as a relationship therapist?” You tease. “Carm and I will be fine.”

You couldn’t find the translation anymore for what “fine” meant.

───

The wedding was gorgeous. Diane looked stunning and her husband was the sweetest man. The sun was setting over Manhattan, as you sat at the open bar perched on the rooftop. Staring at the missed call from a familiar contact: ‘Chef’s Kiss’. Carmy.

Maybe you had asked him for too much. Wanting kids, marriage. He’d give them to you if you asked, you knew that. But the idea of him just putting up with that just to keep you?

You didn’t return his call or any of his texts. Instead, you kept quiet until you returned to Chicago a week later. A box perched on your apartment doorstep with your belongings. Jewelry, shirts you left at his place. All of them except for the scarf that still sat on Donna’s staircase banister.

Maybe he kept it because it smells like you. Or because it reminded him of something pure. The one thing he really knew was now gone, and the scarf was a fragment of that.

───

It didn’t shock any of the staff at the Bear when you turned in your notice and stopped working there. Or when you took the couch you and Carmy used to sit on during late night conversations and moved it eleven hours with you to New York. Along with his hoodies, the one you wanted to keep most because it smelled like him still.

You didn’t delete the videos or photos you had with him. It feels too real if you do.

You stared at the kitchen. Where he used to hold you, scolding you for how you handled knives. The balcony, where he told you that you were his new dream. The living room where he’d kiss you like it was the first time. The bedroom, where some nights, he made you his own, and others he held you while you slept.

The only thing you found in the apartment that was foreign to you? A piece of notepad paper, with “ANGEL’S BAR” drawn on the front. You stuck that in your pocket as you made your way to your car.

It hurts to look at. It hurts to think about him.

Now it’s just you, in your hundred square foot apartment that you share with a roommate now. You manage to delete the playlist of songs that he loved swaying with you to in early mornings in kitchen lights. You learn his favorite melody by heart: stranger, to lovers, to enemies.

───

Closing that chapter of your life, you focused more on opening Angel’s Bar. His logo on the front, in downtown New York. Soft piano playing as chatter fills the room, drinks being poured in the corners.

It may have just been Carmen’s luck to find you on opening night, chatting around with the customers as he watched from the window, a familiar red scarf wrapped around his neck to help fight the cold air.

Translation: it reminds him of innocence. It reminds him of the better part of himself, the one you brought out in him.

Carmen learned to take lessons from break-ups pretty early on into his life. The one he got from you?

“Falling in love isn't for the weak. So don't try it at home.” He closes the book that he was given as an assignment for his AA class.

Maybe you were his favorite melody after all.

𓍢ִ໋🔪 ♡₊˚ 🧣・₊✧

shine on, shine on, my loves!

thank you for reading! please feel free to engage with this post by reblogging, commenting or sliding into my inbox to leave feedback! i appreciate all of you! check out my carmen berzatto masterlist here for more fanfics!

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@wabi-sabi1090

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- mae

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running-with-kn1ves · 5 days

Note

Could you do Orc Tribal Leader X Reader on your wedding night?

A/N: I SWEAR I'm literally just writing the same stuff over again b/c I had a story just like this, but you know what I never get tired of it because its like a top fantasy bro. Hope this one was better than that version at least

Content warnings: Forced Marriage, kidnapping, attempted escapes, nonconsensual touching, infantilization of reader

Synopsis: Your village, destroyed and burned. Your life picks up somewhere you would never have imagined. Maybe, death is a better option than being an orc’s spouse.

Word Count: Approx. 2600

The autumn solstice was a bountiful, beholden time of year. From the greeneries of cabbage and the fowls hatched in summer now fully grown, there was much to be harvested and ripened for the taking. Your town was boisterous, full of life with a variety of competitors and businesses attempting to lurch at any tourist’s or local’s wallet to get them to buy countless crops, meat, and woven goods.

Your tiny tea shop, suffering from last July’s drought, was finally starting to perk up with re-growth. Black tea, jasmine, bergamot, even hybrid blends like crushed raspberry and chamomile-- you could assemble enough to raise prices, label the small reaping as an imported foreign good luck charm that when drunken, blessed women with marriage prospects and men with wealth.

That was, before however, you became bound and gagged to a chair, pleasantries being exchanged around you in a language harsh in your ears. The fires... You remember them well, the putrid stench of charred meat from the butcher next door, his body even more ablaze. Your jade boxes of fine silk bags meant for holding gifts of tea, becoming laden with ash and dust. Every scrap of money you saved up under the floorboards disappearing into floating particles and melted coins.

“Brutes,” Your uncle called them, “deranged beasts with only two things in mind: bloodlust and greed.”

Orcs were not well-received in a conservative, fearful town of humans. Even the elves, seen as symbols of beauty in mortal standards, were causes of paranoia and irritation whenever they made their rounds nearby.

It was no wonder that the lines of tusked, olive-fleshed creatures in animal skin were spotted, the guards of your small city went on a rampage. Bows and arrows were no match for iron bones and teeth of steel.

You, were no match for anything wider than a tree trunk. So when fire caught to your village, your home now rampaged for its finest ‘offerings’ to the orcs, you were left to be eaten by the licking flames. And yet, was it a blessing or a curse that one of the warriors decided to haul you on his back, doting on how “nicely you’ll do” as a wedding gift. You didn’t realize that the gift was to be part of the ceremony yourself.

With smoke in your lungs and your eyes blurred by dirt and ash, you watched the ceiling cave in on your tiny tea-filled shack, bright orange and red dancing from behind the window panes as you drifted away.

Daraktan is spoken all around you, harshly and with flicking tongues. You can hear snippets of English, wondering what’s going on behind the black veil covering your head. You don’t dare remove it, recalling what the orc woman, supposedly your now husband’s ‘mother’ telling you in your native tongue.

“Touch this, and you will surely die. My alfhild will remove it, when it is time.”

And so, you wait. Digging your fingernails into your palms, crying quietly in heavy furs and leather, the occasional hand coming to pull your shaky one to their mouths, kissing the tip of your index finger.

“Aka’magosh..” They mumble to you, seemingly more at the body to your right.

The calloused hand of someone much larger than you, whom you have assumed is your husband from his constant appearance nearby, occasionally comes to grace your back, to rest a hand on the top of your head, to smoothen your veil or the soft fur shawl on your legs.

His hearty laugh hurts your ears, the jingles of the metal jewelry he adorns constantly making noise as he shifts.

“Please..” You whisper, praying, to whoever may be listening. Why you? Why, out of all the fair, eligible humans of your town, were you picked out from the rubble to be “saved”? To be married to a faceless orcish man, who would surely break you in half before morning?

The bitter cold of coming winter brushes against your legs. You can feel that you’re not inside wooden walls, and yet unnatural lighting seems to shine through your veil at times.

“Omulork, I think I will take my… wedding gift, to be with in solitude.”

Loud, deep laughs fill the room, the guttural voices of female orcs being swallowed up by uncountable numbers of warriors surrounding you. Your body shivered as a gust of wind blew in, the autumn breeze barely being kept at bay from where you sat.

“Enjoy the festivities, shedzvagas!”

His unique husk leaves everyone in the room to cheer in their orcish language, tough and painful pats coming to your back, the festive shakes to your shoulder nearly making you topple.

That same heated, abrasive hand comes to grab your roped wrists, lurching you firmly, yet gently from your place on the ground. Panic started to fill your stomach as it rose to your chest, the warm aura of an orc next to you radiating to heat you from the chilly weather outside.

Now. It was now or never. You didn’t want to think anymore what he would do to you when you were alone, when you had no one to cry to for help.

Your feet moved before the thought finished crossing your mind. Your hands shook as you stumbled in a sprint forward. You passed thick bodies as you ran blindly, making it a mere five steps before a pair of meaty hands grabbed you by the hips.

“A feisty one, Gar’mak!” The sounds of the orc woman who forced you into your wedding attire spoke up, a drunken laugh leaving her plump lips. “Alfhild, better not leave it out of your sight.”

You hated how clear the English they used was to your ears, how human they all sounded, how when they spoke in your native tongue-- it was meant for your ears. She wanted you to know, to let the fear soak into your chattering teeth.

The orc keeping you captive merely laughed, tossing your weightless body to his shoulder just like he had done when pulling you from the cobble of what was left of your tea shop.

You screamed, biting down on what you could reach from under your veil. But the salty, thick flesh from beneath you was aloof, offering no reaction as a double pat was brought to your buttocks.

“Now now, Djenifor, don’t fuss.” Gar’mak mused, each step he took forward making your body thump against his. He held a tight grip on you, not caring for the scratches you layered his back with. “I won’t try to hurt you… I will keep you safe, try my best to keep your fragile body in one piece.”

The coldening night air was a drastic change to the room of heavy body heat and weighty movement where the wedding ritual and festivities were held. Now, it was quiet. You could hear the loud chattering begin to drift, songs and chants rising again as they once had when you were unceremoniously married to your new ‘husband.’

Gar’mak patted your butt again, moving down to rub at the back of your thigh with a gentle, firm rhythm. He seemed to hum to himself, satisfied with the nights events. Scored himself a spouse and the treasured belongings of a human town.

He must be pretty proud of himself, you seethed.

The tears were beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, frantically scratching at the orcs back when you felt the warmth of an enclosed area meet your skin.

“No, no--” You began to kick, trying to shove off the arm holding you steady on the orcs’ shoulder.

“Settle down now--” Gar’mak ordered softly, putting you down on the fuzzy ground. You managed to hit his face, the hard scrape of tusks scratching your hand as a firm nose nearly cracked your knuckles.

The orc went silent. Quiet in rage, he rips your veil away with a grip hard enough to tear hair out if he so desired.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimly lit tent, lanterns glowing at the corners as the mass of a creature leers over you. You forgot just how… big, orcs were. From afar they looked small, bigger than a human, but no threat due to distance. But now… he was above you, twice your height, twice your size, twice if not thrice everything. His palm the size of your skull, his eyes gleaming and looking over your body, weak with exhaustion and fright.

Small, intentional scars were placed under his auburn eyes, some kind of tribe symbol you were sure. Thick eyebrows furrowed at the way tears decorated your cheeks, the exhales from his flat nose blowing hot breath on your chest.

“Please, I, I can’t, I don’t belong--” You fumble over yourself, trying to slide back on the floor of soft wolf and caribou furs.

“Shh, shh now,” The orc puts a hand to your ankle, an action that jerks you to a stop. “I won’t hurt you, lebam…”

You sincerely doubt that, but the sentiment sounds genuine from his broken, baritone voice.

“What’s your name?” He asks, pulling slowly with immeasurable strength at your leg. You slide towards him with little strain, even with your muscles going rigid for you to stand your place, your fingernails digging into the ground beneath you.

You shake out your name, reluctant to give it.

“Ah. What a human name; a scared wee human, aren’t you?”

You don’t dare to respond, waiting for the sound of your snapping ankle.

“They call me Gar’mak, though that may be too difficult for simple human brains. Mak is fine, little Djenifor…”

You don’t want to call him anything, to refer to him at all-- yet, he looks keen to hear you say it. There’s an expectation in his eyes, a flick of his giant tongue against his lips.

“Mak..” You mumble, trying not to gag.

“Yes…” The orc’s hand frees your leg, caressing up to your cheek as he wipes away a forgotten wet stream of tears.

“Please, just let me go--” You beg under your breath, scared of the way he seems to be eyeing your knees, your frail neck, your round ears.

“You know that’s not going to happen,” He doesn’t seem angry at you for asking, just… Sorry. “We are bound forever now; even the gods couldn’t tear us apart. Wherever you go, I will find you. Whenever I leave, you will feel me gone. By sunrise tomorrow your scars will be given, and you will become one of us.”

The panic begins to settle once again in your stomach. Maybe, tonight, yes-- tonight, if you could escape. You could-- just maybe you could find a way, past their all-seeing eyes, their all-hearing ears, escape to the mountains they took to get you here.

“But can’t you change it back?” Your voice cracks, expression twisting into an ugly cry as you feel thick fingers dig into your hair. “Just, we can go back-- just let me be…”

You sob for what feels like too long, hours maybe, Gar’mak’s eyes never leaving you as he pulls you to his thigh. He brings a cotton blanket to your legs as he shushes you, the tenderness of his eyes a foreign sight compared to the façade he forced you to endure during the night's festivities.

When your cries had turned to miserable, quiet sniffles, a muscled knuckle finds its way under your chin. He turns your head to look at him, eyes red and droopy as you try to think of any method of escape.

“You’ll learn to like it here, human.” Gar’mak thinks for a moment, caressing your leg with a single finger.

“We are far more civilized than your kind-- far more… Fair. You’ll be treated well. The spouses of warriors do not go unfed, unbathed. Unloved, most of all. You will be cherished; I will cherish you, as long as you let me.”

The orc grips your jaw in his hand, firm enough to where his fingers made dimples in your cheeks, but softly to where you felt like a mouse in someone’s closing palm. A kiss was planted to your temple, your body pushed deep against your husband’s as he holds you close enough to suffocate. You wait for him to choke life from you, and yet it never comes. He is harsh with his touches, but not harsh enough to hurt.

“Please, let's finish tonight how it was meant to go, hm? Let me hold you…” He murmurs, all soft and lamblike into your ear. It sends shivers down to your soles, hot breath layering your neck as he looks at your lips with such intensity.

You fear saying no, but the word rises up to your throat.

It doesn’t make it out in time. Lips engulf yours, the stiff coldness of bone-colored tusks brushing against your face as Gar’mak holds you tight. Just one kiss is enough to make his demeanor act up.

Your unassuming, comfort-driven spot on his lap is altered swiftly. You find yourself straddling the orcs’ waist, a hand pressed against the back of your head as your tied hands remain useless against his chest.

You don’t know whether to speak, to scream, to bite at his lips-- but you remain flexile, afraid of the rough hand holding your skull so tenderly, the other gripping your thigh to wrap around his flank. You’re like a resistant doll, licked lips becoming tender as the orc pushes against you with such tenacity.

You see his eyes open, staring into your wide, unblinking ones. They seem to communicate more than just lust-- its desire, desire for your reciprocation.

Gar’mak waits… he kisses you, eyes narrowed on standby for your submission. They’re hazy and make you wonder if this is enough to make him release his brutish side, the part that showed no mercy for your neighbors or your home. What would happen, if you broke away or dared to claw at him?

That thought doesn’t stay for long, not when the tough hand on the back of your head moves to your neck, squeezing just enough to bruise.

You wince, lips pursing in reaction just in time for his next tongued assault.

That slight opening of your mouth, the press of your lips against his, is all he needed. You find yourself twisted beneath his body as you’re brought to lay on the furry floor, the orc lying above you.

“That’s right, I’ll be soft Djenifor… just do as I command, keep smelling so sweetly for me.”

Scars litter his shoulders and collarbone, metal necklaces and piercings dangling on his olive-green, lightly haired chest as you fear how much it would take for him to crush you.

He’s so quiet, letting go of your mouth as the orc’s curled tongue licks a slow, wet stripe down your jaw. His hands grab your thighs to wrap your legs around him, intent on keeping you steady and so close you practically breathe the same air.

Before he leans to kiss you feverishly again, the orc brushes your cheek with his knuckles, petting down the amalgamated fabrics you wear to commemorate your wedding.

“You’re so lucky I found you first, that I had saved you from that rubble without layering an extra scratch; my brethren would not be so kind.”

He kisses your cheek, a soft, hungry grin playing on his plumped and tusked lips. “So stay pliant like this for me, wee human, and you won’t feel any pain.”

You lay rigidly, squeezing your eyes shut as a tender, all-consuming kiss eats you up, preparing you for the night’s affairs.

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damian-lil-babybat · 28 days

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DAMIAN WAYNE IS A GREEK TRAGEDY

When I say Damian al Ghul Wayne has almost all the ingredients of a classical Greek Tragedy, it is not an empty claim.

1. Tragic Hero: The hero facing his destiny with dignity. His virtuous character forms a bond with the audience, while his tragic flaw results in the audience’s fear for him, and his terrible punishment reveals a sense of pity.

Damian is the hero of his own story. In his mind, he was given a destiny, a standard to live up to. It came from his grandfather, as Hafid al Ghul, son of the Demon. It came from his mother, as her Alexander, with Talia deluding herself as Olympias. It came from his father, as the son of Batman.

He thought himself perfect on all those role, mighty ones they might be, heavy and overwhelming even, but he persevered in ways that should be impossible and ultimately achieved the pinnacle of a perfect heir for all of them.

2. Tragic Flaw: The human limitations of the hero or an error in judgement leading to the downfall. He attempts to escape from his destiny; however, he unknowingly runs toward it. His attempt leads him to his “damnation”.

But what he thought was perfection, was his downfall. For even if he was designed and raised to be perfect, those roles are fashioned by imperfect mortals. As the son of the Batman, he was all too much of a monster to even be treated as child, let alone a son. As the son of the Demon, he was too soft, kind, and all too human, to sit upon the al Ghul's immortal throne. As the great Alexander, he was deemed as a mere pawn, a victim of circumstance, and not a victor of his own fate.

He was set up for failure before his story even began.

3. Catastrophe: The horrible ending of the play: death, suicide, ruin etc. Upon the truth being revealed about Oedipus’ origin, Queen Jocasta commits suicide by hanging herself, Oedipus stabs his eyes with the pin on Jocasta’s dress and pleads to be exiled from the city.

And just like all tragedies, it ends up in death...so many deaths and sacrifices. Repeat and rinse, the cycle continues with each redeeming arc punctuated by his death or ruin.

And just like Sisyphus, one must imagine him to be happy. For how else could he endure these unending trials?

4. Central Belief of Destiny: The belief of the fact that the actions were preordained by the gods and the flaw was inevitable. Even though Oedipus attempts to flee from his preordained destiny, the belief in inevitable destiny becomes the reason for his destruction.

How else could he keep harking on to his destiny? Desperately clinging to it like a promise gold once he touched it like Midas' cursed hands? But no, everything he touches turns to dust, every height he scale would be pushed down reverting him back to his old bare bones of an unwanted worthless child from both side of his parents, even how much he tries to make things right. Every person or thing he treasured is another ammunition for plot purposes to make him more tragic than he already was.

Damian had tried to flee before, but fate always brings him back. Because Batman needs a Robin. But Bruce already has a Robin, doesn't he? Because Damian needs to be Robin? Just cause, who would he be then? When all those titles he earned has been discarded and thrashed in the light of Batman's justice?

And the only one title he could be proud of is always threatened to be taken away if he just as much cross an invisible line that keep on changing depending on whims of the doomed narrative.

5. The Chorus: Approximately twelve masked men, forming a specific group, make comments on the ongoing play by singing and dancing.

Due to its form of media, Damian has no twelve singing and dancing masked men. XD

BUT If I have a say on this, I'll give Damian his own set of bardic troupe narrating his life story, and maybe somehow DC writers would finally admit he was loved and wanted, and was never alone and actually have family, companions and friends along the way!

https://www.byarcadia.org/post/ancient-greek-tragedy-101-the-introduction

AND THAT IS WHY it makes more sense for writers to like and, or dare I say, even love Damian's character.

A lot of great fanfictioners in AO3 actually root for this little guy. So it's nice ✌️

#damian wayne #Character study #Robin #Bruce wayne #Batman #Talia al ghul #Ra's al Ghul #Dc rant #kurit blog #Sorry for turning this to an essay #Thanks for listening to my TED talk

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anyarose011 · 7 days

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"Crawling Back to You" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: It started with a night out in King's Landing, then a fake name, and then a disagreement. Some time after cooling off, and after a job gone wrong, you and the one-eyed prince come to...an understanding in the rain.

Part 2 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Oral sex (f and m receiving), nudity, groping, talk of death, swearing, canon-typical injury, sexual harassment (not done by Aemond), and mention of past child SA

Heyyyyyy pookies. So I just started my senior year and it's been hectic. BUT I hope this long ass chapter (it took me forever) makes up for it! I'm also not sure how accurately I'm writing Aemond. I mean, I know HBO is making him into the edgiest edge lord, but I'm taking creative liberties i guess. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 8.5k

“It’s a pleasure to finally put a name to your face. One that fits its beauty.” He smiled.

You lowered your gaze, fighting the smile on your lips. It was a stupid compliment, one that you had heard several variations of the rare times men would flirt with you those days. But…it felt different from him.

Still, you merely scoffed, setting the jug on your hip. “Do you want to lead the way, or should I?”

“Go ahead; considering you believe I’ll harm you somehow.”

“See?” You decided to tease instead of defy as you began to walk up the cobbled hill. “You are funny.”

Aemond scoffed, following you. “Did I ever deny it?”

“How you reacted when I first said it never gave me a clear answer.”

“Shouldn’t you change?”

You looked back at him. “What?”

Unashamedly, his eye trailed over your body and yours soon followed. Your nipples were perking through the thin material of the dress.

“Seven Hells.” You cursed, bringing the jug in front of yours.

Aemond came to your side, a hand on your back and leading you up the hill. “You don’t wear a corset?”

“Not with this. I’m meant to lure lustful men, remember?”

“Perhaps you can tell me where you tailor so we can get more appropriate clothing?”

Hell no.

“Or,” you suggested. “I could teach you how to properly steal something?”

“You need to be able to not draw attention to yourself to do that.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“I have no doubt, but the clothing off a man’s back?”

You paused for a moment before replying. “Yes, actually; I even managed all of one’s undergarments.”

Aemond shook his head, pulling his hood farther up to hide his smile. “I mean more so with that dress.”

“It might surprise you, but that is how I robbed him blind.”

“I mean in the sense that-.”

“-I understand.” You shut him up, but not aggressively. The two of you passed by more and more people through the many alleys of King’s Landing. When you got to the main roads, you would’ve lost Aemond in the crowd if it weren’t for the fact his hand had traveled from your back to your arm.

Maybe it was because he was paying you, or maybe it was because you didn’t know how touch starved you had been until it felt like his hand was simultaneously burning and soothing you; but you welcomed his touch.

As you continued to brave through the busyness of the city, you managed to spot a hobbling man wearing a long cloak with a drink in his hand. You smirked at your companion.

“Are you watching?”

He nodded, and how he looked you up and down briefly didn’t escape you. “I’m watching.”

You handed him the jug of water and approached the slightly incapacitated man. You pitched your voice up when you asked. “Ser?”

The man glanced up at you through hooded eyes, and he grunted in response.

“Are you alright?” You feigned concern, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him up.

“Aye.” He sighed. “Much better now that you’re here.”

You giggled, leading him. “You’re too kind.”

“If it’s possible, could that kindness be repaid?”

“Let me at least have your name first,” you turned him down a spacious alleyway where there were less people. “Then I will know what to scream.”

“Gaius. You may-oi!”

You snatched the cloak right off his shoulders and took off in a mad dash down the rest of the alley. Turning your head over your shoulder for merely a second, you were graced to watch as the drunk man stumbled over his own footing before two hands in front of you grabbed your arms. Once you were pulled around the corner, you raised your hands to strike your assailant; to which he caught both of them.

“Is it truly that easy to rob Smallfolk?” Aemond asked, not letting go of your wrists.

Snickering, you pulled away from him. “I thought you said you were watching me?”

“I was.”

“Clearly not.” You slipped the cloak over your body, tying it. “You were lurking in the shadows.”

“I still saw you.” He retorted.

Shaking your head, you bent down and picked up your jug of water on the ground. Then, you stuck your hands into the pockets of the cloak. Your face lit up, and your retracted your hand, holding four pennies in your palm.

“Come with me.” Was all you said before walking past him and continuing down the street.

Aemond was by your side once more. “And where exactly are you taking me to?”

“Are you fond of sweets?”

“I enjoy them, but rarely indulge.”

“Then I will be more of a temptress tonight without having to show any of my skin.” You said excitedly.

All the prince did was smile; somehow trusting your ‘madness’. It was a short walk from where you were to a small stand in one of the several market corners of King’s Landing. Despite the long line, you pushed to the front, ignoring all of the comments and curses from the people.

“Evening, Marija.” You greeted the older woman. “Oh my, has someone bewitched you? You look younger!”

“What do you want?” She sighed your name tiredly, but a pleasant smile was on her features.

Sliding the four pennies onto the counter, you said. “Two dishes of Northern Snow.”

“Do you have two other pennies?”

“This was all I was paid.” You sighed. “You know how short everyone is on coin.”

“Precisely why I need every bit of what is owed to me.”

Shaking your head, you lowered your voice. “Do you see the man lingering behind me? The one with one eye.”

She glanced over your shoulder for just a moment, long enough for it to look like an accident and not a stare. “Yes?”

“He’s a rich lord from Essos,” You began the lie with a truth. “and he has fallen in love with me.”

“You have always told marvelous tales, but even for you-.”

“-Marija…I have a good feeling about him.” You spoke with more insistence. “You know that doesn’t happen very often.”

The older woman looked at you for a little longer, as if to try and pick apart your deceit. Then, when she could find no trace of it, she sighed heavily. Still, she brought out two small vanilla cakes and laid them on the counter, then brought out the bowl of puffy cream.

“You better invite me to this extravagant wedding of yours.” She frosted the cakes with the cream, creating a fluffy topping that looked as if it was true snow itself. Marija then drizzled melted chocolate over both cakes before handing them to you. “Considering this handsome stranger is wealthy.”

“He is strange.” You chuckled. “A bit arrogant too, but I shall live.”

“All men are arrogant.”

“You have not met this one. Thank you, Marija.”

“Sure, sure,” she scoffed. “Give me your water as well; I’m parched.”

“Only if you give me the jug back. I need it.”

“I’ll come around tomorrow and visit Yelena in the meantime, is that alright?”

Your smile fell for just a moment, before forcing it back. “Sounds great!”

Rushing away, you could barely hear her goodbye before you soon found Aemond again, handing him the dish. His nose wrinkled as you immediately sunk your fork into the pastry. “What is this?”

“Northern Snow.” Your answer was somewhat muffled by the amount of food in your mouth. “Marija’s traveled across the realms and has been popular for her desserts. The snow is just whipped cream with sugar and some rosewater.”

“The brown parts?” He poked the treat.

“Chocolate, but it’s meant to look like horse droppings.”

“I believe I’ll pass.”

You shook your head. “I’m meant to be showing you around the joys of the city that is not just brothels. Trust me.”

He matched your seriousness. “And if I find it revolting?”

“Then you may know where I tailor.”

Humming, he smiled as he dug his fork into the cake and then into his mouth. He pursed his lips together as you watched him ponder the taste. Then, he shook his head, taking another bite.

“You must be a witch to have known I would favor it.”

Smiling victoriously, the two of you walked a short while through the congested market until you managed to find two chairs and a table.

“What did you tell her?” He asked as you sat. “The woman who made this?”

“That you were Prince Aemond and would have my head if I did not serve you a Smallfolk delicacy.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” You agreed, taking a bite of your treat. You hesitated on your next words. “I…she’s a romantic, and I didn’t have enough for the cakes, so I told her you were a rich lord courting me.”

It was nice you didn’t immediately expect him to lash out or condemn you to your death; he seemed genuinely composed every time you were with him, and he stuck to that.

“And what was my name?” He humored.

“I didn’t tell her one.” You teased. “If you were not yourself, what would you have wanted to be called?”

He hummed, taking time for an answer before settling on. “Ciarán.”

“I’ve met one or two of those.” You nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Might I ask you a question now?”

“Of course.”

“Do you summon your knife out of thin air, or do you hide it in your cunt?”

Choking on your food, you placed your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Once you were alright, you finally looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“The rumors I’ve heard of you isn’t just about your beauty.” He grinned, knowing the effect on you. “It’s known that you assault men with a blade, but I’ve heard conflicting accounts.”

You stared at him for a little longer before shaking your head, snorting. “Inside of my thigh, like a normal person. You nearly grazed it the first night.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head to the side.

Nodding, you smirked as you took another bite. It was then that his eye darkened just a hint. “What?”

Aemond didn’t verbally respond. Instead, he bunched up the sleeve of his shirt, reached over to take your face into his free hand, and wiped the corner of your lip with his sleeve. “You had something white on your face.”

It was your turn to hum at his statement, continuing to eat; yet, you would glance at him more often while you slid the fork into your mouth, tongue trying to lick the utensil clean of the whipped cream. You both finished up in silence between each other, yet the people around you only chatted excitedly, laughed boldly, or moaned and fucked one another in the dingiest of places nearby.

“Is it fun to be a prince?” You asked, pushing in your chair when you bother stood to leave.

“I wouldn’t call it such.” Aemond shrugged, following suite, and the two of you were wandering aimlessly once again.

“Then what is it you do for fun?”

“I find myself in the library often; reading, studying the history.” He listed. “I train with Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Hand of the king.”

“You sound like you enjoy his company.”

“I enjoy making him falter as we spar.” He looked at you. “You mustn’t be so horrible in combat. On account of you supposedly taking men’s lives for bounties.”

Shaking your head, you place your hands in the pockets of the cloak. “I don’t take pride in it. I’ve also had my fair share of bruises and broken bones.”

“How many have you killed?”

“How many have you?”

Your response would’ve only worked if it had not been for the well-known fact he had killed Lucerys; something you had forgotten when you saw him again. Now, there you both were, your pace slowing equally in the silence that was the discomfort you had created.

Still, he responded. “Only one; and I assume you along with the rest of Westeros knows who by now.”

Nodding, you kept your eyes down on the road in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?” He questioned.

You shook your head. “It’s not my place. If you wish to tell me, then tell me. If not, then I believe it’s your turn to ask something about me.”

Humming, he prodded. “Again, how many men have you killed?”

“The same as you.” You stood closer to him as a crew of rowdy men began to pass by. “He was an angry man; a ratcatcher fired from his profession, and to my luck, with no family or anyone to miss him.”

“It must have been his luck as well, considering what happened to all of them merely a week ago.”

You didn’t want to acknowledge the gate into that conversation. “I had only done the luring and thievery for a single moon; the worst I had come across was a bloodied nose and a bruised rib. This night…Chansey had warned me not to pursue him, but I was young and ignorant. I didn’t even get to the well before he came up behind me and…”

This was far too intimate of a story to tell someone you had only met twice; nonetheless, one of the princes of Westeros. You decided to end it as soon as possible. “He didn’t hurt me in the way you’re thinking. We struggled against one another, I had no knife with me at the time, but he did. He dropped it as we fought, we both reached for the blade, and I got it first.”

The two of you had somehow wandered into a small, quiet square; perhaps only a few other people resting from a drunken bender. Aemond, with his hands behind his back, simply inquired.

“Did he have anything of value on him?”

Shaking your head, you grinned. “Three pennies, a half-penny, and a surprisingly clean red scarf.”

“And the scarf was the most priceless.”

“Of course. I would’ve died in the winter without it.”

You both chuckled, and it was him who halted the walking. You stopped in front of him a few places.

“I hadn’t meant to kill Luke.” Aemond admitted softly.

“Lucerys?” You clarified.

“Yes; only frighten him.” He sighed. “It…it was an unfortunate outcome to what I had intended.”

If he were not himself (perhaps the rich Lord Ciarán he wished to be for that one night), then you would have told him it did not matter what he intended. A boy was dead and that put all of Westeros at risk. Still, whilst your anger was present, you understood you would never know what happened that day. You also understood his regret above all; you had no right to act like a saint.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You genuinely had no idea how to respond to him. So, you did what your mother had done for you whenever you were upset as a child: Ask what you needed from her.

His eye met yours, and you somehow found the courage to not look away from him. After what felt like a lifetime, he approached you suddenly and gradually wrapped his arms around you. Your body was akin to a corpse with how frozen you had become. Still, it didn’t last for long as you found yourself easing into his hold, your own arms around his neck. The night was so quiet, you could hear his shallow breaths in your ear.

Then, his hand slipped into your pocket.

At the sudden change of touch, you flinched out of his touch, but he merely shushed you, pulling away fully. You reached into the pocket and pulled out what he had promised you; three silver moons.

Swallowing thickly, you looked up at him and saw…an array of emotions you could not describe. So, you spoke first.

“I…I hope tonight was enough for you. I’m not sure what else I-.”

“-It was nice.” He interrupted, his gaze still on you. “Lovely, even.”

Nodding, you pocketed the moons and kept your hands at your side. “I bid you a goodnight, Little Prince.”

He rose his brow. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to call me that.”

“Will you have my head then, your grace?” You taunted.

“I should.” He walked closer to you. “But I won’t. What direction is your house?”

Your heart leapt; yet, not in the way it should have after an attractive man (you would later admit) made a forward remark.

“Oh no, I will not bother you.”

“It is not a bother if I desire to see you home safely.” He argued.

“Aemond,” you stepped back, not wanting to play a game. “I don’t want you to walk with me for the rest of the night.”

The quietness returned; but, not one of comfort. He didn’t look angry, and that was what frightened you. He merely stood tall like a man.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean to say it so-.”

“-Yet you said it.”

Shaking your head, you tried again. “I offended you, and I’m sorry. My house is no place for anyone other than myself and-, not even other smallfolk.”

“I wouldn’t go inside if that is what worries you. I am merely curious.”

“Look,” you approached him again, only for him to step away. “if you wish to see me again, I wouldn’t mind at all-.”

“-As long as I have coin.”

Your face went blank for a few seconds you had been so shocked by his words, and soon formed a scowl. “You had offered.”

“You didn’t reject it.”

All you could do was laugh. “You-!”

He wasn’t the one to cut you off, it had been yourself. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands over your mouth to ponder your next words. You were tired, frustrated, and wanted to go home. So, you did exactly that.

“Be safe on your journey back to the Red Keep.” Was all you said, and you brushed past him, expecting him to call you a nasty name, or chase after you again.

But, like the first night you had met him: He did nothing.

A week later, you were back where you’d always been at night: Sylvi’s brothel. As you prettied yourself, the girls were restless; not with enthusiasm for the clients, but for the talk of war. Whether it was the fear of death it would bring, or the lust for strong men to take comfort inside of a woman.

You were a part of the former. Not as horrible as some girls (you found one vomiting up her dinner after the discussion), but you had to admit you were judgmental of those excited about it. You yourself had never experienced war…but if it was just a smidge like the violence you and other women had ever suffered multiplied by a thousand…it wasn’t something you were looking forward to.

Later, you waited in Sylvi’s private quarters (the one place no one is allowed to go during work hours unless she permitted it) until it was Chansey who came, saying she had quarry for you.

She had been with an older, retired member of the Lannister guards. He was three and fifty, she told you; fucked like an animal, but when it was over, while he desired to do it again, his body ached so horribly he could only walk.

It was meant to be easy…but for any reason at all, it wasn’t that night.

You stumbled as you brought your knife out, and he unsheathed a dagger from his side. You fought and fought, it almost being like a twisted dance; he’d strike, you’d doge, and vice versa. He swiped against your side, and it stung but you had no time to even seethe in pain as he brought his blade up to stab you again.

He’d gotten tired sooner than you imagined, and you grabbed onto his sleeve, then dragging him into a handful of barrels nearby. He landed in a crash, and he wasn’t getting up. He was still breathing as you looted him. A few Coppers and a silver Stag.

It was only then, as you pushed your way through the boisterous crowds, that you felt your head begin to lighten, and your side grow heavy. Looking down at the gnawing pain, you saw crimson soak your thin gown. Oh…you were wounded.

“Chansey?” You called out over the groaning of whores and their patrons once you made it back to the brothel. The lights seemed dimmer than usual, and with one hand keeping pressure on your wound, you used your other to tap the shoulder of the nearest server.

She gasped upon seeing you. “What happened?”

“Where’s Chansey?” You asked.

“She-she’s with someone.”

“Seven Hells, already?!” Sighing, you took one of the chalices off her tray. “Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.”

And you took it in one gulp. The server gaped at you as you took another one, also downing it like it was water. “Thank you.”

Her voices of worry were once again drowned out by the sound of constant pleasure from every corner of the brothel. Now, what the server did not tell you, was that it wasn’t the cheap wine usually served to the common payer; no…it was incredibly rich, and incredibly strong.

It also didn’t help you barely ate or drank water that day. So, to no one’s surprise but yours, you were stumbling through the entire pleasure house.

“Needle and thread?” You slurred, pulling open one of the curtains abruptly only to see five naked women lying next to two men. “Sorry.”

You felt the blood begin to seep through the small cracks of your fingers and your pressure wavering as you made your way to the next curtained area.

“Do you have a needle and thread?” You asked again, being welcomed by Valda laying on her back with a man’s head between her legs.

She screamed at your intrusion and cried your name. “What the fuck?!”

“Hey,” in your haze, you found it amusing. “do you know where Chansey is?”

“Get out!”

“Okay, okay.” you whistled at the man. “Good ser, I do declare that you are a gift from The Seven because only They know how many men actually come here to-.”

“-Wait, are you bleeding?!” She sat up in alarm.

You left immediately, taking deep breaths to try and remain upright as you continued your search. A hand grazed your shoulder.

“Are you alright, girl?”

A putrid looking man questioned with a toothy grin as you turned briefly to see who touched you. You nodded. “I’m fine, go away.”

“Hey now,” he tried to make a grab for you again, but you shoved him off. “don’t be like that.”

“I’m dying, I think I can be.”

“Let me give you a little death.” He flirted.

You grabbed the nearest curtain, tossing it aside. “For fuck’s sake, does anyone have a-?!”

Words failed as you gazed upon Madame Sylvi sucking the cock of a standing man. It was then that your eyes traveled up his body, and saw a familiar, silver-haired prince.

A prince with one eye shut, and a sapphire where an eye-patch should have been.

Your mouth ran dry at the sight of him falling apart in whimpers, and it dropped once his eye opened and immediately went to yours.

Aemond released a loud groan, tossing his head back as cum dripped through the creases of Sylvi’s mouth. She drew herself away from him, still on her knees, wiping her mouth and looking over at your interruption.

“What in the devil’s name are you doing here?!”

Your words fell into syllables as you genuinely had no idea what to say. Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw the man that had been following retreat.

“Hey!” You yelled, hobbling after him. “You sheep fucker, get back here!”

Two hands grabbed your shoulders and turned you around sharply, causing a reminder of the wound in your side. You hissed, clutching it and trying to smother a cry. You kept your head low as the person who had manhandled you led you back into Sylvi’s small room. You were laying on the pillows and thin mattress. It was then you saw Aemond Targaryen hovering above you.

“No-!” You tried to push him away.

“-Calm down.” He insisted, restraining you. “You’re going to make it worse.”

“If you touch me, I’ll carve out your other eye and feed it to your mother.” You slurred.

Instead of killing you right there, he thinned his lips. “While I don’t doubt that, you shouldn’t need to worry; I’m well spent.”

You gagged, shutting your eyes in disgust and tossing your head further into the pillow you rested on. You felt a presence soon beside you, and you opened your eyes to see Sylvi.

“My prince,” she turned to Aemond. “please wait in my personal quarters and I’ll-.”

“-I’ll hold her down.” He interrupted. “She’s a fighter, if you don’t know.”

“Believe me,” she unscrewed a bottle of alcohol. “I do.”

Sylvi hiked up your dress, completely exposing you from the waist down, and poured liquid over your side, causing a squeal to escape your throat. In an attempt to not just remain calm for yourself and everyone else in the building, you did your best to stifle your cries. It only became harder to do once Sylvi stuck a needle in your skin.

That was when you instinctively rose yourself up, only for Aemond to force you back down, putting his entire weight upon you. Your hands traveled up to his bare shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin and even scratching in an animalistic attempt to get him off of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in quivering breaths and suppressed your grunts in pain. It looked like everything was underwater, and you could barely make out the face of the man above you. You only saw the shimmering jewel where his left eye should’ve been.

Then, the pain was over.

Your heartbeat began to slow down, and it was no longer the only sound in your ears. Your body rose momentarily as you felt bandages being wrapped around your waist, and your dress finally lowered, covering your nakedness. You felt a warm hand brush your face gently before it pulled away abruptly.

“What did you do now?” Sylvi sighed, tossing her materials away.

You groaned, unable to move. “Bad job.”

“And so, you decided to come and bother me?”

“Chansey was fucking someone and I-.”

“-Watch your words!” She lightly slapped your face and whispered fiercely. “Prince Aemond is here, and I will not have you speak like that.”

You laughed, glancing over at Aemond, who had put his pants on, and was working on his shirt. “Do you hear that, Aemond? I can’t say ‘fuck’!”

“Are you drunk?” She hissed.

“Nooooo.” You trailed off before giggling.

Sylvi stood, placing her head in her hands and shaking her head. Now noticing how strange the whole situation was, you pushed yourself up. Your body was scalding, but you would rather die walking away from embarrassment than in the heat of it.

“He had some coin.” you sat up. “I don’t know where it went, but I’ll find it. I have to go home now.”

“You are not walking out like this.” She pushed you back down.

“I’m not sleeping here.”

“I’ll take her back.”

The prince stood tall, slipping his patch over the sapphire. Sylvi shook her head. “No.”

“Are you questioning my authority, Madame?” He challenged.

You watched her flinch. Then, taking a breath she explained. “You needn’t bother with her; she’s a humble, little thing that doesn’t listen to anyone other than herself. Besides, you requested and paid for two hours, yet you have only used twenty min-.”

“-I will gladly spend the rest of it escorting her home.”

Again, the only sounds being heard was skin slapping alongside loud moans outside. You looked in between the prince and the Madame as if you were a child being fought over. So, coughing, you sat up again.

“Can I wear my own clothes, please?”

Sylvi, for the first time that night, coddled you. “Of course. Aemond, could you tell the first girl you see to fetch her clothes from my quarters, please?”

He nodded, leaving you two alone. When he was out of sight, she brushed the hair sticking against your sweaty face.

“Tell him you changed your mind, and you’re too weak to walk.” She begged.

“And if he says he’ll carry me?”

She scoffed. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sylvi kissed your cheek as if to soothe you. “I don’t want you to be alone with him.”

“He told me he already had his fill of cunt.”

“Men can still hurt little girls without their cock.”

“Take a look at me,” you sassed. “don’t you think I already know that?”

She said your name softly. “He’s not as kind as he seems.”

“No, he’s not. He acts like he’s been born out of an ass’ ass. I mean…how you feel about the Dowager Queen-.”

Slamming a hand over your mouth, she spoke in your ear. “-Not another word from you. You listen to me; I’ve come to know him for the years I’ve spent with him longer than the weeks you have had with him.”

“If he’s so horrible,” you took her hand away. “then tell me what he has done.”

“He-.”

“-Never mind, I don’t care.”

Instead of stepping into the room, Aemond had tossed your set of clothes through the curtains, landing on the floor. Without words, but with looks that could kill, Sylvi helped dress you and then led you out of the brothel.

It was downpouring, and while your clothes thankfully covered almost every inch of your skin, save for your face, you weren’t in the mood to be bathed in rainwater. Sylvi hadn’t even wished you a proper goodbye; just nodded to a hooded Aemond beside you and went back inside.

“I assume you can walk?” He asked, almost annoyed at his own idea to walk you home.

“You’re not going to carry me?” You teased.

“No.”

Sighing dramatically, you took a few steps out into the rain, and immediately felt agonizing pain. Well, not as bad as earlier, but it hurt. Still, you decided to follow the best given advice: Walk it off.

“Stop, stop.” Aemond shook his head after you limped four more steps, coming to your side. “Lean against me.”

You didn’t argue, draping your arm over his shoulders. You both walked as quick as you could in the rain, you giving him directions the best you could (he had to turn around twice to go back to the same fork in the road) until you tapped his shoulder.

“Wait-wait, I don’t feel good.”

“Seven Hells.” He cursed, pulling you over to the side of the street. Grabbing your hands he placed them on the nearest wall, standing behind you to guide you.

“Hey, hey!” You rose your voice. “Don’t-don’t you even think of hiking my skirt up!”

“You’re going to smell like death in a moment, why would I ever-?”

“-Because men are…are…”

You gagged, and Aemond’s hands immediately vanished as you threw up what little you had eaten that day. Your throat was on fire the whole time, making the chill of the rain even more apparent.

“Oi!” An older man yelled. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth and turning over to look at him standing in a doorway of his shop. “Yes, thank you!”

“Do you know that man with you?”

Before Aemond could say anything, you pat his shoulder affectionately. “I’ll have you know, this is Lord Ciarán of House…Strong…Man, Strongman. He’s one of the richest men in Westeros.”

“Is that so?” He nodded, then looked at your companion. “Lad, do yourself a favor and put your old lady to bed.”

Aemond forced a smile, taking your arm and returning it back to its proper place over his shoulder. The two of you were on the road again, you leading him blindly throughout the streets. The rain felt nice at this point; not exactly, but your throat had been parched, so most of the time, you were holding your mouth up and tongue out like a child to catch the rainwater.

At one point, he hissed in pain, his hand coming up to his eyepatch.

“What is it, what’s wrong?!” You gasped.

“Nothing.” He cursed. “’Just keep going.”

Reluctantly, you carried on through King’s Landing until you reached your home.

“Okay, we’re here.” You stopped him a few minutes later.

Aemond looked at the building before him; it was a bouchère. “Here?”

“No, down there.”

He followed your gaze, and sure enough, there was a set of stairs to the side leading down. Carefully, you both scaled down the steps, and entered your home.

There was no leaking anywhere, to your surprise. With only the little amount of light within the sitting room, you knew Aemond (even with one eye) could see just how much dust there was on the furniture.

“Hells,” he sighed heavily, slipping off his cloak before you could stop him. “how do you live in this humidity? I can barely breathe.”

“I-.”

“-Vivi.” A sweet, tired voice called for you.

In the corner of the room, in her usual chair, was your grandmother. Her eyes drew up to the door once you entered, and they were alight.

“I thought you were out for too long.” She stood.

“Evening, Gigi.” You staggered over, embracing her. “And how was holding down the fort?”

“Some mice almost came in, but I showed them who was the boss around here.”

“I’m sure you did.”

It was only then did she fully realize there was someone else with you; a man. A man with silver hair. She gasped, turning back to you.

“Siobhan, you didn’t tell me the king was visiting!”

You cackled. “Gigi no, this is my friend-.”

She gently took his hand into hers, kissing it. “-Your grace, you must forgive my dear girl; she has a knack for getting into trouble, but not for telling me things.”

And then, Aemond did something you weren’t expecting. He placed his other hand over your grandmother’s, smiling.

“All is forgiven.”

Her grin was contagious as she pulled her hand away to hike her long skirt up, walking to the kitchen. “Oh, I shall make tea! Imagine what Cassian would think?” She chuckled. “Jaehaerys himself in our house!”

The name she uttered sobered you up; not all of you, but enough for terror to return into your body. Once she was out of sight, with a growing fear in your eyes, you looked at Aemond.

“You-you must understand, she hasn’t been herself since I was a child. I don’t think she’s even aware there is-was another-.”

“-I’m not a fool.” He stopped you. Noticing you had the face of someone who would vomit for the second time that night, he said. “I told you; I enjoyed reading the histories. I’m well aware the king before my father was Jaehareys.”

Feeling as if you could breathe again, you rested against the wall. “Thank you.”

Aemond hummed. “Why ‘Gigi’?”

“She never liked me calling her ‘Grandmama’.”

“And who’s Siobhan?”

Your eyes drew to the ground. No mice were in the house, but a few spiders had made their way in. “My mother.”

“Ah.” Was all he could manage.

“She uh, she died when I was one and ten; that’s when Gigi…”

“How?”

“What?”

“How did she die?”

Something clogged your throat, and your head felt heavy all over again. Swallowing the lump, you tried to find the words to-.

“-Forgive me. “Aemond spoke. “I shouldn’t have prodded.”

“No, you-.” You shook your head. “I understand your curiosity.”

And there you two were, against the wall in silence. Sighing you finally said.

“She forgets what she was meant to do when she enters a room with a purpose.” You explained. “I guarantee you, she’s doing a puzzle instead of making tea. We don’t have the best leaves anyway.”

He nodded. “Do you wish for me to leave, then?”

Your eyes went to one of the only windows in the house; the long, thin panel at the top where you could see the feet of everyone in King Landing if it were a nice day. The rain came down harsher, the spattering of water being almost too loud.

“You can stay until the storm eases,” you answered. “if you want.”

“I would prefer it.”

Nodding, the heaviness of your head did not cease, and your eyes drifted to the doorway in the back of sitting room. You made your way through it, glancing back at Aemond.

“If I may be candid, I’m quite exhausted. So…unless you’d prefer being called ‘Your Grace’ by my grandmother, then you’re more than welcome to talk with me in my room.”

“Hm, the former sounds tempting.” Despite his words, he followed close behind you.

You pushed open your door, took a few steps towards your bed, and lowered yourself to lie down with a sharp wince. The prince took his time observing your room, taking in every little detail. From the residue of a mess being pushed under your bed, to old childhood art pieces up on the wall.

One piece had caught his eye the most. A sketch of a woman’s face; a haunting gaze in her eyes that would make anyone believe she was watching them.

Much like yours…

“This is Siobhan?”

Better to use your mother’s name as if she were a stranger instead of calling her ‘your mother’.

“Gigi drew that.” You smiled lightly. “It was on one of her namedays.”

“It’s beautiful.”

His compliment unnerved you before it flattered you. You deflected with a joke. “Beautiful enough to have her paint the Targaryens the next time they so desire it?”

“If she cannot remember to boil tea-?”

“-She is herself again when she does or speak of things she loves.” You sat farther up against the wall behind your bed “Even if they’re things that no longer are with us.”

He sat at the edge of the mattress. “And what are some of those things?”

Oh, where to start? As your mind rattled over what exactly to say first, you truly looked over Aemond for the first time. It was strange; you had acknowledged his attractiveness for just a moment, but never delved more into it.

Then, as you stared at him, you knew exactly what to tell him.

Giggling, you began. “Cassian was my grandfather; I hadn’t known him, he died before I was born. Still, if it’s not him she speaks about being in love with, it’s ‘Elio’; a Dornish man, her first love.”

“Some might say they are far greater than the one you marry.” He shrugged.

“She’s never told me his real name.” You leaned forward. “She said that he had to keep it secret from her for a long time, and he only told her after she got drunk, and he thought she wouldn’t remember.”

The two of you laughed lightly, and you kept going through your giggles. “He-he was only in King’s Landing for a year and went back to Sunspear. They would send ravens to each other, but then he stopped one day. She married my grandfather, had my mother, he died, and that was life.”

“And then there was you.”

You nodded, thinning your lips. “And then there was me.”

“You’ve talked about your mother, but you haven’t mentioned your father yet.”

Sighing, you rubbed your finger into the blanket you rested upon, looking away from him. “When my grandfather’s heart gave out, Gigi had to take on more work at the tailor’s and they still weren’t making enough for food. So…my mother took up working with Sylvi. She was fifteen, and Sylvi only let her cook and clean. When she was of age, she let her go to bed with the men for her coin. I could’ve walked past my father, and I wouldn’t be able to know.”

Aemond stared at her, nodding. “You’re a bastard.”

“It’s the one time I enjoy being smallfolk.” You shrugged. “I can just as easily lie and say my father died while married to my mother.”

“No one else knows?”

“Sylvi and Marija; the woman who gave us Winter Snow.” You scoffed. “Some old neighbors who’ve thankfully died, but I still remember their insults as I passed by them when I was just a child.”

He hummed, and you did not blame him for not saying anything after you. The two of you just existed in your childhood bedroom, the rain still beating against the roof, but not quite as hard this time.

“What were you like when you were a boy?” You questioned.

“Not like my brother or nephews.” He answered right away. “They…teased me a lot.”

“I’ve never had brothers or sisters, but aren’t they meant to?”

“Not like how they did.”

Oh…so it was bad. You wouldn’t ask him how horrible it was, knowing that there are some things no one would ever want to speak of.

“I’m sorry they did.”

He shook his head. “No need, it was years ago.”

“It was still wrong.”

Aemond didn’t say anything; didn’t even look at you. Then, for some reason…you felt compelled (maybe even okay) to tell him. “My mother she…died the same way my grandfather did.”

“His heart.”

“We-we think so. It’s strange though; she was so young, and just one night we were eating dinner, she stands to go tend to the fire…and she fell. It…it was as if her soul had been sucked away from her and all that was left was her body.”

“And you think you’ll die like her.”

Swallowing thickly, you had hoped he didn’t see right through you about that; but at the same time…how freeing it felt to be seen even in the most shameful and terrifying moments of life.

“She was the main provider for our house.” You went into more detail. “Gigi tried her best, but it wasn’t enough. My mother…Sylvi hasn’t told me everything she did to earn enough coin, and I don’t think I want to know. Many healers have said that people dying from a bad heart at such a young age is due to stress. I don’t know if they’re right, and even when I was one and ten, I did everything in my power not to feel so, but Gigi would wander around King’s Landing late at night, or we couldn’t afford food for days on end…”

You were vomiting all of your troubles onto him, it was disgusting; but, once you started, you couldn’t stop. The storm had picked up again, and from how the wind shook the walls of your room, you thought they would all crumble.

“Sylvi knew of us struggling, and she paid for our meals. I was to become an indentured servant to her, like how my mother was; cooking, cleaning, running odd errands…but she paid me in coin as well. I think-I think she thought I was going to follow in my mother’s footsteps when I was of age, but I refused. That’s when some of the girls and I came up with a way for me to make extra coin, and here we are.”

“She never let anyone younger than seventeen be a whore?”

For a moment, you pondered how that was the one thing he got from your nervous ramblings. Still, you decided it wasn’t best to think about it. “She didn’t want men bedding little girls.”

“I suppose it’s different for girls.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It was my thirteenth nameday when my brother brought me to Sylvi’s pleasure house.” He said it as if it was common knowledge. “He said I needed to know everything there was about women. Your Madame certainly taught me well. It makes sense I suppose; girls are taught to be more ashamed about it.”

Even with the storm still going outside, the only sound you could hear was the beating of your own heart. “…What?”

You remembered what it was like when you were that age. Your body felt strange, you bled between your legs for the first time, you wanted a husband right away one moment, and then wanted to be a child forever the next. You were good at talking to men who were older than you…but…being intimate? No…and Sylvi had…Sylvi had-?

“Is something wrong?”

If you were delusional, you would say he seemed concerned. Still, if you were to tell him that what Sylvi had done was hypocritical and despicable of her, you would go red in the face with tears, and he would only spit on you and say you wouldn’t understand, and-.

“-Your hair.” You said, having been staring at it whilst your mind rushed. “Has…has it always been curly?”

Aemond scowled, not in scorn, but in puzzlement. It must’ve started to dry as he spent time in the house; it must’ve been frizzy and horrible as well. “Yes.”

You forced a smile. “And here I thought only the ladies of the night burned their hair since men favor it straight.”

“Mothers too.” He sighed when he saw the look you gave him. “It curled more by the time I was fourteen. She had the servants straighten it for me ever since; I believe she hates anything about me that is a reminder that she is my mother.”

“Aemond…”

“I don’t need your pity. I’ve been with her since I was born, it is nothing new and I have-.”

You don’t know why you reached forward and combed a strand of his hair between two of your fingers. Maybe it was because you were still tipsy, or maybe it’s because you just wanted to. He flinched upon your touch, and so did you.

“For-forgive me,” you backed farther up your bed. “I-I forgot myself and I-.”

He brought himself forward, taking both of your hands. Without looking at you, he brought both of them into his hair. Almost like it was second nature, you began to gently run your fingers over his scalp. He shut his eye, his hands traveling to drape along your waste, and he bent his head to rest upon your chest.

It was strange. Strange but nice. You were holding him, but just to have the illusion of you also being cared for…not even your grandmother had done something like this for years.

“I like your hair just how it is.” You whispered after a minute. “If it matters at all.”

He merely hummed, his hand travelling under your shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his finger caress the skin above your wound. Your hands did not still, continuing to comb through his hair softly.

His finger traveled farther up, circling the swell of your breast. You made a noise you hadn’t made before, and you thought you sounded ridiculous. He hummed against your chest, and…

And…

Something between your legs felt like it was beating; like your heart, but it wasn’t that.

“I’m going to touch you there.” He mumbled against the fabric of your shirt. “Alright?”

No, no it wasn’t alright, but it was at the same time.

It wasn’t okay because you’ve only heard stories about this from the girls at the brothel, but it was okay because-because you liked him, and he was-

and you were-

and everything feels warm-

and the way he talked to you-

and the way you-!

“Get off!” You whispered once you heard just the lightest of footsteps outside your door. He listened, backing away quickly to the edge of the bed. An almost silent knock came from your door, and you smiled. “Come in!”

Gigi pushed herself in, holding a tray with two steaming mugs, setting it on the bed. “I’m so sorry, your grace. We do not have tea leaves, so is milk alright?”

Aemond nodded. “It is.”

“How have the both of you been?”

You wore a thin grin. “Fine.”

She nodded, looking in between the two of you. As if she knew what had just taken place, she gave a wry smile and turned to leave. “Well, the rain is dying down now. Let me know if you two need anything else.”

“Thank you, Gigi.” You said without another thought.

She didn’t shut the door when she left. You picked up the mug, took a sip and immediately felt your body heal just a little. Warm milk does numbers on a soul.

“I should take my leave now.” The prince stood up abruptly, dusting himself off.

You tried to stand. “I’ll walk you out.”

The wound at your side burned every inch you moved, and you did a horrible job concealing it. Aemond gently took your shoulders, pushing you back down.

“Rest.” He commanded. “You’re injured, and it’s late.”

“And when have you ever cared?” You teased

“Perhaps just now.” He matched your tone.

“Do you know what I hate?”

“Me? Life itself? Men?”

“Yes, to the last two.” You feel your chest constrict at what you would say next. “I hate that you told Sylvi you would spend time with me because you paid her for…other things previously.”

Aemond tilted his head to the side. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “You…you no longer have to pay for my company. You’ve seen me in turmoil, and I’ve seen you naked.”

He laughed…he laughed in a way you’d never heard him laugh before. “Is that what makes us allies?”

“Friends?” You reworded. “You understand the meaning, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” He scoffed.

“So…are we friends now?”

Friends who touch each other in ways they usually don’t.

A hint of a smile spread across his lips. He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Friends.”

You dropped your face, hopefully to avoid him seeing how you blushed. The damage was done though. Regaining yourself, you took a deep breath and looked at him.

“And…I’m aware I won’t be the first person you’ll seek if you’re in distress, but please know I will help if you need it.”

“Do not call yourself inadequate.” He shook his head. “I might have some use for you.”

You scoffed. “How considerate of you.”

“Rest now.” He repeated, turning to leave without a proper goodbye.

You sat up. “Wait!” Aemond did not turn to look at you, but he stopped. “Your eye. When you were walking me home, you were in pain. Does it still hurt?”

He was silent. For a moment, you thought it was to come up with a lie, then you assumed it was to find the words to tell you the truth…you had too much faith in him for either.

“It’s late.” He said your name softly and walked out of your bedroom. You heard the front door open then shut.

And there you were, on your bed, alone with an undrunk mug of milk.

The rain had completely stopped.

#aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #game of thrones #aemond x reader

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luvxkdrama · 2 years

Text

— reunion

pairing : chishiya x reader

warnings : mentions of guns, wounds, blood and cursing

word count : 1.8k

summary : After successfully finishing the last game, you run to reach Chishiya for the last time but before you can, you return to the real world with zero memories of what happened

a/n : season 2 spoilers!

—

Horrifying screams echoed trough the once empty and peaceful city of Tokyo. There was no voice announcing a new game, so the sudden shooting quickly caused a massive chaos. Everyone ran in different directions, panic taking over the residents.

Chishiya seemed unbothered as he roamed around the street as if nothing was going on. You groaned at his behaviour and after successfully dodging a few bullets, you wrapped your hand around the man’s arm and quickly dragged him behind a car, joining the rest of the group.

He raised one of his eyebrows when he noticed your hand still holding onto him. You scoffed at his smirk and quickly pushed his arm away, making him smile in the back of his mind.

“We’re pinned down here!” Kuina exclaimed.

“If we step out, he’ll get us!” Usagi answered when suddenly a green car stopped in front of you.

Before you could say anything, Tatta screamed to quickly get in the car in order to run away from the King of Spades who turned out to be the source of the chaos.

You looked at Chishiya and he unconsciously pushed you towards the car, for you get in first. The rest of the group joined you in the backseats but when it was Chishiya’s turn, he noticed a bomb on the ground.

“That’s bad. Get going!” He exclaimed and ran to hide behind a car while Tatta drove away.

“Chishiya!” You and Kuina both screamed, not wanting to leave him behind but at the same time, having no other choice.

In the back of your head, you knew Chishiya would be fine by himself, however the constant thought of something going wrong didn’t let you rest.

After a few games where you brushed against death, you finally met Arisu and Usagi again after losing contact with each other.

“What’s going on!?” You frowned when you saw Niragi, Arisu and Chishiya holding a gun while Usagi looked as much confused as you were.

“Look who we have here, our precious Y/N who always seems to nuzzle in other people businesses’. Let me make a favour for everyone gathered here and get rid of you.” He smirked and your body froze.

Not being able to do anything, you closed your eyes as Niragi fired his gun. You breathed heavily but frowned at the lack of impact. After a few seconds, you opened your eyes and noticed Chishiya in front of you, protecting your form behind his body.

“Chishiya!” You screamed once he collapsed on the floor. “Why the hell would you do that!?” You put pressure on his wound, only now noticing the second wound on his side.

You physically felt your heart shatter at the sight of his blood, slowly dripping down his body. While Arisu was busy listening to Niragi, you softly caressed Chishiya’s hair, something you’ve always wanted to do but never got the courage to.

“I wanted to do something out of my character.” He chuckled, looking up at you. “Besides, if it’s for you I’m dying for, it will be a quite nice death. Oh god, that sounded cheesy.” He cringed at himself, not taking his condition seriously.

“Don’t even dare mentioning you dying, we’ll get out of here soon and you will survive, alright?” You were trying to act though, but the tear rolling down your cheek and your shaky voice showed how you really felt at the moment.

“Of course, and we’ll open that cafeteria you never shut up about.” He laughed and you playfully nudged his arm.

You helped Chishiya lean his back against a random car and put his hand between yours. Although he wasn’t fond of physical touch, he didn’t seem to mind yours.

“We will, I promise.” You gulped, unsure of your action, but decided to slowly lean in and as you saw the corners of his lips tug upwards, you decided to go for it.

As your lips were about to touch his, Arisu exclaimed that the King of Spades was nearby and you had to leave immediately. Chishiya, as much as he wanted you to stay by his side, gently pushed you back and ordered you to run.

“I’m staying here with you, I won’t leave you alone.” You protested, sitting down next to him.

“You promised me to finish the game, come back when everything will be over. As you can see, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.” He whispered and sent you a soft smile.

Before you could answer, Usagi grabbed your arm and you went to hide.

After hours of what felt like forever, the laser went through Mira’s head and you looked back at your two teammates, not believing the nightmare was actually over.

“Go Y/N, he’s waiting for you.” Usagi smiled at you, indicating you to join Chishiya.

You thanked them both for everything and left the roof, running down the stairs. You stopped mid-way as the characteristic female voice echoed through Tokyo, asking the remaining players if they wished to stay in this world. Without a second doubt, you declined the offer.

Although the building wasn’t far away from the Main Street, you felt as if you were running in slow motion. You started to get dizzy but you persisted in your moves and felt your heart skip a beat when your eyes finally met Chishiya’s. He sent you a soft smile but before you could reach him, everything turned black.

- - -

Once your eyes opened, you were met with a white ceiling. You raised your hand to put it against your head that was pounding unpleasantly.

“What happened?” You asked the nurse that was checking the monitor next to your hospital bed.

“You were one of the survivors of the meteor that fell on Tokyo. Your heart stopped beating for a whole minute but the paramedics succeeded to get your pulse back. You might experience memory loss which is normal, after a few days you should regain everything!” She smiled before leaving the room to check on other patients.

“A meteor? My heart stopped? For a minute?” You groaned at the massive headache, getting a strange feeling you were gone for much more than a minute.

After a few hours, you were discharged from the hospital and you were finally allowed to go home. It still felt as if you weren’t home for weeks.

You only had your purse on your nightstand, so you left the room after grabbing it. Nothing seemed right when you were walking down the hospital hall, as you somehow felt empty.

Outside the window, you saw all the other survivors who were with their loved ones.

“My bad.” You bowed apologetically when you accidentally bumped into someone.

“No worries.” A strangely familiar raspy voice came in contact with your ears.

You lifted your head and was met face to face with a blonde man in his mid-twenties. He analysed your face thoroughly and frowned after a few seconds. Before you could say anything, he left without a word.

“Why did he look so familiar?” You groaned at the incapacity to find him in your memories.

After two months, you successfully opened your own cafeteria. It was a dream of yours since you were a child but you never got the courage to have one because of your parents who didn’t consider it as a real job. However, after the incident with the meteor you realised how suddenly life can end. You decided to live it to the fullest and do as many things as possible in order to not regret anything.

You didn’t expect many people at the opening day but you were pleasingly surprised when your cafeteria was filled with customers. By the end of the day, you earned more money than you thought.

It was past 8 pm, so you decided to call it a day. As you were washing the dishes, you heard the bell ring, indicating someone entered the cafeteria.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed for toda-" You cut yourself mid-sentence when you turned around and saw the blonde man from the hospital.

“Oh, I’ll come back another day.” He was about to leave but you quickly stopped him.

“Wait, it’s fine! I’ll make an exception.” You smiled and invited him to sit down. “So here we are, meeting again.” You laughed.

“Yeah, I don’t mind it to be honest.” He confessed, looking at you.

After making his order, he asked you to join his table.

“Your heart stopped beating for a minute too, I suppose?” He asked, catching you off guard.

“Oh, when the meteor hit, yeah.” You smiled awkwardly, not being able to maintain eye contact with him. “Although I felt as if I was gone for weeks.” You added, wondering what he would say.

“Me too, I felt like I was in a completely different world, weird right?” He smiled, taking a bite of your cookie.

“I have this feeling as well but then again I can’t remember anything from when I was unconscious. To be honest, I don’t even remember the moment the meteor hit the city. Everything just happened so suddenly.” You sighed, still not quite believing what Tokyo and its citizens went through.

“That makes one thing we have in common. I’m sure there’s more though, so what about getting to know each other more?” He asked, his eyes staring into yours.

“I- I would love that." You chuckled, reaching out your hand to him. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Chishiya.” He slightly squeezed your hand, his fingers brushing over your skin reminding you of something you’ve never experienced and yet something that felt so familiar.

What you didn’t know is that Chishiya already knew who you were and remembered exactly what you both went through. The games, the deaths but specifically your smile and the way you made unfamiliar feelings develop in the his chest. He knew you both had your life ahead so without rushing things, he promised himself to make you fall for him all over again. This time, in a world where you’re both safe and sound.

#chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya headcanons #chishiya angst #aib chishiya #alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #chishiya fluff #chishiya icons #jdrama #arisu imagine

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druidrot · 8 months

Text

the shadow in the valley

pairing: gale dekarios/reader (f/m)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: angst, slight death and descriptions of the void, gale gets his munch on, he calls reader tav ONCE (once), a fun little twist on gale's confession

rating: explicit - MDNI

Summary:

“Ah, so you return to us once more,” he teases, though his voice is tinged with something unplaceable. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“You look tired,” you respond simply, careful of the loaded statement.

He barks out a disbelieving little chuckle, sighing as he runs a hand over his eyes. “Yes, well, sleep eludes one when they worry over the life of their dearest companion.”

That same stirring from before, back in that dreaded town, burns in your chest again. You can’t help it, so you find yourself teasing him.

“Dearest companion, hmm?” Even though your voice is still a bit hoarse, you manage to sound coy. “I seem to remember you telling me you love me.”

You delight in the way the flush blooms from his neck to his face as he clears his throat. “Erm, well, yes, I suppose I did.”

At this point, the only thing you can focus on is the cold; dreadful, painful cold.

It is as if ice twists itself down to your very core, gnawing at bone, sinew, blood. You think you have never felt so cold, so empty. Your ears ring and the pressure in your head is all-encompassing. It is as though you are in deep water; deep, frigid, unrelenting water. You think you register shouting through the overwhelming fog, but you can’t find the cognizance to concentrate on it.

You feel the cold intensify, your insides twisting and coiling in discomfort. Then, you no longer feel even your own heartbeat, no longer feel the pain that so tortures you. Even the ringing in your ears fades, the sound becoming distant, discordant. It is like you sink further, deeper, like nothing surrounds you but a deep, endless abyss.

What’s left of your mind wanders and you are weightless, thoughtless, nameless. Not even the cold bothers you anymore, nor the weight that encumbers your soul. This must be what death is. You can’t rationalize it, can’t name it anymore, but intrinsically some part of your soul recognizes that you float in the palms of Kelemvor.

Death is absence, peace. You are naught but the abyss that swallows you, ready to be harvested for the City of Judgment. There is a warm touch that blooms in the recesses of your soul, yet that sickening weight from before begins to return. The cold slowly begins to seep back into your being. The ringing in your ears, the pressure in your mind, even the fluttering of your frantic heart bursts back into existence, a violent cacophony of sensation that has your soul burning. The water that drags you under begins to recede.

With a sickening pop, you are thrust back into yourself. It is jarring, the sensation of returning to life. Your mind reels with memory, how you got here, where you just came from. You gasp, body lurching as that same dreadful cold from before burns through your waking bones.

“By the gods,” you hear, distantly. “Shadowheart, she’s awake!”

When your vision comes back into focus, you find that you are cradled in the arms of your resident wizard. His eyes shine with tears in the torchlight, but still he wears a small, tortured smile as he smooths a stray hair away from your forehead.

“There you are,” he whispers, soft. “Stay with me now, love.”

You want to say something in response but all that comes out is a wet cough. You feel your chest rattle with the weight of it, cringing through the pain. Gale’s eyes harden as he calls for Shadowheart once more.

You vaguely remember why you came here. The search for the Thorm mausoleum had taken you to the heart of Reithwin town. True to fashion, a pack of hungry shadows and shadow-cursed undead had waited rather patiently for an ambush.

One wrong move on your part and a lash from a shadow vine sent you careening through the area, the pixie bell in your pocket falling loose during your unexpected flight. You had been cast to an area where the curse was particularly strong, and as you fought the shadows threatening to steal your soul, a wayward wraith shot you with a necrotic spell that sapped you of any strength. It was like being plunged into ice, the last thing you remember before waking up in Gale’s arms.

You don’t understand why you haven’t been claimed already, but the cold that still engulfs you bodes ill. You can feel yourself slipping again, can feel that sweet call of the void that welcomed you before, the void that promises nothing, absence.

“Hey, don’t you do this to me again,” you hear, distantly. “Stay with me, my love. Please stay with me.”

You hum in response, tired.

“Please,” Gale’s voice is hoarse with tears. Absently, you think you’ve never seen him look so scared before, not even when Mystra basically ordered him to his death. It gnaws at you, his fear. You don’t want him to be scared.

“Gale,” you whisper, weakly. “It’ll be…just fine.”

His answering laugh is humorless. “The woman I love lay dying in my arms and still you show remarkable optimism. Quite on the nose for you, yes.”

Your fluttering heart jumps in your chest. You offer him a small smile, cracked with blood and fear. “You…love me…huh?”

“So much more than you could ever imagine,” he responds quietly, resolutely. “Which is why I need you to stay alive. I have so much I’d like to share with you.”

Once again, you find yourself wanting to respond but too weak to do so. Finally, you watch as Shadowheart and Karlach approach Gale, shining little pixie bell nestled between the fingers of your dear tiefling’s hand. Immediately, the cold seems to recede from your bones and you breathe a shaky sigh of relief.

“Stay with us,” Shadowheart orders, falling to her knees beside you. Her face is streaked with blood and her eyes are steely, but still you see the fear that hides there. You try to offer her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she whispers as she presses her hands over your heart. “Without that bell, my magic would do little to heal you. This curse is much too potent once you’ve been touched by it. I can do enough to ensure we make it back to Last Light. I don’t have much strength left so Isobel will have to do the rest.”

You try to nod but the weariness you feel overtakes you. You let out a soft sound before giving into the warmth of the cleric’s magic, Gale’s worried eyes the last thing you see before you slip back into the welcoming darkness.

This time you wake in peace.

The bed under you is delightfully plush, even though it’s naught but straw and hay. You are pleasantly warm under the blankets, that wretched cold from earlier nowhere to be felt. Your body aches minutely, muscles sore and strained, but still you are so very much alive. You breathe a welcome sigh of relief, opening your eyes to the familiar interior of The Last Light Inn. The small room you occupy is a quaint bedroom, just a bed, a few wardrobes, and a small chair by the bed. It takes a moment for your mind to fully clear but when it does, you register the presence of your favorite wizard, sitting vigil in said little chair at the bedside. He offers you a grateful smile when you meet his tender gaze.

“Ah, so you return to us once more,” he teases, though his voice is tinged with something unplaceable. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“You look tired,” you respond simply, careful of the loaded statement.

He barks out a disbelieving little chuckle, sighing as he runs a hand over his eyes. “Yes, well, sleep eludes one when they worry over the life of their dearest companion.”

That same stirring from before, back in that dreaded town, burns in your chest again. You can’t help it, so you find yourself teasing him.

“Dearest companion, hmm?” Even though your voice is still a bit hoarse, you manage to sound coy. “I seem to remember you telling me you love me.”

You delight in the way the flush blooms from his neck to his face as he clears his throat. “Erm, well, yes, I suppose I did.”

You mewl softly. “While you thought I was dying in your arms, you told me you loved me.”

“I was there,” he reminds you, embarrassed. “And yes, I did tell you I loved you while you were dying in my arms. I could not allow you to pass on ignorant of what you mean to me.”

Something warm settles in the pit of your belly and you can’t help the way your heart sings in your chest. You find yourself sitting up, laughing softly as he scrambles to help you. His arms are solid at your sides, warm, and when the impulse hits you to cradle his face in your hands and pull him close, you do.

“Well, I’m still alive,” you breathe, blissfully aware of the way his pupils dilate. “Care to repeat it?"

Gale offers a tepid smile. He shifts so he sits on the bed with you, mindful of your sore body. It takes him a moment to muster his resolve, and you wait patiently as he mulls over what he would like to say to you. When he seems to have settled on something, he takes your hands in his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“I had a plan,” he begins, gently. “I wanted to do this the right way, but it seems fate has other plans. If we were home, I would have taken you out to explore the wonders Waterdeep has to offer, wooing you over wine and weave. But this is what we have, here, now. You must know how special you are to me, Tav. I’m…I’m in love with you.”

Something warm breaks open in your chest. You don’t think you could find the words to say to him if you wanted to, so you do the next best thing. Leaning forward, you pull him as close to you as you can get him and you press your lips against his in a wanting, searing kiss. He groans softly, lips opening under yours instantly. His hand tangles in your hair and he presses even closer, still mindful of your sore body.

Gale is a fervent kisser. He is a bit unpracticed, sure, but he more than makes up for it with the devotion that drives his lips. He presses you back into the plush blankets, careful to keep your body caged beneath him. He breaks the kiss after a few succulent moments, grinning down at you oh-so-charmingly.

“If circumstances were different, I’d show you pleasures beyond your wildest imaginings,” he whispers, leaning down to smatter delicious kisses along your collarbone. “But time is short and you are still weak, not yet wholly mended. I would still like to express my love for you, if you are of a willing mind. I do believe I have an idea.”

You coo softly as his teeth nip at your skin. The brush of his beard burning against your sensitive neck leaves you gasping, decadent heat blooming through you, lighting you on fire. He seems to like the response, chuckling darkly as he continues his ministrations.

“Come now, love,” he rasps, moving back to kiss at your lips. “I cannot oblige you if you don’t give me an answer.”

His kiss is distracting, consuming, but you muster the will to nod your head. “Yes, Gale. Please, anything. Make me feel alive.”

He groans in response. It is broken, desperate, and you find the urgency behind his next kiss breathtaking. So long have you waited for this moment, for the heat of his body against yours, the warm press of his adoring kiss. You want for nothing in this moment, just the building heat that seems to roar between you both. He allows himself to be greedy, stealing the breath straight from your lungs as his hands begin to caress you: your hips, your thighs, your ribcage. He is everywhere all at once, but you don't mind. You are lost to him, have been lost to him since the moment you pulled him out of that portal way back when.

“You have no idea how long I’ve yearned for you,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, brushing aside the fabric at your collarbone so he can continue along his path. “I am a man starved.”

You moan quietly. “Gale…”

You can feel him grin against your skin. “Yes, my star, I hear you. I cannot wait any longer, either.”

He pushes up on his arms, beginning a slow, sensual descent to the open space between your legs. Once he is settled, his warm hands splay across your belly, handsome face heavy with desire. His eyes are molten pools of heat, yearning, desperation.

“Long has it been since I’ve delved into pleasures of the flesh,” he starts, a twinkle in those dark eyes. “But if you would allow me, I would like to indulge the both of us tonight.”

You swallow a heap of air. “Whatever you desire, Gale, please.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he responds with a grin, heavy hands gliding lower. “If it is your wish, I would like to feast on you tonight, my love. A promise of more to come, when time should allow it.”

“Gale,” you whimper, soft. “I think I should like that very much.”

He practically glows with relief. You both recognize that the time for words has very much passed, so he makes quick work divesting you of your trousers. A wave of embarrassment washes over you - you are filthy, after all, covered in blood and muck and who knows what else - but your fears are quickly washed away when you take stock of him. HIs eyes are trained at the crux of your panties, right where your sopping cunt weeps through the fabric. He takes a heavy breath, hooded eyes peeking up to catch your heated gaze.

“I will enjoy myself very, very much,” he growls, leaning forward to lick a hot stripe right over the fabric. You can’t help the gasp you let out, body tensing in anticipation. His answering laugh is low, heady with his desire. He is quick to free you of your panties, eyes softening as he’s greeted by the glistening warmth of your cunt. You want to be embarrassed, want to close your legs and offer yourself another night, but the way he stares at you keeps you rooted in place. He licks his lips, groaning softly as you let out a small, inadvertent moan.

“If it is too much, tell me to stop,” he orders, leaning forwards. “Otherwise, I plan to leave you absolutely shattered.”

You don’t have time to respond. Gale’s tongue is hot when he presses it against your clit, delicate at first: a test. He grunts, and soon he takes to licking long stripes through your folds, catching the gathered slick on his tongue. It is positively sinful the way he moves, so slow and deliberate. His tongue is wet, warm, heavy. You mewl as he returns to your clit, sucking softly as his fingers tease at your folds. Considering you now know what death feels like, this is the closest you think you’ll ever get to heaven.

His onslaught is pure, unadulterated delight. His beard scratches at your cunt deliciously, glistening with the shine of your desire. He is enthusiastic in his ministrations, lapping at you like a man starved, which by his own words, he is. His fingers find your clit, and before you can register it, his tongue dips down into the heat of your entrance. You cry out, hips canting up as he groans in approval. His thumb rubs delicious circles around your clit, tongue dipping in and out of your hole so wantonly you might combust.

“That’s it,” he croons, taking a moment to take a breath, thumb still relentlessly at your clit. “Chase it, my love. Use me for your pleasure.”

You nearly cry. He moves back to gentle laps at your clit with his tongue, fingers dipping dangerously low before he breaches your entrance with the tip of a finger. You mewl, body arching off the bed when he plunges the whole digit in. Were he anyone else, you think you’d be embarrassed by the squelch of your quivering cunt. Instead, you find it adds to your arousal, the sound a beautiful cadence, evidence of your undoing at his hands. He plunges another finger in, still slurping and sucking at your sweet little bundle of nerves. He curls those two fingers up, searching for a moment until he finds the spot that has you seeing stars.

“You are maddeningly beautiful like this,” he whispers, pulling away to level you with a lovesick grin, still plundering away with his fingers. “I can’t wait to ravish you properly, my star. The sight of you wrapped around my cock would be most rapturous indeed.”

You groan, voice sticky with need. He returns his full attention back to your cunt, sighing happily as he wraps his lips around your engorged clit. He picks up the pace of his fingers, adding a third digit when you begin to pant like a madwoman. He sucks harshly at your clit, groaning his own pleasure when a spasm rocks through you. His fingers hit deliciously deep, his mouth on your clit only adding to the rapid fire that begins to burn through your cunt.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, a telltale sign you’re close. Gale doesn’t miss a beat. His fingers take to a wicked pace, his tongue moving around your clit in filthy, sinful circles. It doesn’t take much more to send you over the edge you suddenly find yourself careening over. You gasp brokenly, hips trying to cant away from him as he finishes you off.

“Just like that,” he praises, rather smugly. “Let yourself go, my love, let yourself release.”

It is like a rubber band snaps, the pressure in your cunt growing until it explodes. You almost quake with the intensity of your cunt bearing down on his fingers, slick pooling around them in thick, delicious rivulets. Sensation leaves you all at once, and when you finally come back to yourself, Gale hovers over you with a knowing smile, beard still glistening, fingers still shining with your arousal.

He licks them clean, of course, and you mewl as your cunt clenches around nothing. He laughs adoringly, smoothing your hair down with the hand that wasn't inside of you.

“You are absolutely divine,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you despite the slick gathered around his face. “Nothing or no one in the planes could ever compare.”

You feel yourself flush but still you offer him a warm smile. “Thank you, Gale. Truly.”

“Make no mention of it,” he returns, humbly. “This was a gift for me as well. I only hope that it will not be the last time you and I can be alone together like this.”

You grin coquettishly. “Gale, I think I’m spoiled for anyone else. I love you, I want you. At this point, it will take Ao himself to tear me from you.”

“Then I am a man most lucky,” he concedes, kissing you once more. “Now, as much as I’d love to keep you to myself like this, I believe the others are waiting for your recovery. We should clean you up and get you something to eat. You still need to recover your strength if we are to continue our journey.”

He helps you back into your trousers and with a quick cast of prestidigitation, you find yourselves blessedly free of the cum, blood, and dirt miring both of you. You smile graciously as he helps you to your feet.

“I meant it when I said I love you,” he murmurs, pulling you into his embrace. “I really thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m here now,” you respond, resolutely. “And I won’t let my guard down again, of that I can assure you. We will find a way to keep you here with me, too. I cannot lose you, Gale. Not now.”

He smiles sadly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Come now, my love. That conversation is best saved for the morning. Let us return to our companions tonight, hmm? They are eager to see you and while you are delightfully decadent, I find myself hungering for some real food.”

It is easy to concede to him tonight. You know the stakes are ever-raising but you also know that you are more than equipped to handle them. For now, you allow yourself this sweet little respite with the man you love, end of the world be damned. So you smile and offer a sweet kiss, taking his hand as you begin the walk back to your waiting companions.

۵۵۵۵۵

welp, this was born from pure wish fulfillment so i hope u enjoy. crossposted on my ao3! this was inspired by a prompt from one of the recent lists i reblogged: Prompt #1025: "You told me you loved me." "Yes." "While you thought I was dying in your arms." "Yes." "Well, I’m still alive. Care to repeat that?"

as usual, requests are open! comments, reblogs, and follows are greatly appreciated!

#gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale fanfiction #gale dekarios fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 fanfic #r's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #reader insert #rotwrites

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aetherrx · 3 months

Note

Kim gitae with reader who ran away maybe?(strangers to lovers basically) Anything you like as long it has smut 🙏😔

Gitae x Reader | That Strange Man

18+ MDNI | ✦ . 　⁺ 　. ✦ . 　⁺ 　. ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Mexico.

Fucking Mexico.

You’d have slit the throat of any person who’d simply indicated that you would run away, to another country, with your tail tucked between your legs. You were a beast; you were the villain. You weren’t the one that ran, the imbecilic human parasites that surrounded you, were the ones that ran.

They ran from you.

But not anymore.

You were a wounded animal, a dethroned tyrant running from death. That black eyed bastard would get his comeuppance, you’d make sure of it. But, for now, you were stuck licking your wounds in the scorching heat of Mexico, dodging the creepy, slimy looks from rogue cartel members.

To think that the black-eyed bastard had been on your level made you fume with unquenched, fiery rage. You weren’t the only injured rat scurrying away; no, no, no, before that fight ended, you made damn sure to damage the fucker beyond repair, just like he’d done to you, and that jagged scar running down your back.

You sighed, running a hand through your unruly strands as the wind fluttered through, smashing its warm touch against your cheeks. Your legs ached; your temples throbbed with an impeding headache.

You simply wanted this day to end already.

Peeking around, you finally noticed your unfamiliar surroundings, now realising why you were receiving so many weird, slimy looks. The streets in this area all looked very similar, weaving and crossing into one-another, as if they all led to the same centre.

You cursed silently, the sudden realisation that you may have just wondered into the nest of one of the most dangerous cartels in Mexico, which was said to have had its main base in this city.

It was just your luck, to run into the most infamous cartel in Mexico, all because you were stuck in your own head.

This is why you take care to survey your surroundings, dipshit, you scolded yourself, letting out a quiet, scattered sigh as your turned to leave. You could feel holes lasering into your back but chose to ignore it. Better to flee now before more attention is wrought upon you.

Your legs swept rapidly across the cracking pavements, determined to reach the shopping centre and the better side of town, as soon as possible. You may be able to fight, but you cannot fight against a gun.

You could certainly try, but more often than not, gun fights ended with a trip to the hospital or a trip down under. You did not want to be going down under anytime soon.

You sighed with relief as the light churned and burst in front of the last alleyway, your form stepping out into the heavenly light, its beams caressing gently at your cheeks.

You turned to the right, your body colliding into a large, solid wall. You frowned, wincing as your still-injured shoulder smashed into the hard material.

A frown furrowed your brows as you noticed the very warm skin, and very real leather jacket on this supposed ‘wall’. Of-fucking-course. You’re so smart, a wall, she said. You scoffed internally, eyes peeking upwards and clashing with dead, tired eyes.

He’s kind of… handsome. And Korean?

“Oh, sorry,” You apologised in Korean, bowing before you turned to leave. A harsh grip wrapped itself around your wrist before you could leave, causing your eyes to narrow with annoyance. Why do I always have to beat fuckers up in every country I go to?

“Korean?” his timbre was low and grumbly, like a quiet tiger creeping through the night, deadly but silent. His tone brushed over you deliciously, sending a shockwave of shivers down your spine. You could feel that jagged scar running up your back tingling, filling with heat and itching at the sides.

Your head tilted slightly, eyes clashing to meet his again, your eyebrows furrowing at the sudden light twinkling in his dark irises. “Yes?” you answered his question, eyes lowering to his still too-tight grip on your wrist. “Can I help you?” you asked robotically, eyes void and face mostly blank, like always. He watched you with something akin to curiosity across his features, his grip loosening only slightly. You still couldn’t ignore the intimidating aura surrounding this mysterious man, the cold, detached look behind his eyes.

He was a bit like you, really, just harsher, darker and more serious, which you assumed came with age. He looked at least five years older than yourself, with tired bags beneath his eyelids. It made him seem more… enigmatic, in a way.

“Be careful down there,” he stated simply, as if words of protection were foreign to his own lips. You nodded, though filled with confusion, tugging your hand from his completely loosened grip with quite a bit of force. He looked down at your free hand, eyebrow raised and a hint of curiosity in his gaze, as he stared you down.

You felt almost shy behind the towering walls surrounding your mind, the single place you locked away all and any type of feeling, hiding and cowering in the dark as you put on an emotionless front.

“Thankyou…?” you frowned, tilting away from the strange, towering male. “I’ll… see you around,” you stated simply, finally taking the initiative to walk away, ignoring the continued warm touch against your back, his eyes a never leaving presence until your form disappeared into the far distance, where his eyes could no longer brush with their detached look.

You hadn’t been able to get that strange man’s presence out of your life for the past two months. You’d sworn you’d felt the heavy impact of his gaze over the first few weeks, your eyes peeking at every corner in attempt to find the strangely alluring man.

During the second month, you’d bumped into him again, though you were sure he’d planned it accordingly. “You again?” you murmured, head tilting upwards to peer into his eyes. He’d looked almost proud, as if nobody somewhat normal had ever looked him in the eye without trembling with fear.

You knew who he was now, having searched up Mexican cartels once you’d reached your shabby apartment on the other side of town. There wasn’t a single full-face shot of the mysterious man, only a single snap of the side of his head, his usual slicked back hair brushing against the sliver of skin shown to the side of the shot.

You’d thought of him as dangerous, but you hadn’t realised he’d been the leader, the drug lord, of one of the most notorious cartels in the entirety of Mexico.

“Me again,” he’d stated, eyes peering into yours, almost as if he’d had invisible hands reaching into your Scalera and into your brain, trying to pry it open and reveal all your secrets to him. However, you were no sissy, and you certainly weren’t a weakling.

Not many could say they’d been up against Gun Park at full strength and injured him. Though, he did injure you beyond repair, too.

You brushed thoughts of that man behind, there was no use dwelling on the death threats that made you scurry away to Mexico in the first place.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” He said as he slung you towards the corner of the alley, just away from the shopping centre.

Away from prying eyes.

You nodded mutely. If he put an end to you, then so be it. You’d lived your life, though not much of it, and it’d been pretty ass so far. You’d been scarred and hurt and broken, but you would not let your mind break. It was one of the only things you had left to yourself, and if you had to get murdered to keep your mind your own, unbroken and untouched, then so be it.

“Yet, you aren’t running,” he mused, tapping a finger against your temple as you looked on emotionlessly. “I don’t care for the horror or fear of death. I have lived, and I have died in many ways already. Kill me or don’t, I don’t have the capacity to care or think of it,” you told him stiffly, eyes narrowed, and tone agitated. He smirked, a teasing, out of this world smirk.

You’d felt like you’d been stabbed into a secret, one you and only you’d be able to hold and nurture and protect.

“Come with me,” he ordered, his hand wrapping around your forearm as he dragged you behind him. “Why? Where are you taking me?” you demanded, feet tapping rapidly as you tried to keep up with his pace.

“There is no one in this world I care for, respect or love. But you,” he let out a cackling laugh, a laugh so beautiful, you’d found it hard to continue breathing. Breathtaking. “You, my angel, have somehow earned a slither of my emotion; emotion I do not usually feel.”

He came to an abrupt halt, turning on you as he crowded you against another stray wall. “But that’s the thing about emotion, angel. I’m the monster of your story, and you are the light that smothers me. I’ll ruin you; I’ll ruin you so beautiful, and you’ll simply adore me for it,” he crooned into your ear, warm lips touching and suckling at your lobe and the large expanse of skin beneath.

I’ll ruin you.

You couldn’t help but let out a stray moan as his hand lowers to squeeze against your clothed breast, cheeks heating at the feel of his lips tipping upwards against your neck, an array of goosebumps lighting up across your skin.

His hand lowered beneath your shirt, shoving up inside your bra as his fingers tweaked your nipple. Bursts of pain and pleasure slithered through your charged veins, the throb between your legs growing more and more.

Your cheeks heated even more as you felt the wetness between your thighs start to gather, his fingers reaching down from your breasts to the waistband of your shorts, fingers dipping beneath your underwear as his index finger dipped into your tight cunt.

“Look at you, so wet for me. After all you know about me, what I’ve done and what I do. Your pussy’s weeping for my fingers, for my cock,” he breathed against your ear, his erection pressing against your side, and you could already tell he was big.

“I’m not going to fuck you today, my angel,” he said as his fingers thrust in and out of your soaping pussy, squelching noises filling and echoing your surroundings, proof of your wetness and absolute need for this psychotic man. He added another finger, stretching your tight channel further, his thumb circling your clit, and you couldn’t help but grind against his hand. “I’m going to fuck you dumb with my fingers, make you shake and tremble with pleasure, before I leave you here as if I was just your ghost,” he murmured, his third finger sliding into your pussy, adding and stretching and exploding your pleasure, reaching you to heights you never thought, with just a simple finger fucking.

For all evil this man was, he knew how to get a girl off really good. You found it harder and harder to reign your moans in, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his fingers thrusted deeper and deeper into your tight channel, pleasure coiling and burning in your stomach.

His hands were so big, his fingers stretched you so wide and strong, you were just so full. The heat across your cheeks darkened as your eyes fully rolled back, spine arching into him as you came all over his fingers, a quiet scream escaping your lips at the ecstasy firing through your blood.

“You come so prettily, too,” he hummed, finger beneath your chin as he tiped your head up, forcing your embarrassed gaze to his. “Next time I want you to scream my name as you come all over me. I’ll see you again soon, my angel,” he whispered, his body disappearing from your dishevelled state in a fraction of a second, a single name carrying across the wind.

Gitae Kim.

Your eyebrows furrow, suspicion arising at his rapid speed.

Is he like Gun Park? And that last name…

It had only been a week since then, a total of almost three months since you’d met the man at all. Gitae Kim was a total enigma, one you knew came from the first generation. You’d not a doubt in your mind, that he’d somehow been involved with James Lee, who was only a couple of years older than yourself.

You hadn’t known what to think of the man. You either thought wary or lusty thoughts, neither deterring you from wanting to seek him out, to just see him. It had been as if he’d planted his very own obsession inside of you, your thoughts consumed with him and only him. He was never one to stray from your thoughts, and you needed to see him again.

At least until you left to go back to Korea. You’d felt like you’d recovered enough from your injury and felt it time you go back home. But, before you went back, you just wanted to gaze upon Gitae Kim one last time.

That was how you found yourself wondering down the dingy, shadowed alleyway under the ghastly gloom of the moon. Peeks of light filtered through the small gaps in the building as your feet patted quietly against the concrete pavement.

Your hood masked your hair and disguised your feminine form from any creepers, your stature looking like that of a mans as you traversed through the multiple alleyways, face set into a determined expression as you stalked forward.

“What do we have here,” a slimy male voice crooned from the side of you, his gaze clicking with the other man opposite you. “A little boy’s gotten lost,” The other males voice snickered, just as you felt shivers track down your spine.

Fuck, I didn’t want to be noticed.

In your hurry to get to Gitae, you’d completely forgone your usual masked presence, feet patting loudly and obviously, which had obviously wrought you unwanted attention.

You really didn’t feel like fighting two massive, fully-grown adult males right now. Though they weren’t as menacing as Gitae, you couldn’t help but think they were strong, and that you weren’t at your best. No, you were probably at your worst, even after mostly recovering. Now that you’d reflected, you’d probably barely recovered at all.

Maybe they’ll take me to Gitae. If not, I’ll have to use what’s left of my recovered energy, to take them out.

“You should know better than to come to this side of the city, boy,” one of the goons snickered, their hand wrenching the back of your neck in a tight grip, before dragging you forwards, deeper into the nest of the Cartel.

What felt like eons, but was likely only minutes, finally passed, and you found yourself bang in the middle of the cartel gang. Men of all sizes surrounded the space in a funny-looking circle, and a single man- Gitae – sat on a metal, rectangular box, at the front of the space.

“Sir, we found this boy lurking on the outskirts of our den,” the goon holding you explain, head bowed in respect, as the other goons grip tightened harshly on your upper arm. You could see Gitae’s eyes narrowing on you menacingly, but you couldn’t find it in you to be scared.

You knew this was what he was really like, he was an infamous cartel drug-lord, for one, and the menacing aura that had always followed him like a shadow should have made that fact even more obvious.

Gitae stops in front of you, his hand tugging down your hood. A flash of recognition flies through his eyes, his lip lifting into a rare smirk at the mutters echoing around the space.

“A little Birdy got lost,” He crooned, before his face fell flat and his expression became one of stone. “However, this little birdy is here for me.” His gaze narrows on his followers. “Get to work,” he barked, before grabbing your arm and stalking towards a single door to the right of the space.

He leads you into what you assume is quarters, leading you deep into the home, then tugging open a door hidden in an enclosed corner. “My angel came to find me,” He murmured, his hand holding your cheek as he towered over you.

“I wanted to see you before I left,” You blurted out, cheeks heating at your lack of brain around this one man. “Left?” He asked, tone stoney, while his eyes dragged you into his storm. “I’m going back to Korea,” you said, not breaking eye contact with the menace.

Gitae smirked, “And you wanted to see me one last time?” Despite yourself, and despite his mocking smile, you couldn’t help but nod at his question.

That was before you found yourself flat against soft satin sheets, a red hue flushed across your cheeks, eyes hazed with lust and lips parted into a tiny pout as Gitaes large cocked rammed in and out of your opening.

“Ngh~ slow down,” you whimpered, the sound of obscene squelching filling the room as Gitae rutted in and out of your wet cunt, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, at the delicious stretch of your pussy around his thick cock.

He smirked, lifting one of your legs to rest on his shoulder as he angled his hips, hitting you deeper and deeper with each thrust, until you could almost feel him at the bottom of your stomach. “We all know you’re a slut for my cock, my angel. Shut up and take me like a good girl.”

You could see the haze of lust blurring his vision as his thrust became quicker and sloppier, your vision blacking out for a second, as his hand wrapped around your throat squeezed with an almost gentle pressure.

His pelvis brushed and slid against your weeping clitoris with every single thrust into your squelching cunt, pleasure soring through your veins as your mouth parted with a partially loud moan. The tightness in your stomach exploded, your pussy clenching down onto Gitae’s cock as you came, nails digging into his shoulders and drawing blood as you rode out your orgasm.

Still sensitive, you were overloaded with aftershocks of pleasure as Gitae carried on ploughing into your tight channel, thrusts becoming harder and harder as he chased his own high. A small, gravely groan escaped his lips as he came, the feel of cold matter entering you causing you to explode around his cock one last time.

His still semi-hard cock left your tight cunt, his lips locking with yours as you battled tongues. A trail of saliva connected you before he broke off and moved down your body, head burrowing to peek at your swollen, pink cunt, still flowing with your juices and his cum.

His wet appendage sprung out, licking and sucking at your tender clit. You moaned out in protest, pussy clenching and eyes rolling back at the overstimulation. “Don’t try and protest, my angel. I can see your needy cunt clenching right in front of my eyes,” He crooned into your cunt, his voice vibrating against your sensitive channel as he slipped his tongue into your cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles.

That swirling ball of pleasure grew again in your stomach, tightening and tightening as his tongue thrust in and out of your wet cunt, squelching and obscene sounds becoming louder and louder as you moaned and screamed on is tongue.

Your orgasm rushed through you at the added pressure against your clit, your hands reaching to clutch at Gitae’s raven locks as you came on his tongue. “Delicious.” You watched with flushed cheeks as he loomed over you, the residual of your juices marring his mouth and chin.

He leaned over you, lips licking at your juices left on his mouth before his breath hit your ear. “I think I’ve become particularly addicted to the taste of your pussy, my angel. I’ll be coming with you to Korea.”

You had a feeling he’d already been set on returning to Korea before you came into the picture, he’d just decided to take you with him on his menacing mission of destruction.

You couldn’t say you weren’t looking forward to it.

#lookism #fanfiction #lookism jonggun #park jonggun #lookism gitae #gitae kim #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #kim gitae x reader #kim gitae x you

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florencemtrash · 9 months

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter One

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Warning: Mentions of death and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Layers of gosammer fabric rippled with movement as you smoothed the bodice of your dress. Warm sunlight flooded through the stained glass windows, getting trapped in the sheer material until you glowed shades of yellow and blue. You tugged the sleeves over your hands and took a deep breath.

It was a great honor to be invited to the Sun Palace, and for the Summer Solstice no less. The other Librarians of the 12th sector athenaeum - lovingly nicknamed The Alcove - had been absolutely astounded when the letter came addressed to you, hand delivered by pegasus. It was an honor. It was a great honor. You knew this. But your heart buzzed uncomfortably within your ribs like a bird desperate to take to the skies.

“Do I really frighten you that much?”

You swiveled your head to the side, finally acknowledging your High Lord after minutes of silence. Helion shot you a smile full of light and warmth. Light and warmth. Everything about Helion screamed it - from the sunburst crown on his head to the glow of his brown skin. He may as well have been carved from burnt amber. Helion’s very presence was enough to melt the hearts and open the legs of any fae - male or female. Even now you saw some of the female courtiers shooting you envious looks full of heat and longing. It made you cringe uncomfortably.

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the pearls woven into your hair settle at the base of your neck.

“No.” You said quickly, “I apologize, High Lord. It’s not you. I just… haven’t been around this many people before.”

“You take after your mother,” Helion said, that bright smile slipping into something fonder, more full of regret, “She was never one for parties either.”

You’d taken after your mother in just about everything - your eyes, your hair, the way you walked, even the way you took your coffee. Maybe if your mother had allowed you to be around Helion earlier on you would have learned his charm, absorbed his charisma like a sponge. As it was, the only thing you’d inherited from Helion was a stubborn power you couldn’t control.

You clasped your hands together behind your back, as if that would be enough to hide your talent. With the ability to absorb knowledge and memories through touch, Clairvoyants were incredibly rare and highly sought after in the Day Court. Helion had worked hard to conceal your power and your identity, so when you’d been given first pick of athenaeums following your apprenticeship, it was to no one’s surprise you’d chosen the one furthest from the city.

The Alcove. Your home. How you wished you were there now, nestled away in your attic apartment above the library. Comfortable. Alone.

Helion’s gaze softened as he regarded you. He shouldn’t have been as much of a stranger to you as he was. But he was no stranger to your work - always methodical, always precise, always handled with the same degree of love and attention that fae showed their children. You’d nearly died protecting The Alcove when Amarantha ransacked the Day Court libraries, smuggled books and knowledge across court lines during her reign.

Perhaps you had inherited some bold streak from Helion after all.

“How many times have I told you to call me Helion?”

“Six.” You said without hesitation.

“Of course you would remember such a thing,” He said, clicking his tongue, “Would you take a turn around the room with me?” He asked, extending a poor man’s olive branch, “I have guests I would like to introduce you to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You’d planned to remain glued to this pillar until nightfall, half hidden by the quartet that was beginning to rush the tune in time to the next song. The spirited piece was coming just in time for champagne drunk party goers to make their way to the dance floor.

You sighed, “Must I?” The performance of it all - the dress, the hair, the party, the pearls - was more than you were used to, something orchestrated by Helion to finally get you to leave The Alcove. He would have dragged you to more parties if you weren’t so stubborn about ignoring non-business related correspondences. Hence the pegasus.

“Your High Lord commands it.” Helion said smugly and moved his arm out to the side, gesturing for you to leave your little bubble of safety. “And you may very well come to thank me.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine.” You waited a moment before saying, “Helion.” The casual name felt unfamiliar on my tongue.

He clapped his hands together, attracting the attention of one of the sons of Autumn. He shook his head of flames and scowled into his whiskey, handsome features twisting into something uglier.

“Finally!” Helion’s voice boomed, “Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

You chased after his long strides, hoping to stay within the radius of space fae gave to a High Lord. And it worked. For some time. You bounced between various pockets of fae, dodging servers with platters of cheeses, wine, pastries, and more balanced on shoulders. Helion’s deep voice reverberated off the walls as he laughed and clapped people on their shoulders, whispered in their ears, and threw casual, flirtatious winks. He shielded you from the vipers and introduced you to his friends as a talented researcher instead of his bastard daughter. But despite your best efforts, someone still touched you, and your power reared its ugly head.

It happened when one of the Summer Court delegates, drunk and giggling, crashed into a female in a flurry of teal silk, who - like a domino - fell onto you. You landed on your knees, palms stinging from broken glass as flashes of memory and knowledge raced through your mind.

A diagram of the Day Court cities taken in secret from the 29th sector cartography athenaeum. A page ripped from one of Helion’s private collection tomes. A sketch of a still, black lake, and the being of death and destruction that resided there.

Koschei.

The name spilled onto your mind like ink in water, followed by horrible memories of slaughter and violence. Enough blood to turn the lake red.

The flood of information dulled and the female became nothing more than a willowy tower of tulle with ivory hair retreating into the crowds.

You gasped for breath, limbs shaking.

The air. It was too thin here. Too suffocating.

Koschei

“Are you alright?” A male asked. His deep, careful voice felt like the calm before a hurricane.

You jerked back from the scarred hands that reached for you, wrapping your arms around yourself as you scrambled to your feet. A horrible rip sounded through the now quiet ballroom as you tripped on your dress and tore the bottom layers. And if it couldn’t become more embarrassing, when you stood up you came face to face with none other than the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Devastatingly beautiful - were the first thoughts that came to mind. So beautiful in fact that he shook you from your visions and the horrible power attached to the lake. The edges of him flickered in and out of existence, clouded by shadows that fluttered about like smoke above a flame. You flinched when they came closer to you before being wrenched back on some invisible leash. He was as gorgeous as the rumors claimed, every inch of him seemingly carved out of black obsidion.

The flash of shame that crossed his hazel eyes quickly faded into nothing and he clasped his hands behind his back, cursing Cassian for convincing him to go without gloves tonight.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Helion neared closer to you, pointing to your bloody hands. But the pain was nothing. You thought your heart might burst in your chest from the nerves. The more you thought about your splattered remains on the crisp marble tiles, the worse you felt.

The other members of the Night Court looked on with concern. You recognized the other Illyrian warrior - The Lord of Bloodshed he was called. His wings were partially extended, shielding you from the worst of the crowd. And the High Lord and High Lady needed no introduction, decked out in their slim-cut robes and dress. The silvery embroidery reminded you of the stars in the night sky you gazed at when you couldn’t fall asleep and the rest of the Day Court denizens had long since snuffed out their lights. There was a dangerous beauty that wrapped around the group as tightly as the Spymaster’s shadows clung to his body. And you’d just embarrassed the High Lord of the Day Court - your father - in front of them.

Azriel stepped back, reigning in his shadows despite their many desperate protests, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to-”

But you ignored his words, gathered up your skirts, and ran towards the palace gardens, leaving nothing behind but a thin trail of blood and silk, the scent of vanilla, and a brooding, heart-broken Shadowsinger.

Heavy air mingled with copious amounts of perfume, gave way to crisp clarity. The sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon, like two lovers whispering in each other’s ears as you sprinted down the stairs past two drunk Peregryn soldiers half-hidden behind a rosebush. Their tawny feathers dipped in and out from behind the leaves like ocean waves.

A child’s doll half-buried in ash. The ring of electricity in the air and the metallic, buzzing stench of blood and rot in your nose. Suffocating. Suffocating.

It was terrible. Worse than any memory you’d slipped into before.

“Y/n!”

Koschei.

Everyone had experienced horror under Amarantha’s rule and during the war against Hybern. You’d been subjected to it too many times to count. Every brush of skin, every well-meaning touch from someone else had been a cruelty.

The lake. What’s buried beneath the lake?

So why did this knowledge feel so different?

Andrian. ANDRIAN!!!

“Y/n! Stop!” Hellion’s robes billowed out behind him like sun rays, dazzling brighter than gold.

What’s buried beneath the lake?

You didn’t realize you were murmuring the words until Helion gripped you by the shoulders and spun you around. You were brought back by more comforting knowledge - Helion’s memories. Memories of you as a babe, chubby legs wobbling beneath you as you took your first steps into your mother’s waiting arms. A flood of pride entering his chest that felt more like sadness than anything else.

“Y/n!” He shook you again.

He has a room made up for you in the Sun Palace. He hides all the birthday gifts there that he planned to give to you, but never did. You are one of his greatest regrets.

You blinked rapidly, clearing out your thoughts and shoving the High Lord back with all your might. You didn’t need this right now. You didn’t need two hundred years of fatherly guilt to catch up to you. To the both of you. Not tonight. Not ever.

Without another word you winnowed away.

__________

“I’m sorry about that,” Helion said, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his hands together.

He was grateful the party had returned to its previous rhythms in his absence, but Rhysand took note of the discomfort ladeled upon his shoulders, the hints of regret in his eyes. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with.

The sun continued to slip behind the peaks of the mountains, changing the temperature of the room as the ivory and gold-plated walls began to take on a warmer shade.

“Y/n is not used to such spaces.” He explained, “I should have done more to prepare her for tonight.”

Rhysand waved off the apology. “There’s no need for apologies, Helion.”

“I do hope she’s ok.” Feyre said. With a snap of Helion’s fingers the blood had been wiped from the floor along with the spilled wine and broken glass. “Her hands-”

Azriel stiffened, his arms suddenly hidden from view by the shadows that wound up his arms. Feyre quickly changed the topic. “This Y/n, is she the Librarian you’ve told us so much about?”

Helion’s smile was a prideful one, “The one and only.” He lowered his voice, careful to shield his words from any curious ears with a faint blanket of magic, “I would love to claim the credit for helping with your last pregnancy, but in truth it was all Y/n.”

Feyre blinked in surprise. Her second pregnancy - although much better than the first - had still been a struggle. Rhysand had reached out to Helion in desperation, hoping once again for a safer method of birthing their winged-daughter. After spending months on end combing through the deepest depths of the oldest Day Court libraries, she’d delivered to them a text on cesarean sections. The tradition was a human one, and had been considered too primitive for fae, but with Feyre’s success Madja was reevaluating its usefulness. The High Lord and High Lady had much to thank you for when it came to little Velaria.

Cassian raised his brows and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that teased his lips. For such a timid bookworm you’d saved them a great deal of trouble. All at once that sense of pride for a female he didn’t even know fell away. You’d looked at him with such… fear. Flinched away from his touch like you knew exactly the kind of monster he was when all he’d wanted to do was help you.

“We’ll have to thank her personally then.” Rhysand said.

He raised Feyre’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm and looking at her like the love-sick male that he was. He still had nightmares about Nyx’s birth - how pale Feyre had become, the stench of blood in the air, and Nyx’s tiny, motionless body. He was ready to offer you a mountain of gold for preventing such a thing from happening again.

Azriel lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by the look that passed between the two mates. It felt like an intrusion to be standing in front of them. It was hard to see his brother and Feyre so openly affectionate with one another and not feel slivers of envy enter his heart. Cassian would have similarly been glued to Nesta’s side if she’d accepted the invitation, and although Mor was reluctant to venture out into the public world of courtiers with Emerie, she would have made it clear that she was taken. It meant that Azriel was often left to stand alone at events like this, gracefully rejecting the advances of males and females who hoped to lure the mysterious Shadowsinger into their beds. He’d been close to joining you in your solitude when Helion had charmed and whisked you away.

Azriel shifted his attention to the quartet, specifically to the little alcove to the left of the stage where he’d first noticed you. You’d stood there so quiet and observant, politely declining any male who offered you food or drinks or a dance. And there was no confusion as to why. You’d looked breathtaking in a pearly gown that clung to you like wisps of fog over the Illyrian mountaintops.

“After the party I’ll take you to her apartment. Allow you all to properly introduce yourselves.” Helion said in a burst of brilliance.

Cassian prodded Azriel’s ribs, a knowing look in his eyes as he watched the now visibly uncomfortable Shadowsinger.

But if Helion noticed, he didn’t care. If there was any collection of fae with the power to break you out of your shell, it was them.

“But until then! We dance! Come now Cassian, dance with me.”

Cassian snorted as Helion clasped a muscular arm around his shoulders and heaved him over to the dance floor where fae were already congregated in a tangle of limbs and wine. Feyre and Rhysand joined soon after, the High Lady throwing back an apologetic smile as she joined the crowd with her mate and Azriel was left to stand alone once again.

Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

I have too many thoughts and ideas and got sucked into writing this one. Also, I wanted a nice Azriel fic to follow up Flame, Shadow, Beast so... enjoy!

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x day court reader #azriel x day court librarian #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #the day court #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

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aphroditesmoon · 2 months

Text

death grips

modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!vampire!reader.

summary: you live vicarously through passing mortal's eyes as a creature of the night, doomed to a life of immortality, and jacaerys is the hand that extends, an opportunity you're reluctant to welcome.

warnings: biting, blood drinking, descriptions of assault, mentions of self harm, vampire esque violence, writer!reader, reader's characterization is highly inspired from the book "Woman, eating."

wc; 5.7k

special dt for my babe @hxtd

YOU HAVE NEVER felt so hungry. It has been at least two weeks and a half since you fed.

You have suffered longer weeks before, impressive lengths of starvation that you held on to the same way mortals do with air. It was a test at first. You wanted to see how far you could take it, how much until it would finally kill you.

The answer was disappointing. You had walked around the city aimlessly for almost 3 months, staggering as you moved, hands trembling and eyes wild as your stomach churns and begs for blood.

But you did not die. You merely suffered like a living corpse.

Once the realization set in, the starving had soon morphed into a form of self-destruction. A penance you inflicted upon yourself.

Death would never take you. No matter how hard you've tried, your curse was to never have an end to your suffering.

Even as the scars healed and the monsters died. The sorrows and the horrors you've endured replays themselves like clockwork in your mind everyday.

To try and enjoy life like humans do was impossible. Life did not feel worth living when you've died a thousand times, but your body refused to rot.

You thought you knew grief when your mother died, but the universe played a cruel joke on you on the day you were turned a vampyr. A young girl you were, still growing, and kept growing even after you were turned. And yet once you turned 18, your body's growth froze itself, and you then had to learn how to mourn the girl that you were, and the girl you could've been if it had just never happened.

Now, you merely endured.

I've grown weaker somehow, you thought to yourself. The pit of your stomach burned as you rested your head against the hard brick of the nightclub building. You could hear the loud music bouncing through the walls, the tunes so vivid in your ears.

You figured you'd make your attack inside, surrounded by drunken visions and easy targets. No one looked twice at the girl with her face buried a random person's neck in a club at saturday night. But then you heard him before you felt him. His ragged breathing. He watches from afar, predatory eyes and a perverse mind, coming up with ways he would entrap you.

So you make your way to the side of the building where the wind is soft against your skin, making a rise of goosebumps. And like a dog, he followed you.

He thinks he's quiet with his steps, but you can hear arrogance a mile away, and with those impatiently big steps, you feel bloodlust in your veins and on your tongue. You clench your jaw as you feel his presence next to you.

"What are you doing out here when the fun's all inside." His scratchy voice spoke up. You could smell the vodka coming out of his breath, and more importantly, you coulf smell the tangy metallic scent of his blood.

You moved only your gaze up to meet his eyes. And at once, you were ready to pounce. He was so near. So big and so weak, unknowing on what is about to happen. But as his quick hands moved to snake around your waist, another voice intervened, suprising both of you.

"I would think twice before touching her." The other man spoke.

He looked straight at your meal, standing only a few steps away from him. When did he get so close? You did not hear him.

"Walk away man, this is my girl." Your almost victim answered back in annoyance. You tilted your head to get a better view of your supposed hero, curiosity overcoming the hunger.

"Right, that's why you were staring off at her for 3 whole minutes from the other side of the road before you got here." He sassed back.

"Why the fuck were you staring at me for 3 whole minutes ass face." Your meal shouted, his patience thinning.

You wanted to shove his face against the concrete when he had the audacity to grip your waist. But instead, you just cracked his fingers apart from you as he yelped out in pain. "The fuck-"

"Walk away until your legs fail you and forget this ever happened." You muttered at his face before pushing him off of you.

The shock in his fave dissolves slowly, he turns to the other man and back at you in confusion before walking off like you compelled him to.

You watched him until he disappeared from your eyesight, hunger returning again, now that the entertainment has ended. Maybe you'll just eat this one, you thought.

No, you shook your head slightly. You don't kill good men. But a bite would not hurt.

"Are you alright?" He asked you, you could tell the concern was genuine. He neared you until he could see you clearly under the night sky.

He had a regal looking face, one could even say royalty, and a tinge of sincerity in his eyes that added to his charm. You nodded your head once and looked him up and down.

"Not to sound like that kind of guy, but being in a dark, empty space alone in a place like this is like a death wish, isn't it?" The corners of his eyes crinkles as he questions you.

"Maybe I'm suicidal." You retorted in a monotonous voice. "And this is really how you wanna go?"

A smile forces its way on your face, no more arguments left in you.

"Does my saviour have a name?" You shouldn't have asked. Not when you're planning to drain him in a few minutes. As much as your kind claims to be the creature of the night. When the doors are closed and the bloodstains are washed off, guilt washes over you the same way they do to anyone. Attachment is never a good idea.

"Jace. Jacaerys." He had a small smile of his own. "Jacaerys." You enunciated every word with a raised brow. "You must be someone's rich son with that kind of name."

His face flushes and he immediately shook his head, eager to change the subject. "And what's your name?"

You gave him your real first name and felt a small sense of freedom released from your hollow soul.

Everything went quiet then. He looked at you as if he had more to say but his lips were currently sewn. It was either now or never, you've done this a million times, and your aim isn't to kill anyways. But at this very moment, you just noticed that you had completely tuned out the music, the honking cars and the chattering voices. You only heard your own slow beating heary, thumping gently by your chest.

----

Everyone has a little voice inside of them. The voice of reason, voice that intrudes, the voice that weighs the good and evil.

But the voice in your head took the form of the younger version of yourself on th day you were turned. Tha child had been strongly hurt. And you'd like to think that you've quite moved on from what happened, and yet, stuck in your nervous system, like a ghost that haunts, she speaks to you like she is her own person, apart from you.

And as of right now, as you let Jacaerys walk you home, the voice is yelling out insults and scratching at imaginary doors as if imprisoned.

He isn't like that. You tell her. I can tell, i can see it in him.

The voice gives up, all she does is ask one last question before you shut the locks on her completely. And how has giving a strange man the benefit of the doubt served you before?

Your mother died when you were only 8. She was no saint, but she was the only person in the world who had a single goodness to offer you.

After her death, your father's violent tendencies worsened. You had to walk to school for 45 minutes back and forth every day for scraps of education. Every penny he made had been used for liquor and weed. Food became a privilege you had to earn, not a right. If you're lucky, you'd get to eat at least once a day from a portion big enough for a rat.

Because he did not care for you anymore. It was evident then that you could either be invisible, or abused. And for a long time, neither options were something you could just wake up and choose for.

It depended on his mood that was rarely well. And it's worse on nights he's drunk of his ass, insisting that you are the mirror of your mother.

The day you were turned, was the day everything changed.

You were 13.

13 and walking back home from school. And there he was, your maker.

It was dusk then. The sun had sank down. Not that it would make a difference, The heat would've never burned him to death.

And as the dark angel approached you, with red eyes and sharp fangs, like a story you've heard to keep children off the streets after sunset, you're shaken, halted in place.

He was terrifying, but he had looked at you with what could be interpreted at that time as adoration.

But he was no father of the orphans, nor is he a lover of the helpless. No, he was a perpetrator. He is the evil that mothers warn their babies of. He wasn't some wretched creep wanting a feel like all the other men. He was worse. He perversed innocence, and intimacy, you understood it immediately as you're left to pick yourself back up from a back alley, bleeding and gnawing with your newfound teeth, hours after he had drained and fed you.

Despite the newfound strength you had gained becoming immensely helpful when it came to your father, you would never claim it to be a gift. For every defense it had a hand in, it also took, and took and took from you. You were a changed woman at the age of 13, that was the cost of naivety.

"I am not so stupid now", you whispered under your breath.

"Hm?" He looked to you, eyes wide. You hummed ignorantly, facing the road again.

The streetlights brightened your path as you made your way to the large apartment building. Jacaerys struggled to find words to keep the conversation going, but you could feel the screws and gear going off in his pretty head, itching to come up with something smart.

If he were to ask questions, you'd give one word answers and it'll be back from square one. If he were to talk alone, that would be egoistic and irritating.

So instead, he chose to try and make his own assumptions. "You are an artist." He said confidently.

A smirk shadowed your features. "What makes you say that?"

"Most masochists are." You laughed then. Something you haven't done in a while. "I'm a writer." You corrected.

Understanding flowed through his eyes. "Of course you are." He smiled, nodding to himself. "So are you the kind that writes of murder fantasies or are you more of a torturous poet kind of girl?"

You liked him, you decided then. There are lots of things that can make a man attractive, observance is one of them. "A little bit of both. Poetry is essential, and sometimes from the torture and the poetry, a story can be born."

He hummed attentively. "You are a student too, i assume?" You nod. "That's where I study." You pointed a hand towards the glowing building of your university, a sight ti be seen from miles away. "No shit?" He laughed.

"I go there too." He follows up after. You weren't suprised, he looked the typento be able to afford to study there. In a different universe where you were a common girl, neither of you would have ever bunpedinto eachother in this kind of setting. Money had always been an issue back then, and before you had been cursed, you would imagine years of school work being flushed down the toilet as you knew that your dream to further your studies would never be funded.

But now your father's funds and your mothers inheritance are fully under your responsibility as your deadbeat old man lies in a nursing home all the way back in your village.

And if those funds run out, scamming rich men would become your career. You can even start with this one, you joked to the voices.

"And let me guess, finance?" You nudged him with your shoulder. He scoffed and rolled his eyes teasingly. "Business major actually."

"Of course you are." You used his own sentence from before.

His grin was endearing, you almost flashed one of your own back, teeth and all.

The two of you stopped right in front of the main doors and felt disappointment lingering. Should you have talked more as you walked before? No. You did the right thing, to fawn over some business student with great hair isn't a you thing to do, you guard your boundaries strictly.

And yet, as long as you can remember, you have never met anyone that made you want to talk this much.

He looks at you with eyes that were begging you to invite him in, but if you do, there would be no going back. You would eat him, or you would string him into your mess of a life that he could never understand.

So you gave him one last glance before you began to enter the building. "Thank you." Was the last thing you said to him before you returned to your seclusion, and his deep brown eyes was the last thing you thought of before you fell asleep.

—

He felt his heart beating fast as he watched you disappear into your apartment building that night, a sense of regret washing over him regret of what, he's not so sure. Or was it longing that he actually felt?

It doesn't matter. He had done what he's supposed to, what conflicting emotions he's left with after was not your responsibility, it is his own to look after them.

Jacaerys knew who you were when he saw you that night, or the right rephrase for the sentence is, he remembered you.

You clearly don't recognise him, but he still remembered the first time he laid eyes on you during an unremarkable welcoming frat party on the first week of his semester. You had appeared on the staircase, leaving Dalton Greyjoy's room. The boy had been absent for the rest of the party that night.

Jace wasn't sure just what it is about you that had stood out to him. You dressed just like any other girl, you walked just like any other girl, and yet he noticed how dead your eyes were, not a single shine nor expression. It almost felt sociopathic to look that uncaring. It was alluring.

And yet, a few nights ago, when he had walked you home, your dead eyes glowed slightly under the moonlight, and your rare smiles occasionally made an appearance. He decided then, to retract the opinion he had made before knowing you.

Whatever it was about you, he wanted more. He wanted to know more, to experience more. To be the one who filled sparks in your dull orbs and to be the one who knew how to fish out a laugh from inside.

And so he decided to look you up. All he had was your first name and your course name, even with the privilege of being the dean's son, going through the list of over a hundred thousand people with the same name was a chore, but he was willing to put in the work.

But gods, how disappointed he felt when he couldn't find you after hours of scrolling. There was only 150 students with the name, and none of them were you, and all had different courses.

He wondered if maybe he had spelt your names again and had come up with a list of different variations of your name to try again. By the time he finished, it had been 2pm, and he had remained unsuccessful in his pursuit.

Jace slumped on his chair, closing his eyes as he ran his hands over his face in frustration. This was incredibly stupid. You probably lied about your name because you didn't like him. Why didn't he think about that before?

And trying to hunt you down using his mother's official email adress was starting to explain why you were right to do so.

The right thing to do right now was to leave it up to fate. He saw you once, and then twice. What are the odds of a third time?

That has always been a fatal flaw in Jacaerys' personality. He wanted to believe that things that are meant for him will find him, but he is also very impatient. Always eager for the feeling of control. Fate is only fun as a concept.

But accepting fully that you might not get the things you want the most because it's just not for you is harder than it looks.

He wanted to believe that if he were to try enough, he'd get what he wanted despite the universe's intervention.

And right now, what he wanted is to find you, to learn the proper way to know you, to really know you. While his presence had been seen as amusing to you, yours have bewitched him. If you were to tell him to leave you alone, he would. But first he would try.

Jacaerys opened his tired eyes again, facing the bright screen of his laptop. The battery was dying. Jace stood up to pull out the charger before plugging it into his laptop, watching it brought back to life again before he sat back down on his chair.

He could go back to sleep now, or he could try again for the 4th time. He wanted to try again, bit as his eyes fluttered sleepily, fighting against his will, he decided to give in and turned off the device before climbing onto his bed.

Let fate intervene, and if he never sees you again, he'd learn to live with that.

This is just an infatuation, he told himself. Infatuation dies when you don't feed it, and so this too shall pass like everything else in his life. As he lets sleep overtake, he dreamt of empty oceans and hollow skies hovering above, sand through his toes as he walked closer to the body of water. And your voice, speaking from behind him, saying: "you don't survive loneliness, you accommodate it."

—

The water under the bridge was so clear that you could see the small shape of your reflection from above.

It's 3AM, and the quiet is calming. It's hard to find peace of mind as someone whose senses are heightened. And what other time do you have for a walk anyway?

You've stood here for a good hour now, just staring down while your thoughts run wild, Tchaikovsky's Valse Sentimentale playing in your airpods on repeat. It's been 3 days since you fed. After you were walked home by Jacaerys, you found that your only option was the security guard on a smoke break by the bathroom.

Ever since then, you have resumed your routine of boredom. Attending your afternoon classes and walking for hours in the evening until night, imprisoned by your thoughts.

You were sure that there was no one in the world who loved revisiting the past as much as you did. After all, the past is all you have.

When you were first turned, there had been no words to describe how it all felt. The overwhelming hunger and confusion, the survivors guilt, blaming yourself and going over the scenario over and over, trying to imagining how different each outcome would be if you had acted differently, if you had ran faster, pushed harder.

Amd even now, there are no words. Was this how Laika the dog had felt? Saved from the streets of Moscow to be sent up to space as the pride and joy of Russia in the space race, but doomed to die by the narrative from the start. To think that you've finay been saved, just to be pushed into a much worse and scarier circumstances? That must be it.

What am I doing? Compare myself to a dead dog. At least Laika died. You can't even do that.

Shoving yourself away from the railing, you decided it's time to go home. So you turned yourself to your right and began to make your way to your apartment.

Funnily enough, you felt your ankles ache as you moved. Your feet is heavy in your one inch heels, that's a first.

You smell the smoke of cigarettes as you crossed an alley, the cold breeze enhancing the scent. You've always had an addiction to them, smoke scents, gasoline scents, bug spray scents, there was something soothing in it. You slowed your steps down and took in as much as you could before exhaling slowly and oicking up your pace.

Something has changed recently. But you can't quite put a finger to it. It was just that you were beginning to feel more pain than usual, you were also feeling more lost and conflicted than usual.

You had always known what your life plan would be like, how once you've reached an age that you aren't able to explain non existant ageing, you'd start all over again until you make enough money to buy yourself some privacy and isolation.

You'll spend the thousands of years to come reading and writing until your hands fails you and your fingers break.

But these past few days, your resolve has been cracking. Is that really what you want? To be so goddamn lonely forever, so alone that not even death can be honoured to it.

It's not about what I want, it's what's going to happen anyways.

Footsteps. Loud and clear footsteps. You stop on your tracks and crane your neck to look behind you. There is no one there.

Absolutely nothing.

You look back to your front and tried to start walking again, but you're stuck, like you're being held back.

It's hard to see in the dark, since when was it hard to see it in the dark? The panic hasn't settled in yet, you were still rational. Or maybe just too tired to freak out.

But when you heard the voices, Your body shook. It was as if your whole world jas been frozen in time, and shadows loomed over your shoulders, taunting you, speaking to themselves in languages you can't understand.

Loud and clear, you feel the darkness around you and you hear their chatter. What is going on?

"Stop it." You muttered out. Thats was supposed to be a scream. "Stop it." You repeated.

Why can't I fucking move? "Stop it stop ot stop its stop it stop it-" You couldn't find the scream in your throat. You had obly your trembling legs and arms as prove that this was real.

When you cracked your head and you're finally able to spin around, every single vision and noise faded into nothingness by a second, and the alley was just an alley. Not even the smoking man was there anymore.

The last thing you saw from your hallucination before it turned into air was a white line, by your feet, like a moving animal that vanished when you flashed it with your phone screen.

"What the fuck." This could not be happening. You looked around you with furrowed brows, your stomach growled. "Jesus fuck."

You hear ambulance sirens away from where you're standing and physically flinch. Was that real or a hallucination, too?

It has been long since real fear had ever crept into your cold soul. But now, your head is dizzy, and every little thing you see and hear feels like an attack.

I need to move. You force yourself forward, counting from 1 to 50 over and over as you walked in the direction of your apartment. But you're weirdly slow, and nauseous.

You pause again like you've been struck by something and looked up to the sky. The dark clouds hung over you moved slowly but surely as it's supposed to be, you find comfort in knowing that the stars are at least real.

And then you felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped. "Fuck."

It was him.

You faced him with an annoyed expression, wondering where he came from. He spoke your name once. Your real name, not the one you give to everyone else.

"Are you following me?" You snapped at him.

His face went from worried to defensive. "No, god no. I'm just heading over the uni library to work on a late assignment that's due this morning, and I saw you walking. I was gonna leave you alone, but you were stopping a lot, and you don't look very good."

You studied his face for any deceit and found none. "I don't feel so good." You admitted honestly.

"What are you doing up at 3AM?" He shook his head.

"Taking a walk." You mumbled while massaging your temple with your thumb.

"Taking a walk?"

"Yes, and I'm leaving now, so you can go do whatever you're about to do." You did not wait for his answer and left immediately, but just as you silently expected, he followed you.

"I'll walk you home." He offered, or stated moreso.

I don't need you to walk me home like some guard dog, you wanted to say. But deep down, you were kind of grateful for some company after what had just occurred.

"What about your assignment?" You asked. The route you were using was the opposite of where he's going.

"It's not important." He assured, fixing his laptop bag on his shoulder.

"Not important?" You shot him a glance. "I can cram it in 2 hours before the submission time." You'd argue in a different night, but it wasn't this one.

The first few minutes of the walk, you were resigned to being silent, going over what had just happened to you over and over. Your first thought was that something more evil and monstrous than you cursed you for something you had done.

You wouldn't call yourself the devil, but you haven't exactly been the nicest person to people around you. Had you bitten a witch's man or something?

The second assumption that so far has sounded the most logical, is that you're insane. You've had hallucinations before of course. Little voices in your head. Hearing things that aren't there, seeing shadow people. But they always disappear on second glances, fast enough for you to blame it on the trick of your mind.

But the recent one? It was vivid, and clear. It was real. Or at least to you it was.

You were glad Jacaerys wasn't forcing a conversation either, but once you reached your apartment, you turned to him and asked him the one thing you wanted to the first time you met him. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes." He answered, too quickly. "Okay."

You made him a cup of tea as he politely sat on the couch, bag on the floor. "Sugar or no?"

"Sugar." You added sugar.

You'd get him something to eat too but in truth, you have nothing. There are stale biscuits that exists in your kitches as fillers to the empty space and some fake fruits on the counter, but nothing truly edible.

"Here." You placed the cup into his hand, your fingers brushing together.

You move casually to the seat opposite him and laid down on the cushion, facing him.

He had questions. That was obvious.

"Cig?" You offered, pulling out a pack and a lighter from your back pocket. "No thanks." He declined politely.

Your hands shook lightly as you struggled to light the cigarette, balancing your elbow on the material of the couch, you try again and succeeded this time. You feel the whole day's exhaustion catch up to your tired body.

"So what happened back there?" He spoke finally. You looked up to him. "What?"

"I saw you then, you were just standing. You looked lost, what happened?"

"Oh that." You shrugged. "I thought I saw something." He nodded slowly, taking in your words. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" You raise a brow. "Saw something."

You gave yourself a second to really think before you answered, "Yes, I did."

He did not push for more answers surrounding the situation, accepting your response as it is.

He leaned back against his seat, relaxing properly. The small dim light that shone down on the righy side of his face makes his eyes look like they're golden, the same way yours would be sometimes when you fed.

The idea of Jace as a vampire is conjured in your head for a moment, you imagined he'd be the good kind. The type to suffer guilt for every kill and never get used it. Or perhaps you're wrong and he's much more resilient than you think.

As you settle into your thoughts, finally having the space to unravel from you earlier fears and shock, you notice just how disheveled he looks. It wasn't that he looked a mess, but more that he's such an open book to the poinf that his emotions are all over his face against his will.

"You look tired." You chose your words carefully, trying to open through his cracks.

He shifts slightly, looking up to you from the carpet. "Tired? No, no I'm good."

You gave him a few seconds, letting the silence push him.

"I'm just a bit frustrated." He continues. "Oh?"

"I had a fight with my mom this evening." You hummed, letting the context of it all fall together. "What did you fight about."

"She says I'm distracted- from my classes." Jace shrugs.

"Are you?" He raises a brow. "Distracted, i mean."

He hesitates but then chooses to deny it by shaking his head. "Sometimes there are things you can't help but be completely average at. There are classes I excel in, and there are those I just can't force myself to."

"I'm sure that's not true. You put enough effort, you do good in it even if you believe you won't."

"Maybe." He idly agrees. "But what if I don't think it's important enough for me to put all my energy in until it drains me too much that I can't do what I like?"

You offered him a small smile and copied his earlier shrug. "Then you just don't do it. I guess in the end, it depends on how much you want that thing to happen or work. And if you don't want it that much, then it shouldn't matter."

"Exactly."

Quietness seeps into the are again very slowly, but before it could catch up into awkwardness, Jace spoke again.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" You asked, amused.

"Do you often see things that aren't real." Whatever response you had in mine died in your throat and was replaced by a suprised laugh. "Excuse me?"

He grinned. "Just making sure you're not schizophrenic."

"And what if I was, is that a turn off for you?" You retorted teasingly.

"No, of course not. I like my women neurotic.”

"And I like my men credulous."

You stood up and grabbed his empty mug to clean it at the sink, but his own hands were wrapped over yours, stopping you. But before he could offer assistance, you said; “Let me get us something stronger than tea.”

—

You awoke the next morning, comfortably on the right side of the bed with your blanket over your shoulders, a position you rarely place it in.

The soft sounds of footsteps force your eyes open immediately as you twist yourself to face the ceiling. You push yourself upwards using your elbows, looking fixatedly on his naked back that's hovering over your desk.

"You're still here." You stated the obvious.

"What's the rush." He mumbled back, you can hear the sound of paper being flipped in his hands. " 'I could drown in those eyes. So it's summer, so it's suicide.' Did you write this?"

You snorted, pleased be thought so. "No, that's Richard Siken for you." He responds with a soft 'oh' before turning around to see you.

"When can I read yours?" He asks gently. You see the way his gaze lingered on your face, refusing to look anywhere else. "Usually that happens after a few dates."

"And do you wait after a few dates first before telling people your real name or?" You frowned, confused.

"The name you gave me when we met, it was never in the university system."

"Why were you looking for me in there?" He clicked his tongue, averting his eyes somewhere else.

You weren't really worried that he had tried and failed miserably in an attempt of stalking you, in fact, you felt a sense of glee fill your hollow soul at the thought of it.

"I didn't lie about my name." You confessed after a while. "I changed it a long time ago into something else."

"I see." He relaxed visibly. "So you just have two names?" You nodded. "Then what do I call you?" He genuinely asks. "Whatever I ask you to." Not meaning for it to sound as scandalous as it did, Jace's face broke into a smirk. "Right, you like your men credulous."

"Come back to bed." You demanded, placing your head back onto the soft pillow. "Whatever you want, my girl."

It was at that moment, as you feel the bed shifts and his hands reaching for your waist, did you realize just how satiated you hunger has been since last night.

You were sure that this was doomed to end in a devastatingly ugly way. The love between two humans itself often destroys itself despite efforts against it. A love between a cursed being and an innocent soul is a one way ticket to never being the same again for either of you.

“And what happens from here?” A different voice speaks from behind him. A voice you dreaded to hear. Your maker tilted his head, judging the circumstances with humor.

I don't know. You figured you had your whole life worked out for you. Your mundane immortality wrote its own story before you could put pen to paper. And this boy is an unexpected chapter.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #harry collett #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader

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