#they were both born with violent hearts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apollogeticx · 2 months ago

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✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter one of four!

wc. 6.8K

↳ part 2

At Jujutsu High, power was everything. It determined your place, your worth, and sometimes even your fate. And you, a second-year student with a cursed technique so insignificant that no one ever seemed to remember your name, found yourself lingering in the background. It wasn’t by choice, but you’d grown accustomed to it. After all, how could someone like you stand out when surrounded by others like Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro?

Your cursed technique wasn’t something anyone would envy. It barely held up in combat situations, more suited for distractions or temporary barriers. Compared to the raw physical strength and resilience of Itadori or the strategic mastery of Megumi, your abilities felt… lacking. As a result, you were often overlooked, blending into the scenery like another unremarkable stone on the path.

But there was one person who never blended in. Satoru Gojo.

The first time you met him, you were overwhelmed by his sheer presence. His easy smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and those striking cerulean eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He was untouchable—both in power and in personality. Students revered him, teachers respected him, and the world feared him. And you, much like everyone else, were drawn to him.

You told yourself it was admiration at first. How could you not admire the strongest sorcerer alive? But over time, admiration twisted into something deeper, something more dangerous. You began to notice the subtle ways his hair would fall into his face when he tilted his head, the low chuckle in his voice when he made some sarcastic comment. His casual dismissals toward the world around him only made you more curious, more desperate to be seen by him.

But Gojo was always preoccupied—teaching, fighting, keeping the balance between the worlds of curses and humans. And you… you were invisible in his orbit. A flicker in the corner of his eye that never quite caught his attention.

You started to resent how your heart quickened every time he entered a room, how your thoughts always drifted to him when you were supposed to be training. And yet, there was nothing you could do. He was untouchable, after all. Out of reach in every way. You told yourself over and over that your feelings were foolish, that they would pass. But they didn’t.

Instead, something began to change.

It started as a tightness in your chest—a strange pressure that made it hard to breathe. At first, you thought it was just nerves, the result of constantly being on edge around Gojo. But the tightness grew worse. Every glance at him sent sharp pangs through your lungs, each breath becoming more labored. You tried to ignore it, tried to pretend it was nothing.

Then the petals began.

The first time it happened, you coughed violently in the privacy of your dorm room, spitting up something soft and delicate. When you looked down, you saw it: a small cerulean petal lying in your palm, shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Hanahaki. The name came to you like a curse, like something you’d only heard about in stories. A disease born from unrequited love, where feelings rooted so deeply in your heart that they grew into flowers, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You couldn’t believe it at first. You stared at the petal, trembling, hoping it was a mistake. But the next day, another petal came, and then another. Each time you saw Gojo, the flowers in your lungs bloomed more violently, until your chest ached with the weight of it.

You couldn’t tell anyone. How could you? How could you explain to your classmates, to Gojo, that your cursed technique wasn’t the only thing making you weak? How could you admit that your body was betraying you, all because of feelings you were never meant to have?

So you did the only thing you could—you hid it. You avoided Gojo as best you could, keeping your distance, hoping the flowers would stop growing if you just ignored them. But every stolen glance, every overheard laugh, every fleeting interaction only made it worse.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this. Sooner or later, the petals would consume you entirely. But the idea of confessing… of letting Gojo know how you felt, terrified you. He would never return those feelings. Why would he? You were just a shadow, a forgotten student with a weak cursed technique, not someone worthy of his attention.

And yet, as another petal fell from your lips, you realized that you were running out of time.

The question wasn’t whether you would confront your feelings. It was when. And what would happen when the strongest sorcerer in the world finally noticed the weakest in his shadow?

You had always been good at keeping secrets. It was easy, blending into the background, letting others take the spotlight while you remained unnoticed. But this—this was different. The weight in your chest had grown unbearable. Every breath felt like inhaling thorns, each cough delivering a fresh bloom of cerulean petals into your hand. The once delicate flowers now felt like lead lodged in your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out.

You needed help, and there was only one person who could provide it.

Shoko Ieiri.

The walk to her office felt impossibly long, every step weighed down by hesitation. Shoko had always been approachable, if not slightly aloof. You respected her for her skill as a healer, and for her unflappable demeanor. If anyone could help you understand what was happening—or at least buy you some time—it was her.

As you arrived, you hesitated outside her door, clutching a fistful of crumpled petals in your pocket. You knocked softly, your heart thudding louder than the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

“Come in,” came her voice, calm and indifferent as always.

You entered, trying to steady your breathing as much as possible. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and incense, a strange combination that somehow fit her perfectly. Shoko sat behind her desk, sipping from a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but alert as they glanced up at you.

“You look like hell,” she remarked bluntly, setting her mug down. “What’s up?”

You swallowed, the sharp taste of petals lingering on your tongue. “I need your help… with something.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, gesturing for you to take a seat. “Alright. Spill it.”

You sat down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and desperation swirling in your stomach. For a moment, you considered lying—telling her it was something minor, something fixable. But the weight in your chest reminded you that this wasn’t something you could ignore any longer.

“I… I think I have hanahaki,” you said quietly, pulling the crumpled petals from your pocket and placing them on the table between you.

For the first time since you entered, Shoko’s expression changed. Her usually indifferent gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward slightly, examining the petals with a frown.

“You’re sure?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. The vibrant blue petals spread out on her desk, a damning confirmation of the truth.

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve been coughing them up for a while now. It’s getting worse.”

Shoko let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Hanahaki… it’s rare. Most sorcerers don’t deal with it because they’ve got other things to worry about. But I’ve seen it before.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “You know what this means, right?”

You nodded again, your throat tightening. You knew exactly what it meant. The disease would continue to progress, the flowers growing more and more until they either filled your lungs entirely, or until you did the one thing you were terrified to do—confess. Only then would the blooms wither, depending on whether or not your feelings were returned.

But you also knew that the latter was not a possibility.

Shoko seemed to sense your thoughts. “There’s no cure for hanahaki, other than—well, you know. Confession. And even then, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. You could still…”

Die. She didn’t say it, but you both knew it was an option on the table. An unspoken shadow hovering between you.

You felt a sharp pang of fear, but forced yourself to remain calm. “Is there any way to slow it down? I don’t know if I’m ready to…” Your voice trailed off.

Shoko leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. “I can give you something to ease the symptoms—numb the pain, make it easier to breathe—but it’s just a band-aid. The flowers will keep growing. You can only delay the inevitable.”

A heavy silence fell between you as you processed her words. You had expected this, but hearing it confirmed still made the weight in your chest tighten. Delaying the inevitable was all you could do. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

After a long pause, Shoko spoke again. “You should tell him, you know. The person you’re in love with.” Her voice was soft, unusually gentle for someone so pragmatic. “It might be the only real solution.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at her, wide-eyed. “I can’t. He—he wouldn’t…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to say it out loud.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing slightly. “He wouldn’t what? Listen? Understand? Or are you just scared he won’t feel the same?”

Her words cut deep, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind them. You were terrified. Terrified of Gojo’s reaction. Of his inevitable rejection. He was too far above you, too unreachable. Confessing your feelings would only cement your insignificance in his eyes.

"It’s Gojo," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the name heavy on your tongue. You looked down, unable to meet Shoko’s eyes, the weight of your confession settling between you like a secret that had been waiting too long to be spoken.

"He’s the one I…" Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. "He’s the one causing the hanahaki. I’ve loved him for so long, and he never noticed. And now…" You trailed off, your chest tight with the familiar ache, knowing that simply saying his name wasn’t enough to change anything, but it was the truth you had been hiding, and now it was out in the open.

Shoko’s expression darkened as she watched, her hands folding together in thought. "You should have come sooner," she murmured, moving to grab a few supplies. "You’re lucky it’s still early enough that we might be able to manage the symptoms."

She began to work, carefully checking your vitals and preparing something to dull the pain. "There’s no cure for hanahaki except—" She paused, giving you a knowing look.

"I know," you said quietly, avoiding her gaze. The cure—having the love reciprocated, or undergoing surgery that would remove the flowers but erase your feelings entirely. The thought of forgetting Gojo completely... it hurt almost as much as the disease itself.

"I can give you something to slow it down," Shoko said finally, handing you a small vial. "But it won’t stop the petals from blooming. You need to deal with this, one way or another."

You nodded, taking the vial with shaky hands. "Thank you," you whispered, though it felt hollow. No remedy could fix the real problem.

As you left the room, Shoko’s words echoed in your mind. You knew the truth—there was no escaping this. Not without facing your feelings for Gojo head-on. But how could you, when you were nothing more than another faceless student to him?

The petals continued to bloom, their cerulean hue a constant reminder of the love that would never be returned.

The days blurred together, one petal after another blooming in your lungs. The nosebleeds were no longer occasional—they came daily, seeping through tissues and staining your hands with the undeniable proof of your condition. You tried to ignore it, to act like everything was fine, but the fatigue was becoming too much to bear. Each breath felt heavier, and the tightness in your chest was growing more unbearable by the day.

Shoko’s office became a second home. Every time you felt the blood creeping toward your nose or the cough rising in your throat, you found yourself standing at her door, face pale and eyes pleading for something—anything—to dull the pain. Each time, she’d hand you another vial or patch you up, her expression more concerned than the last.

“You can’t keep going like this,” she said one afternoon, the frown on her face more prominent than usual as she wiped the blood from your upper lip. “You need to either let it run its course or... you know the alternatives.”

"I’m not ready," you muttered, avoiding her gaze. You knew what she was implying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. "Not yet."

Shoko sighed, leaning back against her desk. "You know I’ll have to tell Gojo eventually, right?" She said it like it was an inevitability, which, in many ways, it was.

Panic shot through you at the thought of him knowing. He couldn’t. Not now, not when you were still trying so hard to keep yourself invisible to him. "Please, don’t," you whispered, your voice shaky. "Just… don’t tell him it’s me."

Shoko hesitated, her brow furrowed in concern. "You know he’ll figure it out. He’s not stupid, and the moment he realizes one of his students is suffering from something like this—"

"Promise me," you cut in, desperation lacing your voice. "Promise you won’t say my name."

She stared at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily, pushing her glasses up on her head. "Fine. I’ll keep your name out of it. For now. But you can’t hide forever."

You nodded, relief washing over you. Hiding was all you had left. As long as he didn’t know, you could pretend it didn’t matter. You could stay in the background, where you were used to being—unseen, unnoticed, just another face in his class.

It was easier to avoid Gojo when he was always so busy. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and the others constantly vied for his attention with their loud voices and powerful techniques. It made it simple to slip into the back of his classroom, your chair by the window offering a sanctuary where you could fade into the background.

He never looked your way, not when Yuji was busy cracking jokes or Megumi was asking pointed questions about combat. Gojo’s blindfolded eyes were always on them, his energy, his focus, everything wrapped up in the more powerful students. It was almost a blessing, in a twisted way—he didn’t have time for someone like you.

You spent most of class staring out the window, one hand subtly holding a tissue against your nose, ready to catch the inevitable trickle of blood. You felt it coming now, the familiar warmth creeping down your nostrils, but you didn’t move. It had become so common that it barely registered as pain anymore, just a constant dull ache in the back of your throat and chest.

When Gojo asked a question, you didn’t raise your hand. You never did. It was safer to stay quiet, to let Yuji or Nobara answer while you watched the clouds drift lazily by outside. You were disappearing, bit by bit, wilting away as the petals bloomed inside you.

But every time Gojo laughed—every time he made a careless joke or smiled that easy, charming smile—you felt it. The tightness, the sharp pain of another petal taking root inside your lungs. You wanted to hate him for it, to hate yourself for letting it get this far, but those feelings only made the flowers grow faster.

There were moments, brief flickers of time, when his attention would shift—when his gaze would sweep across the classroom, pausing on each student. You’d hold your breath in those moments, praying that his gaze wouldn’t linger on you for too long, that he wouldn’t notice the fatigue in your eyes or the way you kept dabbing at your nose when you thought no one was looking.

But he never lingered. Not once. Not on you.

And somehow, that hurt more than the petals ever could.

Every time you coughed, every time a cerulean petal hit the ground, you felt yourself coming undone. You kept your distance from Gojo as much as possible, avoiding his usual haunts and slipping away during training sessions. But it was impossible to avoid him completely. Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways, laughing with the other students, his presence as overwhelming as ever. Each time, the flowers bloomed a little more, spreading deeper into your lungs.

You were running out of time.

One evening, after a particularly harsh coughing fit, you stumbled into the training yard, desperate for fresh air. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in your chest, but at least here, you were alone. You leaned against a tree, struggling to catch your breath as another wave of petals slipped past your lips.

You hated this. Hated how weak you felt, how helpless you were against something as absurd as unrequited love. And yet, every time you thought about confessing, the image of Gojo’s indifferent smile flashed in your mind, and the words died in your throat.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart raced as you straightened up, wiping the petals from your mouth and stuffing them into your pocket. You looked up, expecting to see one of the other students, but it was Shoko.

Her usual cool, detached demeanor was still in place, but there was something different in her eyes—something that made your stomach twist with unease.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice lower than usual.

You swallowed, already guessing what this was about. “What is it?”

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Your condition is getting worse, isn’t it?”

You didn’t need to answer. The way you clutched your chest, the way you struggled to keep the petals hidden—it was all the confirmation she needed.

“I’ve been holding off as long as I could,” she continued, her voice softer now. “But I talked to Gojo.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you. Your breath caught in your throat, not because of the flowers this time, but because of her words.

“You what?” The question came out in a whisper, sharp with disbelief.

“I had to,” Shoko said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’re not going to make it much longer if this keeps up. I didn’t mention your name, like I promised, but he needed to know.”

Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled back, leaning heavily against the tree for support. Of course, she’d done what you’d asked—told him without revealing your identity. But it didn’t matter. The mere thought of Gojo knowing, of him even being aware that someone in his proximity was withering away because of him, made your chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with the flowers.

“What… what did he say?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Shoko gave you a long, measured look before speaking. “He didn’t take it as lightly as you might think. He’s worried—though you know how Gojo is. He hides it behind his usual attitude. But this? Hanahaki? He knows what it means, and it’s not something he can ignore.”

You could barely process her words. Gojo? Worried? It didn’t make sense. He was always so untouchable, so far above everyone else. Why would something like this even matter to him?

“Did he… ask who it was?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

Shoko nodded, crossing her arms. “Of course he did. He was… concerned. It’s not every day that someone’s literally dying over unrequited love. But I didn’t tell him. I just gave him enough to know it’s serious.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest—not the flowers, but something worse. Guilt. Guilt that your feelings had somehow become a burden for him, even without him knowing who you were.

“I… I shouldn’t have asked you to tell him,” you muttered, looking down at your feet. “I just… didn’t know what else to do.”

Shoko stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel. And if this is the only way to keep you alive a little longer, then so be it. But you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face him.”

You shook your head, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “I can’t. He’ll never—”

“You don’t know that,” Shoko interrupted, her gaze sharp. “Gojo’s a lot of things, but he’s not heartless. He might surprise you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming certainty that confessing would only lead to more pain. Gojo was untouchable. Even if he cared in some distant, detached way, it would never be the way you wanted.

Shoko sighed, stepping back. “I won’t push you. But just… think about it. You don’t have much time left.”

With that, she turned and left, her footsteps fading into the night.

You stayed there for a long time, alone in the dark, the petals in your pocket a heavy reminder of the choice you had yet to make.

You sat at your usual desk in the back of Gojo’s classroom, your head leaning against the cool glass of the window. The hum of conversation filled the room, a low murmur as the other students talked amongst themselves, waiting for Gojo to stroll in with his usual swagger. You kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the leaves stir in the breeze.

It was easier this way—hiding in plain sight, letting the louder students command the room while you quietly faded into the background. No one really noticed you, not even Gojo.

Still, there was a part of you that longed for his attention, even if it was just for a moment. A glance, a word, anything that would remind you that you weren’t invisible to him. But every day passed the same—Gojo laughing and joking with the stronger students while you wilted away in silence.

You pressed a tissue to your nose, feeling the familiar warmth of blood trickling out. Another nosebleed. It had become so frequent that you almost didn’t notice it anymore. Almost. The petals in your lungs shifted uncomfortably, a tightness building in your chest as you fought the urge to cough. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself, especially now.

Shoko had promised not to tell Gojo it was you, but you knew her patience was running thin. You visited her office almost daily now, seeking some sort of relief, but there was only so much she could do. Hanahaki wasn’t something that could be easily cured—at least, not without confronting the painful truth behind it.

You couldn’t afford that. You weren’t ready for him to know. What would you even say if he found out? The thought of confessing made your stomach churn, your fingers tightening around the tissue in your hand. How could you ever explain the way you felt when you were barely able to understand it yourself?

The door slid open, and Gojo sauntered in, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face. The room seemed to brighten at his presence, his energy infectious as he greeted the class with his typical enthusiasm. You kept your eyes trained on the window, refusing to meet his gaze. It was better that way—safer.

“Alright, kiddos, settle down,” Gojo called out, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

The chatter died down as the students turned their attention to him, hanging on his every word. You listened, too, but from a distance, as if you were an outsider observing a scene that didn’t quite include you. His voice was the same as always, smooth and light, filled with that teasing charm that made the others smile. But for you, it was another reminder of how far away he really was.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice something different in his tone today—an edge, barely noticeable, but there. He wasn’t as relaxed as usual. His gaze, though still hidden behind his blindfold, seemed to sweep over the class with more intensity, as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat picking up as a flicker of panic settled in your chest. He wouldn’t know, would he? Shoko hadn’t said anything. She promised.

But the longer he stood there, the more restless you became. You could feel his attention shift, his energy probing the room, lingering in places it hadn��t before. There was something sharper in the way he moved, in the way he spoke to the students—like he was searching for an answer to a question he couldn’t quite articulate yet.

He didn’t speak to you directly, of course. He never did. But that didn’t stop the creeping suspicion that he was starting to notice something.

“Everyone’s doing alright, yeah?” Gojo asked casually, his voice lilting, but there was an underlying concern that hadn’t been there before.

Yuji, ever the optimist, nodded enthusiastically. “All good here!”

Megumi grunted in agreement, and Nobara shot Gojo a playful smirk. The usual banter, the usual flow. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Gojo was waiting for something. His attention drifted, not settling as it usually did.

You shifted in your seat, the petals stirring in your lungs again. The ache had become a constant companion, always there, always waiting for the next bloom. You pressed the tissue harder against your nose, trying to focus on your breathing, trying to stay invisible.

But it didn’t work.

“Hey, you back there,” Gojo’s voice suddenly cut through the room, casual yet commanding. Your heart stopped in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

He was talking to you.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Gojo’s attention was on you. Your hands shook slightly, the tissue still pressed to your nose as you quickly tried to pull yourself together. You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a lie, but you hoped it was convincing enough.

Gojo didn’t press, but you could feel the weight of his gaze linger a moment too long before he turned back to the rest of the class. The tension in the room slowly eased as the lesson continued, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He had noticed you. And now, it was only a matter of time before he started to connect the dots.

As class ended and the other students filed out, you stayed behind, your legs weak and your mind racing. The tightness in your chest was unbearable now, each breath a struggle as the petals continued to bloom, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You stood, gripping the edge of your desk to steady yourself, but the world swayed around you, your vision blurring. You felt the cough building in your throat, but you swallowed it down, trying to hold it back.

Gojo was still at the front of the room, his back turned as he gathered up some papers. You glanced at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words, knowing that the distance between you was more than just physical. Even with his attention momentarily on you, he was still so far away—too far for you to ever reach.

The petals in your lungs fluttered violently, and before you could stop it, a wet cough escaped your lips. You doubled over, clutching your chest as the tissue in your hand was soaked through with blood.

It was getting worse.

You could feel it—Gojo was also beginning to put the pieces together. His usual carefree demeanor was still there, but underneath it, you noticed subtle changes. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, the occasional pause in his speech as if something was pulling at the back of his mind, the shift in his tone when he asked how you were doing.

He was connecting the dots, slowly but surely.

It had started out small. After that one class where your coughing fit had drawn his attention, Gojo had seemed more… aware of you. You weren’t used to that. For so long, you had been the invisible student, blending into the background while he focused on the stronger, louder ones. But now, it felt like you were always under his watch, even if it was subtle.

You couldn’t help but notice how often his blindfolded gaze would drift in your direction during class, the easy-going smile on his lips faltering for just a moment when your breath hitched or your shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping another coughing fit at bay. He never called you out in front of the others again, but the worry was there—hovering beneath the surface, waiting for you to crack.

It was getting harder to hide. The petals were growing larger and more frequent, blooming violently inside you whenever you were in his presence. It wasn’t just the physical pain anymore; it was the emotional strain of knowing he was starting to figure it out. Each time you saw him, the flowers bloomed more aggressively, as if they, too, could sense that time was running out.

You sat in class, staring blankly at the notes in front of you, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. The tissue box on your desk was nearly empty again, and you were already clutching another tissue in your hand, waiting for the inevitable. Your lungs felt tight, each breath more difficult than the last as the flowers took root deeper inside of you.

Gojo was at the front, as usual, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed as he casually spoke to the class. He seemed as relaxed as ever, but you could feel his attention on you, even if he didn’t directly address it. Every time you shifted in your seat or raised a tissue to your nose, you could sense his focus sharpening, though he kept his distance.

“Alright, kiddos, let’s wrap it up for today,” Gojo said, his voice light and playful as he clapped his hands together. The students began packing up, Yuji and Nobara already bickering about something as they made their way out of the classroom.

You stayed behind, as you often did now, waiting for the others to leave before making your quiet exit. But today, Gojo lingered, too. You could feel the tension in the air as you stood from your seat, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his gaze was palpable as you gathered your things, your hands trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was softer than usual, and when you turned to look at him, you saw that his posture had changed. He wasn’t leaning against the desk anymore, his arms uncrossed and his expression… unreadable. “You feeling alright?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked, but this time, there was something different in the way he said it. It wasn’t casual concern—it was heavier, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to say it out loud.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, the words sticking in your throat as you grabbed the tissue box, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Gojo didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you. His smile, too, faded a little, replaced with something more serious, more focused. “You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his words pointed.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze as you tried to make your way toward the door. But your body betrayed you. The familiar tightness in your chest returned, and before you could stop it, a violent coughing fit overtook you. You doubled over, one hand clutching your chest as you brought the other to your mouth, the tissue doing little to contain the blood and petals that escaped.

Cerulean petals fluttered to the ground, streaked with red, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the pain tearing through your lungs.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Gojo had seen. The room was painfully silent, and you could feel his gaze burning into you.

“Wait.” His voice was firm now, no longer soft or teasing. You heard his footsteps approaching, and your heart raced in your chest as panic set in. You couldn’t face him. Not like this.

But it was too late.

Gojo’s hand gently caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Look at me,” he said quietly, his tone serious but not unkind.

You hesitated, your breath shaky as you slowly turned to face him. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you didn’t need to see them to know the concern that was etched into every line of his face. For once, there was no trace of his usual cocky smile, no hint of the lighthearted jokes he often used to deflect serious situations.

“You’re not fine,” Gojo said, his voice low, steady. “You haven’t been fine for a while, have you?”

The tears that had been building behind your eyes finally spilled over. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was shake your head, the weight of your secret crashing down around you.

Gojo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten for a different reason.

“I…” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Gojo’s expression softened, though the concern in his voice never wavered. “It’s hanahaki, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, the weight of the truth finally too much to carry alone. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s hanahaki.”

Gojo exhaled softly, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he processed your admission. “Do you know who—” He stopped, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Wait… is it—?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, your silence enough of an answer.

It was him. It had always been him.

And now, he knew.

The silence between you and Gojo was thick, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You could feel his gaze on you, sharp and penetrating, but it wasn’t enough to make you look at him. You stared at the floor, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty tissue box, your breath still shaky from the violent coughing fit that had exposed everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice stripped of the usual playfulness, replaced by a gravity that was foreign on his tongue.

You felt a surge of frustration bubble up inside you, mixing with the pain in your chest. Why hadn’t you told him? The answer was painfully simple, yet tangled in a mess of emotions you’d tried to suppress for so long. You tightened your grip on the box, swallowing hard before finally speaking, your voice thick with unshed tears.

“Why would I tell you?” you muttered, your words sharp even though they came out barely above a whisper. “You’re always so busy, Gojo-sensei. You didn’t even know I was here before today.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“It’s not your fault I have a meek technique that didn’t catch your attention,” you continued, the bitterness in your voice surprising even yourself. “I was just… invisible. So why would I tell you?”

You finally looked up at him then, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages. His blindfold still obscured his eyes, but you could see the way his jaw tightened, his posture tense. There was no easy smile now, no casual demeanor. Just the weight of his presence, heavy and serious in a way you had never seen before.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice softer but carrying the same intensity. There was no arrogance in his words, just genuine confusion, as if the idea of him not noticing was somehow inconceivable.

Your frustration boiled over, and you shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I don’t need to think anything, Gojo-sensei,” you said, your voice louder now, trembling with emotion. “I know you didn’t notice.”

Gojo opened his mouth as if to respond, but he hesitated, his expression tightening. It was the first time you had ever seen him at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to being called out like this, to being told that he had missed something important. Especially something as important as one of his students suffering in silence.

You took a step back, pulling away from his grip as you fought to steady your breathing, the petals still stirring in your lungs. “It’s not your fault,” you added, quieter now, your anger giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside you for so long. “I didn’t expect you to notice. Why would you? You’ve got students with real potential, students who deserve your attention.”

Gojo’s expression softened, and he took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. “You’re one of my students, too,” he said, his tone laced with a sincerity that cut through the pain. “I should’ve noticed. I do notice.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head again. “You notice now because I’m dying, Gojo. Not because of anything else. If I didn’t have this—” you gestured toward your chest, “—you still wouldn’t see me.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his frame loosening as he let out a slow breath. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “You’re not invisible to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice startled you. Gojo wasn’t supposed to sound like this—he was always so confident, so sure of himself. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost… regretful.

“Maybe I was too caught up in everything else,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression tight. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I care about all of you.”

You looked away, the words landing heavily in your chest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly cared about you the same way he did Yuji or Megumi or Nobara. But the reality was, you had spent so long on the sidelines, watching as his attention was always pulled in a hundred different directions, that it was hard to accept that you could matter, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, more serious than you had ever heard it. “I should have seen you sooner. I should’ve been there.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something in you, and for a moment, the anger and frustration ebbed away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“It’s too late now, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Gojo didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable. He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, but he didn’t touch you. “It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “It’s never too late.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob as another violent cough wracked your body, more petals spilling from your lips. They fell to the ground between you, fragile and blood-stained, and you stared at them, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

“How can you say that?” you choked out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Look at me, Gojo. It’s too late.”

Gojo’s expression darkened, but there was a determination in his voice as he spoke. “No,” he said firmly, his hand finally resting on your shoulder, grounding you with his touch. “It’s not too late. We’re going to figure this out. I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

His words, so certain and filled with resolve, made something inside you tremble. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—things could change.

But as the petals continued to bloom inside your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had already run out of time.

notes: i'll be posting one chapter per day - so please stick around! If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3

#— [♡] by gigi #jjk #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo oneshot #jujutsu kaisen

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shotmrmiller · 6 months ago

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soulmate au part 2

john price x f!reader (was feeling mad angsty yall, sorry)

You'd locked your tender heart in a cold, iron box. Sealed it shut, hoping, praying, that if you'd buried it deep enough, the ache would fade. The small key had lain heavy in your palm— disproportionate to its size— with words best left unspoken, with feelings that'll never be returned. Tossed it right into the sea with a shuddering breath that tasted of salt.

Of tears. Of mourning, of grief, loss.

(You told yourself you wouldn't cry yet here you are, eyes prickling, vision blurring. Hold it together, girl.)

And it'd gone well enough for a while. Avoiding him— the act of self-preservation— almost became second nature. You made your exit anytime he walked in, a quiet victory each time you successfully escaped the danger of his presence.

(Be still, your battered heart.)

But it'd only been a matter of time before you were forced into a situation where evasion was no longer a choice. Something that would threaten to shake loose the fragile composure of indifference you'd so carefully pieced together.

Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you ran toward the LZ— the world around you losing its sharpness, smudging into a flurry of colors and fluorescent lights. Errant strands of hair whip across your face, sticking to your lips. Your breath comes in short, ragged, desperate bursts; lungs working overtime. The barking of orders from one of the other medics gives way to the roar of helicopter blades, a deafening sound that drowns out everything else.

Once the helo touches down, its doors slide open and the stark reality of war spills onto the ground. Your heart beats frantically against your ribcage once you drink in the macabre sight. Crimson stains their tattered uniform, their dirt-streaked skin, even the dull grey of the metal beast.

And they're dragging someone out, it's—

John.

His body is limp, the fight now left with the boys as they move him towards the medical team on standby, toward you. The kaleidoscope of colors that paint the world around you flicker, for a fleeting moment— a mere fraction of a second— like the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Instinct takes over.

Time seems to stand still as you sprint to the ones carrying your soulmate and grab onto his vest— trembling fingers curling around the straps of it, pulling him urgently onto the ground with strength born out of desperation.

The gravel beneath him is hard, unforgiving. It digs into your unblemished knees painfully, a sharp pain that tethers you to reality. Grounding.

Focus.

You fumble around for a pulse, the sound of fabric tearing as you remove his scarf barely registering. Weakening by the second. Your focus is on the rise and fall of his chest, pointedly ignoring the blood bubbling on his lips, staining his mutton beard a vibrant red.

Clever fingers make quick work of the buckles on his vest and the velcro straps. You guide his head through the collar of it, every movement measured, and before it even hits the ground above him, the world drains of color. You look down at your shaky blood-slick hand— monochrome.

His lips, colorless. His hair, the color of rich earth, grey. Everything comes to a standstill. Your mind, once racing with urgency, settles into an empty silence. The type that robs you of your breath. It stretches for too long, a chasm that swallows your thoughts.

Until a violent nudge to your shoulder (ironically) pushes you past the paralysis of shock, and with both palms placed on his chest, you begin to fight for his life.

Your muscles burn with exertion, your forehead is beaded with sweat. Time seems to stretch thin, every second feeling like an eternity. You can feel panic start to bubble under your skin, fear furling like smoke around the edges of your consciousness, beginning to cloud your resolve.

"Take over, take over. I can't— I need—" you choke out, the words choppy due to the compressions. You need to breathe. You need to gather yourself. Immediately, another set of hands replace yours, continuing CPR, and you're jerking away from John, feeling hot tears roll down your cheeks.

You find yourself somewhere, still close enough to hear your colleagues, but far away enough to no longer smell the metallic tang of blood— although you can still taste it, like a penny on your tongue.

But there's no escaping the shades of grey, the somber world you're in. Not the tremors whispering through your anxious hands nor the vulnerability settling over your frayed nerves like a broken tooth, sharp and intrusive.

"I take it you're his other half," a rumbling voice says from behind you.

That in itself is a joke, you'd chuckle if you could. "No, that'd be his wife."

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer until the mountain of a man callsigned Ghost comes to stand in front of you whose stature demands a craned neck to meet his gaze. You pride yourself in not scuttling away from him, instead standing still. He makes you feel small— not just in size.

"You his soulmate?" Twisting the dagger in your chest, your heart.

"No. But he's mine." You look up at him then, only to see the same, colorless world mirrored back at you. He's got sunken eyes, like a corpse. Like the one whom you poured all of your strength into— both mental and physical.

There's no need to ask the imbecilic question of how he knew, knows. You practically shouted it from the rooftops with your panicked actions.

Mistake, so foolish of a mistake. Stupid, fucking girl. You'll get those pity stares, the grim looks. Treat you like some broken thing, a broken mirror barely pieced together, cracks still visible.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"He'll come back. Stubborn, old man always does." His voice is rough as gravel as he attempts to give you some sliver of hope. Ghost gives you a small nod and an unprompted pat on your stiff shoulders and his mask bleeds white. The thin stripes on his UK patch a ruby red.

He must've noticed something change because he let out a deep, steadying breath and murmured, "Told ya. Even death doesn't want him."

No, but your treacherous heart does.

Tragic thing, that. Now to call his wife and tell her the bittersweet news.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #soulmate au #captain john price #john price x f reader

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

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THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without.

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it.

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair.

“They chew up people like you.”

“I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty.

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space.

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning.

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it!

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building.

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel.

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time.

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra.

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you.

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck. “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go.

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about.

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives.

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you.

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully.

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you.

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?"

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh.

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you.

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it.

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears.

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating.

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.”

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security.

��Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making.

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin.

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right.

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length.

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him.

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth.

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

735 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 6 months ago

Text

Little Bump P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n Velaryon (Pregnant Wife) Rating - Sweet AF Word Count - 2957

Warning - childbirth / gore / horror elements

Jacaerys goes out with Daemon for the afternoon, the two go out and climb the jagged and impressive cliffs and valleys of the hot volcanic island, all to fetch a dragon egg for him and Y/n's baby. The two chatted and had some real conversations, the likes of which he hadn't really ever, had as stepson and stepdad. However, when they returned to the castle a sweet bright blue Dragon Egg selected a maid and rushed down the hall towards them,

"Prince Jacaerys!" The maid yelled, "Prince Jacaerys!"

Jacaerys' head turns sharply confused as to why this maid was running to them, "Yes, what is it?"

"it's Y/n -" the maid gasps,

Jacaerys' stomach drops to his feet at these words, but he forces himself to remain calm. "What has happened to my wife?" he demanded an answer,

"She has begun her labours Prince Jacaerys," The maid said,

Jacaerys' heart skips a beat as if he suddenly cannot breathe. He forces himself to remain calm, even if he feels like punching the wall, or throwing up, or any number of other things. "How long ago did this begin?"

"A meer our after you left," the maid said.

Jacaerys feels his heart drop at this news, suddenly feeling a deep sense of shame that he had been gone so long in this crucial time. If something had gone wrong... He shakes the thought out of his head and forces himself to remain calm. "Who has been with her, this whole time?"

"the maester. And maids. And the queen" The maid explained

Jacaerys nods and begins racing through the halls as quickly as he can, He keeps walking with Daemon and the maid, trying his best to hold a serious face and not let his tears flood. Y/n was in good hands, but he still desired to be there and see their son being born. His heart still races within his chest, however, flooded with adrenaline from the situation.

finally, they reach his and Y/n's chambers both the maid and daemon rush inside without a second thought but for a moment Jacaerys stops in the doorway, the sound of muted screams from within the chambers causing his heart to race even quicker. He grips his hands, nervous to step inside the chambers. He knows he should enter, but the thought of it terrifies him. He has to go in. He has to be there, for his wife. He steps inside.

Their bed is crowded with maids, the maester, his mother with Daemon at her side all of them arguing and debating the methods to be used. But all of it is mere background noise as all Jacaerys can focus on is his wife.

Y/n sits with her back against the headboard her knees on the bed so she's almost crouching on it, her sky blue nightie around her drenched in blood and sweat, her hair a matted sweaty mess, her eyes full of tears, her mouth hung open to scream, her hands ball up her nightie clawing at her own thighs in her agony. The sounds she made were enough to chill his very soul, they reminded him of the cries in violent pain that a dragon screams out when hurt and she seemed just as vicious and dangerous

"Where is my husband!" She screams,

Jacaerys cannot believe what he is seeing. He runs towards his wife's side, and stares at her with a mix of horror and concern. He cannot help but notice the blood, the sweat, in the state she is in. His first reaction is to reach out for her, to comfort his love, hold her, comfort her, to hold her close. But... her pain is immense, and her cries of agony are almost violent. Jacaerys feels like he is watching her being tortured. Jacaerys feels as if this statement cuts him deeper than any sword. " I... I'm here, my love..."

she grabbed him by the hand her grip tight and yet weak at the same time proving her exhaustion. "Jace... They wouldn't tell me where you were, they wouldn't find you, they wouldn't let me see you... I was so worried something might have happened to you" she cried hysterically

Jacaerys' heart was struck a blow. She had been concerned for his well-being. After the hours and hours she had been through, she was still thinking of him, his well-being. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at her words. He squeezes her hand tightly. "I am here now, my love. Nothing could stop me. I am okay, do not worry about me. I am so glad to be with you now..."

"I ask one thing of you, my love"

Jacaerys looks into her eyes, kissing her hand and meeting her gaze nervously. "Anything."

"get. These. People. Out! Of! Our chambers!"

"Are you sure? All of them know more than we do."

"NOW!" she screamed,

Jacaerys nods instantly. He would do anything to ensure his wife's comfort, and to see her pain end as quickly as possible, "Everyone out. Leave my wife to me,"

"Jacaerys-" His mother began,

"Now. She wants you gone just go." He demanded,

the room clears of everyone but Y/n and jacaerys, which calms her slightly she kneels on the bed still gripping her thighs as she gasps

Jacaerys takes a seat next to her on the bed. He reaches out and places his hands on her shoulders, stroking her carefully. “Calm yourself, my love. This too shall pass. Do not worry about the pain. What you are experiencing is a natural part of life, my sweet. There is no need to fear it…” Jace smiles, hoping to comfort her, even though he knew well how difficult childbirth could be. He was only trying to ease her mind.

"I am so frightened... I'm am so so scared" she muttered between her tears

Jacaerys rubs her back gently, trying to comfort her. “I promise you, my love, nothing bad will happen to you. I have never seen a stronger woman than you, and I know, deep in my heart, that you can do this. You are going to be a mother.” Jace smiles, and squeezes her hands. Nothing bad will happen. “I am here, for you.”

she grabs his shirt as another contraction forces it's way through her and she screams loudly her voice echoing off the stone walls of Dragonstone

Jacaerys grips her hands, squeezing them tightly as he watches her suffer this pain. He fights the urge to call someone in, as he knew that more people would be of no help at all. But... he feels so useless, watching her writhe in pain. He wants to help. He wants it to stop. He wants his son to be born, too, but he hates seeing Y/n suffer like this.

"Jace... It's happening. It's happening the baby!" She screamed tears flooding down her face as she clawed as her thighs and her body shaking as she goes though this intense pain she screams louder then anything he has ever heard cursing and swearing at the child inside her as it forces her body to conform. She grabs Jace by the hair and puts her forehead to his as she cries and screams violently

Jacaerys grits his teeth, trying his best to remain strong for his wife. He squeezes her hands, tries to calm her, but cannot find the words. Her screams fill him with fear and worry. He doesn't want her to suffer like this, but he has no way to take away the pain. It is worse, by far, than anything he could have ever imagined for her with childbirth. He is almost helpless as he pulls her head down against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight.

she screamed and leaned back clawing her thighs as she pulls up her nightie and as she does he sees the strange both beautiful and deeply horrifying sight of the birth of his child. Jace had only briefly seen the birth of his younger brothers but this moment was never something he had witnessed, he knew of course how children were born of course but he supposed in his mind he always imagined just crying, screaming and then being handed his beautiful baby, his idea was this was a beautiful and magical moment and in some ways it was but... It was also the sight of his wife convulsing with pain, screaming, clawing her thighs to the point of blood, as the blood and fluid covered head of Thier child ripped her open

Jacaerys stares as his wife experiences the worst pain he could imagine. A beautiful moment, indeed, but one filled with pain and a mess of blood and fluids. His face contorts as he watches this process, the screams of his lover filling his ears. He is filled with fear, seeing the woman he loves in so much pain. Jace looks away, but cannot help but look back at the process. It is almost like a horrific wreck, where you must watch. A mixture of beauty and horror, something that has no equal.

she is unable to stop now even if her body is tired even if she can't handle any more her body is physically unable to stop now, leaving her to cry hysterically and scream out a long scream that took her whole breath, she demanded Jace to take a blanket which he did as it was sudden. The baby's head appeared then it's neck, then it's shoulders and once past the shoulders the baby dropped out like an apple from a tree have quickly picked up the baby in the blanket wrapping it up,

Jace’s entire body is filled with shock and relief as he sees his child born, wrapped in the blanket. A surge of relief washes over him, and he breathes a sigh of gratitude to every god above, thankful that his wife and his son are both well. He stares, amazed, at the sight of the child. It is a mixture of awe and fear, the tiny life which he brought forth with Y/n. The baby moves in the blanket, still covered in fluid and blood. Jacaerys takes a step back, almost mesmerized and overwhelmed by emotions.

the baby whined and coughed bringing the first little cry

Jacaerys cannot help but smile at the first noises from the baby. The sounds are weak and hoarse at first, but begin to get stronger with every moment. He wants nothing more in that moment than to hold the tiny life that he helped bring to this world in his arms. However, he is too fearful to go any closer towards the child, as the fluid and blood which still cover him are not an inviting sight. He is unsure now which emotion is winning inside him: fear or relief.

Y/n doesn't even have time to react to their child as the process of the after birth strikes her but luckily given the agony she just went through this pain felt to her like nothing more then a stomach cramp and luckily goes off without a hitch, the after birth is quickly delivered and she flops on her back on the bed covered in her own blood and sweat as she holds her stomach "Is he okay..."

Jacaerys lets out a sigh as the afterbirth is delivered, The sounds of the baby’s cries grow stronger with each moment. Jacaerys turns to face his wife, still nervous by the sight of her covered in blood and bodily fluids, but he forces himself to focus on the positive. He cannot hold back a smile, one filled with relief and gratitude, “Yes, my love. He is okay. He is beautiful, and I cannot even describe how much I love his cry.” Jacaerys tries to look past the blood on her body, instead focusing on her face and looking for a smile. He wants to see her joy, her happiness at having given birth, to see that she is okay. His hands clench into fists as he looks at her, wanting so badly to hold her close but not wanting to make things worse by coming too near.

she smiled and opened her arms wanting to hold their baby

Jacaerys smiles in response, and watches as his wife reaches out her limbs towards their child. His heart flutters, as he realizes how much she is already loving the baby. He walks closer, and gently pulls the blanket away so she can hold him in her arms. Jacaerys also can finally take a good look at the small life he helped to create, his son, Lucaerys, which is now lying safely in Y/n’s arms.

Y/n holds the baby against her bare skin, the widest smile on her lips, she cares so life the blood and fluids that coat the both of them she kisses the head of baby Lucaerys and lets a tear slip as he cries

Jacaerys smiles wide at the scene of his wife with his baby in her arms. The tears of joy, the gentle, protective kisses she is placing on Lucaerys’ head... it is almost enough to make him cry as well. As the baby cries, Jacaarys comes forward again, and wraps his hands around Y/n, holding her tightly against him once more, wanting to comfort her, protect her, and comfort himself. He wants to be there for her, and their son. He wants to comfort them both.

"he's perfect. So very perfect." She muttered "our little boy, I praise all the gods in this universe for him"

“He's beautiful, Y/n. So beautiful.” Jace smiles softly as the baby cries. “Our little Lucaerys... he even has your eyes, I think.” Jace strokes his hands over her hair slightly, taking her in and realizing that he too was filled with that same sense of relief from seeing that she was well.

"he's perfect. So very perfect." She muttered "our little boy, I praise all the gods in this universe for him"

He wraps his arms around her again, pulling her and the baby into him, embracing his family. She smiled and laid her head on Jaces shoulder as she made sure they could both cradle baby Luke. Jace smiled, enjoying the sweet feeling of all three of them sharing that special, beautiful moment. He held her close, caressed her head once more, then looked down at their baby boy. The boy had calmed somewhat. He was still crying, but not as frantic as before. Jacaerys felt the most content he had ever been in his life, as he sat there, holding his wife and his son against himself.

The two share kisses and sweet words cooing over their baby for hours Y/n rests on the bed and jacaerys paces the room bouncing baby Luke in his arms as he once saw his father do to his brother's

Jace bounces the baby, trying his best to soothe him. He speaks kindly to him, uses a voice that he hopes would be calming and sweet. He whispers to him with words of encouragement, hoping that the child would be soothed. Eventually, his efforts pay off as the baby grows quieter. The baby stops crying, and only his light breathing could now be heard. Jace feels a rush of relief wash over him as he continues to bounce and hum to the baby, not wanting to put him back into Y/n's arms just yet.

"ohh ‘he's’ tired. I feel somewhat offended" Y/n chuckled as she noticed Luke fell asleep in jaces arms

Jace laughs at her comment, amused at her reaction. “The audacity of him,” He joked and He continues to hold Luke, not wanting to give him up just yet. There is something about holding your own child that is so precious and special. Jace knows he must return him to Y/n soon, but he cannot help but enjoy this time with little Lucaerys. He continues to hum songs quietly to the baby, holding him close to his chest.

"you have to put him in his crib sometime, Jace" she teased him

Jace rolls his eyes, chuckling. “Yes, my love. I suppose that is true. Though... I enjoy holding him. I have not let him go at all since he arrived. I wish I could carry him everywhere.” Jace laughed, holding him close.

"umm my boys, my sweet boys" she cooed at them enjoying the sight of her husband and son together, "come on, let me have a cuddle" she cooed opening her arms

Jace’s face flushes red slightly, as he knows he cannot deny that request. He looks to Lucaerys for a moment, then smiles and hands him over to Y/n. He loves to see her with their son.

"ohh hello little man, yes hello. Your daddy is giving you all the attention today. I get the feeling he shall spoil you" she cooed to baby Luke

Jace chuckles, watching her love their baby with such intensity. He knows she is going to provide him with the most love and attention, and he could not ask for a more perfect mother for his child. Jace takes a seat next to her, watching her with the baby, as she speaks. He does not want to break her focus from the child, but he also wants to be close to them both.

"You were so much trouble. So much trouble for such a little boy" she chuckled "worth it though. A thousand times over"

Jace laughed, his chest filling with warmth when he heard that. What was this feeling within him? Pure joy, mixed with the pride of being a father to such a beautiful child. He was proud of Y/n, for what she had gone through, for how well she handled it all. All of his previous fears had evaporated. “He was worth everything in this world, my love.”

This was not a moment to be afraid, but rather to celebrate the miracle of birth.

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amourdivine · 23 days ago

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୨ ♡ ୧ WHAT WOULD IT BE LIKE TO DATE THEM? ઉ

Hello lovelies, welcome to another PAC! This is mostly an intuitive reading about what it'd be like to date the person on your mind. This can work for a crush, a friend or someone you know and are romantically interested in - it does not work for celebrities or strangers. If you liked this reading, please consider tipping me at @ [email protected] paypal! xo ♡

☁️ ˚ QUICKLINKS . ༉ ‧

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› none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise. › personal readings are closed

HOW TO CHOOSE YOUR PILE. take a few deep breaths and look at each picture separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later!

PILE 1

I feel nostalgic. You may be asking about an almost lover, someone you never really got off the ground with. Something failed. A failed talking stage, someone moved away, someone chose something or someone else. Maybe a childhood best friend who never looked at you in the same way, but the longing never really left, did it? Perhaps you’re asking about a same sex relationship and the other person is attracted to a different gender than yours.

You probably (still) love this person and your heart aches with what could’ve been, but the truth of it is that you always loved them more. If you were dating, you’d be left with the bittersweet feeling that there has to be more for the both of you… that maybe this isn’t enough, that maybe they don’t love you enough. Insecurities could arise, tears pricking at your eyes. You could feel like you’re too much and not enough for them, simultaneously.

The truth of this realization would be painful, but it would set you free. You’d finally understand why you were never meant to be with this person in the first place. Sometimes when we get what we want, we find out it isn’t what we need. If the two of you dated, you’d realize they’re not all that and that maybe you always deserved more than what they could offer. It’d be a painful realization, because none of your fantasies came true. After all, they were just fantasies about this person… and the unrequited love was best left that way… unrequited.

It reminds me of a quote I saw a couple of weeks ago. When you find out you’re on the wrong train, you get off immediately. Don’t waste your precious time taking the train which will lead you to the wrong destination.

PILE 2

There is calm here. A lot of peace and understanding. I don’t know if either one of you would be ready for this love, somehow. It sounds like someone could still be stuck in a chaser-runner dynamic, maybe one of you feels like love has to be earned, that love has to hit hard and violently. Maybe chaos feels safer than, well, safety. I also heard “the calm before the storm”.

Either way, this relationship would teach you calmness, tranquility. It would teach you the gentleness of routine, of self-control and discipline. This is not the kind of whirlwind romance people speak of in movies, but this is the kind of steady, strong love that builds over time. Very strong Saturn energy. Reliable, firm. There is nothing unpredictable or unstable about it – even though some people fantasize about the kind of love that sweeps them off their feet, this relationship would ground you like a tree growing from its deep roots.

“Soulmates are not born, they’re made”, it may be something that resonates with this pile. You’d learn about each other and stick through thick and thin. It isn’t the kind of flashy, ultra romantic love that’s seen on Tiktok or Instagram. There is something beautiful and quiet about it, like a safe haven, a cozy cabin in the woods where you go when you need to clear your mind. It is wise and soulful, something like a dead language spoken between only two people.

PILE 3

I always think of Romeo & Juliet when The Lovers comes to mind. Not in a tragic way. This is the kind of relationship where two people compliment each other. Their differences might make things rough, but that’s where they grow. You are too different and too similar at once, you challenge and learn in each other’s presence because you are almost like two sides of the same coin. That can be amazing, but it can be really difficult if neither are willing to compromise or listen.

This relationship would require maturity. It’d be fun, but daring. Dating them could be amazing only if you are on the same page about your goals, desires and feelings. A lot of communication is required, but the love is there. The intensity, the longing stares and the ache to be with one another is far too real to be forgotten. Even if it didn’t last for long, dating them would be something like once in a lifetime. This pile may resonate with the concept of a divine counterpart. For you, it’s something deeper than a soulmate, almost.

There’s a ride and die energy to it as well. You’d do everything together, for better or worse. This is the confidant, the best friend and the sensual lover all in one. If not handled carefully or maturely, as I mentioned, it can backfire. Remember that the lovers also appear in The Devil card, so it’s important to approach your love in a pure, honest and genuine way in order to benefit from everything this relationship has to offer you. The choices you make in regards to this person matter.

PILE 4

Lonely, it’d be lonely. Dating them would leave you more than just unsatisfied. This person would abandon you halfway. They’d make promises they cannot keep, based on insincere and vapid feelings. They’re good at crafting illusions and would likely change their mind – shallow, impressed by meaningless things.

Dating them would be a lesson – unfortunately not in a happy way. You’d enter this relationship as a page and leave as a hermit, much more aware of your own surroundings, of your habits and inner self. However, it would be isolating and depressing to go through so much pain for so little joy. If you are not involved with this person, chances are you should be grateful that things didn’t work out. The benefits wouldn’t be worth it in the long run. You can go through this journey of self-discovery without all the pain this person would put you through.

I see puddles, I see crying. Sad playlists and the word ‘lonely’ keeps playing in my head. Although they may have seemed promising in the beginning, like a prince charming, like a fairytale come true, this relationship would be nothing but disappointment, deceit and heartbreak. They can’t even compare to the fullness of your heart and the love you are willing to give. This person only knows selfishness and you are best away from them.

amourdivine 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content!

DISCLAIMER. tarot is a divination tool, it’s not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i don’t take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. be mindful ♡

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot pick a pile #tarotblr #tarot pick a card #pick a pile reading #pick a picture #pick a card reading #divine counterpart #divination #tarot reading #*

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weird-addiction · 9 months ago

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If you're still writing for hotd, could you do a aemond x twin brother reader (platonic ofc). When aemond loses his eye, his brother takes his own eye on the opposite side as a form of solidarity. They have a close relationship and reader claims cannibal as aemond claims vhagar. I know it's a lot but I thought it was a good idea. Hope you have a great day

~snake anon 🐍

One in the Same

Pairing: Platonic!Aemond Targaryen x Male!Twin!Targaryen!Reader

Genre: Neutral

Warnings: Gore, taking out an eye, typical violence, threatening someone

Being the twin to a prince was never meant to be easy, well, others at the bottom would say different. That is because they have never been in his position before. Y/n was the fourth child of Alicent and Viserys, the younger twin to Aemond Targaryen.

They said that the gods flip a coin to determine a Targaryen’s fate when they are born, one side was greatness, the other was madness. If this was indeed true, Y/n’s side of the coin would be sadness. There was not a day from the day he was born that he did felt like a void was inside of his heart, and the only way to fill it was to be close to his twin at all times.

Since childhood, Y/n clung to Aemond’s side no matter what they were doing. Training, eating, in the library reading, the one thing they did not do was sleep in the same bed. Alicent tried everything to keep Y/n a part, as she was worried that in the future that their closeness would prevent them from finding wives, however Y/n still refused to let his brother go.

Aemond was dragonless, so was Y/n, they were the only ones without dragons and boy were they bitter for it.

See, Y/n was what you called the ‘the silent but deadly’ type of person. He told everything, every feeling, every emotion to his twin and no one else. And for this, he had no idea how to express himself to others freely.

So, he did it through violent means.

“Behold! The Pink Dread!” Aegon, Jace and Luke all said in a mocking way as the pig stood before them.

Aemond kept his emotions inside, he would not show them that this got to him. His twin however, did not have the same reaction.

Y/n did not hesitate as he grabbed Aegon by the collar, his fist raised as he was about to punch him. Aegon was surprised to say the least, as he flinched back from his brother’s raised hand. Jace and Luke were also shocked to see this, as Aegon was the eldest among them so no one went against him. Seeing Aegon’s own younger brother do that to him was not something they expected.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t make you unable to see Sunfyre for a week, brother.” Y/n spat, his hand did not loosen its grip.

“I-I’ll tell mother!” Aegon said out as a last resort.

“Mother? Mother would thank me for knocking some sense into you.” Y/n’s eyes narrowed, the dragon burned within him brightly.

Aegon managed to shake himself free, himself and their nephews left quickly so as to not anger him anymore. Y/n turned back to Aemond, wanting to comfort him. But, Aemond was already down the pit to see for dragons. Y/n notified a guard and Aemond was taken out before he became ashes.

“What are you doing?! Are you trying to get killed?” Y/n looked him over for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Aemond replied quickly, hiding his disdain for dragging him out.

They were escorted back to their mother who was watching over Helaena with her bugs.

“Do I have to have you both confined to your chambers-”

“They gave him a pig!” Y/n yelled, cutting Alicent off.

Her attention went to the younger, then back to the elder to confirm if this was true. Aemond’s face said everything.

“You both will have a dragon. One day. I promise.” Alicent brought both of her sons into a hug before leaving to talk to her husband and her eldest son for pulling such a trick on his own brothers.

The dragon did not come to them, even them trying to claim other older dragons did not work. Y/n suggested they go to Dragonstone to take a shot with the dragons there, Alicent allowed after much persuasion.

Once they arrived on Dragonstone, they went directly to where the dragons were kept. The dragon keepers standing there waiting for them.

By the end of the day, Y/n had managed to fly around with a dragon so large that the shadow covered all of Dragonstone. Even the keepers were surprised, and when he landed, everyone was stunned.

Y/n Targaryen had claimed the legendary beast that is Cannibal.

Y/n climbed down from the dragon’s back effortlessly as he pats its side, running to hug his twin and ask the older about his own dragon. Aemond was impressed by his abilities, but rather sad as he himself was unsuccessful as claiming a dragon.

“It’s ok! You’ll have one! You will have a dragon with wars and conquests under its belt! I promise Aemond!” Y/n exclaimed as he hugged his brother tight.

Well, that would come true only a year later as came the death of Laena Velayron. By the end of the funeral, Aemond had run off by himself as he heard the sad roar of a dragon in the distance.

On the other hand, Y/n was freaking out as he did not see his twin anywhere near him. He wanted to go find him but the guard said he needed to go to bed, but how could he sleep without knowing that Aemond was somewhere else? How could he sleep without knowing if Aemond was safe?

Well, he did not have to wait for long, the guards soon came and escorted him down telling him something had happened to his brother. This made Y/n practically run down the stairs to such a gorey sight before him, his twin flame, his brother who he loved so much was sitting in a chair getting stitches across his eye. Running to Aemond’s side, leeching to the elder’s side as he looked him over for other possible injuries.

“How did this- what happened?” He quietly asked. Aemond responded with one eye movement, gaze shifting over to their nephews.

“Which one?” Y/n’s tone now held venom, wanting vengeance and revenge to the one that did this to his twin.

“The one that I broke the nose of.” His response made Y/n realize, of course, it was not hard to see who he was talking about after all.

“Lucerys. Of course. Those..bastards.” Y/n truly hated saying that word, he wanted to be close to his nephews, but what they just pulled was not going to be forgotten and forgiven so easily.

Alicent came over to the twins, giving them concerning glances. Pushing them behind her as she watched Rhaenyra come into the room. The twins held each other’s hands as they waited for what would happen to them.

“My son has lost an eye!” Alicent exclaimed, gesturing to Aemond who sat in the chair.

“It was my sons who were attacked, and forced to defend themselves.” Rhaenyra retorted back. “The legitimacy of my son’s birth were put loudly to question.”

Y/n and Aemond both looked at each other and smirked, they couldn’t help it, everyone who had eyes could see it of course.

“What did you actually do?” Y/n asked under his breath.

“Claimed Vhagar. They say I stole her.” Aemond leaned into his forehead against Y/n’s.

“That’s stupid. You can’t steal a dragon, the dragon chooses its rider. Otherwise, I would not be alive talking. Cannibal would have eaten me.” Both of them then tuned out the rest of the conversation. Well, until their mother decided to grab the dagger sitting at their father’s belt and attack their half-sister with it.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?! It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!” Alicent yelled as her wrist was caught in Rhaenyra’s grip.

“Exhausting wasn’t it? Hiding under a cloak of your own righteousness. Now they see you as you are..” Rhaenyra said back, struggling with holding the queen back.

Alicent yelled as she forced her hand with the dagger down, the sound of fabric slicing and dagger went through the room. Rhaenyra staggered backwards, Corlys was behind her and managed to hold her before she was going to fall more.

Aemond stood up with the help of Y/n, walking over to their mother slowly.

Seeing that Alicent had cut Rhaenyra, Y/n wanted this to end. Grabbing the dagger from the floor before anyone could notice, and what he did next made everyone gasp in shock.

Sliding the dagger across his right eye, with force, the same thing that Luke did to his brother. The blade dropped to the ground again, this time, with way more blood than the last. Clutching his eye in pain, Y/n turned to look at both parties, blood dripping from his socket.

“Now, we are all even. I took my eye, there is no need for Luke’s.” Y/n spoke sternly.

Alicent looked in horror as another son of hers had lost an eye, now it was two eyes instead of one; and it was all from two of her own children and none from Rhaenyra.

“Your mistake has caused my other son to take his own eye. Is this what you wanted? More of my children mutilating themselves for your sake?!” Alicent yelled, and only silence followed.

Y/n was sent to the maester immediately as the eye also needed to be taken out. Unlike his twin however, he screamed through the entire process and held onto Aemond’s hand for dear life. Soon, the same stitches covered the scar over his eye, the opposite of Aemond’s.

For the years to come, the people of Westeros knew the twins as the single-eyed princes. However, no one tried to get close to them. Or rather, it was the twins themselves who refused. They stayed true to each other rather than to marry some stranger they did not know.

Aemond had a sapphire in place of his missing eye, while Y/n had a ruby in place of his.

Two spirits stone cold but the sparks of two stones together burned brightly in between them.

Two of the biggest dragons in the world by their side.

No one will ever cross them ever again.

#🥀mukuro’s way #reader insert #male reader #male y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #x male reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x male reader #house of the dragon #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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fawnpires · 1 month ago

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may i ask for a arthur morgan x hyperfem reader?

୨୧ — arthur would definitely love himself a hyperfem sweetheart, frills and petticoats and all.

CONTENTS -> hyperfem! + ditsy reader, older!arthur, brief mentions of an age gap relationship, lil’ bit naughty at the end but nothing serious.

you’ve always been heavier on your girlish charms, it’s been a signature staple of yours for as long as you could remember. despite the industrial, lacking-in-color, gloomy america; you were definitely the type to stick out like a sore thumb— a somewhat high society lady in a way. fashionable sore thumb. it’s not your fault you were born into such a cesspool.

ribbons in your hair and lacy, silkened dresses hugging your body wasn’t exactly the norm, at least, not when you were with him.

maybe it was because you were still at the stage of being an explorative young lady, or that naviety that’s always been branded onto your name, but you were almost— quite literally— positive that he had stolen your heart, the one that you’ve seen on wanted posters hung up on the bulletin and power wires, that man. got yourself tangled up with someone on the run, an outlaw with a reputation of a rumored depravity and ruthless violence.

he’s the exact type of man your mother would send herself on a frenzy about, the type your father would have no hesitations sending a bullet straight through the temple of his sun-kissed forehead. how strange you would expect to find yourself right on the opposite side of the warnings you’ve been given throughout your oh-so sheltered life.

but being the girl that you were, you were never one to listen. weren’t into all that abide-by-the-rules bullshit, fit right into being a proper first-class lady.

maybe that’s how you found yourself on the bad man’s lap. arthur’s lap. the prettiest— and the best damn score— that the guy’s ever won for the van der linde gang. you were the definition of a perfect doll to arthur, had a huge heart to match with the looks too. couldn’t ever resist your smothering kisses around his scar-faded face.

“y’know sweetheart, it’s still a wonder as to how i’ve got you all to myself in the first place…” he says with a throaty chuckle, using a hand to smooth out the ruffles of your skirt, “girls your age ain’t really into folk like me.”

you can only roll your eyes, pop your glossy, rosy lower lip in a pout, and think of his words as ridiculous before so confidently responding with, “oh, please. i’m the happiest a girl’s ever been, arthur.”

and he wasn’t going to lie about this, but all this constant, undying affection you had for him? an immediate swell going straight to his ego. nothing like some youthful thing’s obsession to make him feel at least twenty years younger. he’s getting older, after all— so, it was essentially just a waste not to spend those years with someone worth putting all the effort on.

although this didn’t technically make your relationship that much morally correct, by society’s standards at least.

what would a violent, older criminal on the run want with some rich family’s youngest daughter aside from the money?

they don’t get it and they probably never will, they’re not you or arthur, they know nothing about the either of you— because there was no logical explanation to that statement when he’s kissing so fervently at your lips, at your skin with a certain kind of authentic tenderness you’d only see in the motion pictures. even taught himself the silliest practice of braiding hair and tying ribbons for you. that’s what arthur wanted with you.

with him, you felt wanted. the very apple of his eye.

his usually such coarse hands were so gentle with you, molding into your supple flesh, leaving traces of him along the surface. especially visible when when the both of you are out for the night, cooped up in some small town’s saloon, his forearm enclosed around your waist and having you pulled to his side—hand absent-mindedly running up and down your torso decorated of the finest lace.

you guessed you weren’t exactly a common sight around these parts when more than enough of the saloon’s patrons started eyeing you up from across the room, albeit not daring to wander one inch closer; not if they had wanted to stumble right out of there with a broken nose bridge and a couple of teeth knocked loose.

that didn’t really stop arthur, though. something about another man, didn’t matter who the company was, bad intentions or not— he’d still meet them out back, returning to where he left you at the bar with velvet, torn-up knuckles after what felt like hours. what could he say? he just didn’t like when you were being viewed through the lenses of some obvious pervert. next thing you know, you’re being taken by the hand, arthur thankfully getting you out of that slum and helping you onto his steed, back pressed against his sturdy front.

it was near midnight at this point, and you could tell by the tranquil atmosphere settling in, fewer folks out on the trails at this time, the stars blooming across the dark canvas of the sky in glistening rows. peaceful— much rather preferred than sitting in a saloon, acting as eye-candy for those grimy outlaws.

“little brutual, dont’cha think? you finally ask in a tease, tilting your head back, gazing up at his aging face with those doe eyes of yours. made you look all the more angelic from this angle, especially with the way your smaller fingers are running over his split, blood-crusted knuckles aimlessly.

he takes his focus off of the trail for a short moment, a smug smirk pulling at his lips before looking away once more.

“who d’you take me for, darling?” he questions, that same teasing manner hidden in your voice now residing in his own, “i’m not just going to let some depraved bastards eye my girl up and down, makin’ me sick…”

you snicker under your breath. “that just makes me think i’m too pretty for my own good, huh?”

“oh yes, too pretty indeed,” arthur moves his free hand over your leg, palm starting from the outside of your frilled skirts before miraculously sliding, finding its way under the decorated layers. makes your lower stomach churn with that familiar warmth, your heart rate on a high. the things this man does so easily to you was nothing short of impressive.

“you’re gettin’ touchy…” that’s all you can bring yourself to bashfully mumble out, bottom lip being bit down on amid the pout you persisted on with.

you already feel so weak at the knees, so wound up with the simplest of touches.

“i know, baby,” he whispers to you now, a wolfish grin weakly coming to form on his lips. his hand doesn’t dare to move further from its place resting on top of you thigh, like he knew it was complete and utter torture to not indulge in exactly what you wanted right there and then. greedy bastard. “i’ll tell you what, i’ll get us a room for the night, get you outta these clothes, and you ain’t gotta worry about carryin’ all these fancy layers around. how ‘bout that?”

his words were considerate albeit evidently suggestive, how sweet. but arthur was just like that, he did that to you— a natural-born sweet talker who just happened to fall into a more illicit line of work.

with the way he was pressed up against you now, hand practically embedding itself at the soft flesh of your thigh, and a nearby inn coming into view, it was all the more apparent what your would response to be. hell, it might’ve well just been perceived by the look on your flushed face frames beneath the moon’s glaring beams.

leaning back, you’ve got some subdued, mischievous glint in your pretty eyes, and a tone in your voice that compliments with the energy he’s got exuding—

“you’ve got yourself a deal, mister morgan.”

#♡ fleur’s writings.#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 8 months ago

Text

Healing Bonds

Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader(Past)

Summary: You find Yelena after Natasha, your ex-lover, has passed and you feel like it's your duty to keep Yelena close. What happens though when feelings rise up for the blonde Russian?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Lots of angst and hurt

A/N: So This idea had come to me after rewatching Endgame, Black Widow, and Hawkeye so here you go.

The first time you met Yelena Belova wasn't until after her sister and your ex-lover, Natasha Romanoff, died. Natasha had always talked about Yelena and how much she loved her. You cried when you first laid eyes on Yelena. The two looked nothing alike, and you were thankful for that because you don't think you could look at her if she did.

When you told Yelena who you were to Natasha, she cried, wishing for a million different scenarios in which her sister was still here with them, and all you could do was hug Yelena, which earned you a handful of punches. You learned quickly that Yelena could be a very violent person when dealing with certain emotions. The first time it happened, you let it. You let her get her aggression out.

"It's not fair! You had so much time with her! You got to be happy with her! Me? I got a mission that almost got us killed after 20 years of silence!" She yelled, and you just held her tighter. "I'm sorry, Yelena," You whispered over and over and over.

In those moments, as her fists collided with your body, you could feel the pain in her words. It wasn't just about Natasha's death; it was about the years lost, the missions that tore them apart, and the void left by the silence between them. You understood Yelena's anger, even if it was directed at you. It wasn’t as if she could direct it at the person she wanted to.

As the punches subsided, she finally collapsed into your arms, exhausted from the emotional storm that had consumed her. You sat there in silence for a while, the weight of Natasha's absence hanging heavily between the two of you. The room felt colder, emptier, and you couldn't shake the guilt that gnawed at you.

"I wish she had more time with you too, Yelena," You said softly, your words barely audible. Yelena didn't respond, but her grip on you tightened, seeking solace in your shared grief.

In the aftermath of that turbulent encounter, the two of you began a journey of healing together. You were bound by the love you had both lost, and as the two of you navigated the tangled web of emotions, a new connection formed. A connection born out of pain, but one that held the promise of understanding and, perhaps, even redemption in the face of the losses you both endured in the wake of the Snap and beyond.

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You ended up taking Yelena home with you, offering her a permanent place by your side. She continued going on missions, which you had expected. The first time she left without telling you, and there was no note. You thought you'd lost her forever, sitting on the back porch in the summer evening air, your Y/H/C hair whipping around you as silent tears fell.

You didn't hear her come in, not until she was next to you did you notice her presence. "Why are you crying?" Her accent, thick and familiar, filled your ears as you grabbed her, pulling her in tightly, close, your heart hammering in your chest. "I thought I'd lost you too... don't... don't fucking do that again, Yelena!" You yelled at her, your voice trembling as tears flowed freely.

Yelena's expression softened as she held you, understanding the fear that gripped you during her absence. "I had to go. It was a last-minute mission, and I didn't want to wake you," she explained, her words a mix of apology and reassurance.

"It doesn't matter. Just... just tell me next time, please," You pleaded, your grip on her not loosening. The relief of having her back overwhelmed the anger that had fueled your outburst.

Yelena nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "I promise. I'm sorry for making you worry," she said, her voice soothing. The two of you stayed there, entwined on the porch, the summer breeze carrying away the tension that had momentarily fractured your newfound connection.

From that day forward, Yelena kept her promise. She would leave for her missions, but not without a word or a note, ensuring that you wouldn't have to endure the heart-wrenching uncertainty of her absence again. In the quiet moments between her departures and returns, your bond deepened, and the scars of your shared losses began to heal, one mission at a time.

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You decided to form a company a little over a year after Natasha died, the weight of her absence still heavy in your heart. Standing at her grave, you whispered into the wind, "I'm going to start a company. I don't want to be an Avenger anymore. Not without you, but I can help others. I know I can." The breeze felt like Natasha's touch, a comforting caress that seemed to echo her approval.

"Yelena and I have been living together for six months now, Tasha. She's exactly as you described. A spitfire and a brat at times. I don't know if you can forgive me or not when I say this, but I could see myself with her. She's my type, a power bottom with a bratty side." You chuckled as the wind picked up. "Okay okay... I understand, only if she moves first," You whispered, as if seeking Natasha's consent in the elements around you.

Your company started up with few hiccups. You planned on making a business out of seeking out people with powers and talents that could be considered Avengers, teaming them up with a manager. Eventually, you aimed to expand to other countries, each with its own headquarters. The goal was to create a network of skilled individuals, ready to defend against threats on a global scale.

You envisioned a world where those of you left in America could stay here unless faced with a Thanos-level threat, something you fervently hoped would never happen again. The legacy of the Avengers would live on through this new venture, a tribute to Natasha and a commitment to protecting a world that had lost so much but still held the potential for hope and resilience.

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You come home to find Yelena sitting on the couch with a pot of mac & cheese covered in hot sauce, using a too-big spoon. "Y/N! I made mac & cheese! Would you like some?" she asks, and you’re too exhausted to yell at her. You sit next to her, taking the spoon and eating some. "How was your day?" she inquires.

"Stressful, Lena. More and more people are learning about my company, and we're getting more and more applications," You reply, leaning your head back against the couch, closing your eyes. You hear her set the pot down on the coffee table before she curls up against your side. "Anything I can do?" she asks.

You remind yourself of the promise you made to Natasha. "Whatever you think sounds good. You've known me for over a year now, Lena. What is it that you think I want? What will make me feel better?" You don't open your eyes or look at her. you’re testing her, and she knows it.

You feel her shift off the couch, and you clench your fists. She's never going to make the first move as you fiddle with the band on your ring finger—the one you haven't taken off since Natasha gave it to you.

Yelena returns with a blanket, draping it over both of you. "How about a movie night? We can just relax and take a break from all the chaos," she suggests, her voice soft. It's a simple gesture, but the warmth of her presence and the consideration behind her words start to ease the tension within you.

You nod, finally opening your eyes to meet hers. "Yeah, that sounds good, Lena," you admit, a small smile playing on your lips. Maybe in that moment, amidst the mac & cheese, the too-big spoon, and the movie night proposal, you found a way to let go, even if just for a little while.

Yelena picks the movie while you change into pajamas, a tank top and shorts. You notice her eyes on your body, but choose to ignore it for the time being as you make popcorn and pour us some vodka sprites. Carrying the drinks and popcorn over, Yelena has picked out John Wick. You can’t help but chuckle at the choice as you settle back into the couch. Yelena moves closer, fitting into you like a puzzle piece as she takes your left arm and wrap it around her shoulders. You simply smile at the gesture, sipping on your drink and eating popcorn as the movie plays out.

About halfway through the movie, you feel Yelena absent-mindedly playing with the band Natasha had given you. She's engrossed in the movie, and you watch her, finding her reactions more enthralling than the movie at this point. It's a subtle touch, her fingers tracing the contours of the ring on your finger, and you can't help but be drawn to the way she navigates the emotions tied to Natasha's memory.

As the scenes of John Wick unfold on the screen, you lean your head against Yelena's, savoring the comfort of the moment. Her actions speak louder than any words, and in the quiet intimacy of that movie night, you start to understand that healing doesn't always come from grand gestures or elaborate plans. Sometimes, it's found in the simplicity of sharing a movie, a drink, and the touch of someone who cares. And in those stolen glances and unspoken connections, you find a new layer of solace, a fragile bridge between the past and the potential for a future where happiness is not just a memory but a living, breathing reality.

You whisper in Yelena's ear, "Tasha gave me the ring." Yelena is pulled from the movie, looking down at your hand that she's been playing with. "It was a promise ring. She got it for me in Budapest. Saying when things settled down, she'd do the whole down on one knee, and we'd have this beautiful wedding where she'd wear a black dress instead of a white one. Everyone would be there, and we'd go back to Budapest for our honeymoon. When we'd come back, we'd ask for a safe house where we could just live quietly between missions..."

You don't realize you’re crying until Yelena is wiping the tears from your face. "I'm sorry... I didn't... I'm ruining movie night, aren't I?" You choke on your own sobs, but Yelena just pulls you against her, hugging you tightly. "No, you haven't ruined anything, Y/N. It's okay."

You hold onto her, shifting slightly until she's in your lap, once again feeling like a puzzle piece as we bury our faces into each other's necks. "If you had gotten married, I hope she would have come found me to be her maid of honor... though I don't know how good I'd be at that," Yelena admits.

In that vulnerable moment, amidst the shared pain and unspoken understanding, Yelena's admission brings a bittersweet smile to your face. The weight of Natasha's absence still lingers, but in Yelena's presence, you find a different kind of strength—a strength born out of shared grief, compassion, and the subtle promise of moving forward, even if it's one tear-streaked movie night at a time.

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Yelena wakes you up, gently calling your name and crawling onto your bed. "Y/N... Y/N..." She speaks softly, shaking your arm lightly. In your half-awake form, you turn to face her, pulling her into a tight embrace, her face against your chest. You can smell her shampoo, pomegranates, and make a noise of content. "Y/N, I have to go," Yelena whispers.

"No," You refuse, not letting her go. In fact, you hold her a little tighter. "Yes, I must. The widows need me," she insists.

"I really don't want you to go... I worry so much every time you go out that door. I know you're the world's greatest assassin, but so was Natasha before you," You confess. Yelena cups your cheeks. "I'll come back. I promise."

Natasha said those exact words too. You feel the tears in your eyes, spilling over before I have a chance to stop them. They're down your cheeks and running over her fingers. "I know words mean very little. I know Nat said similar words. I'm not leaving, though. I'll come back. It's just freeing more widows that have been found. That's all. It's safe. I promise. None of them come close to my skills."

Yelena wipes your tears and assures you that she'll come back. You know you have to let her go. "Please just come back safe, Lena. Please," You lean your forehead against hers. "I can't do this without you," You finally confess.

"I'll come back. I'll always come back. You can't get rid of me, not anymore. You're too deep into this," Yelena tells you, and you look at her, searching her face. "Lena..." Gods, you want to kiss her so badly just to show her how much you need her, but you promised Tasha...

Yelena leans in, kissing your cheek, almost reaching your lips. It's the first time she's ever kissed you in any way. "I'll be back. A few days, that's all," she reassures, placing another kiss on your cheek before she leaves. She looks at you one last time with a smile before heading out, leaving you there, curled up into a ball and crying. Now, you definitely couldn’t lose her.

The weight of her absence already looms large, and the brief touch of her lips on your cheek lingers like a promise in the air. As you try to gather yourself, the echoes of Yelena's words and the warmth of her fleeting kiss become the anchor in the storm of your fears. You know you must trust her, just as Natasha had asked you to trust her own choices.

In the solitude of your room, you cling to the hope that Yelena will return, that the few days she's away won't stretch into an eternity. The scent of pomegranates still lingers in the air, a reminder of her presence, and you find solace in the belief that your connection, however fragile, will endure the challenges that lie ahead.

"Please tell me you'll count that as the first move, Tasha?" You ask, directing your words to the air as you look at the ring on your finger. There's a moment of silent contemplation, a silent conversation with a memory.

Then, you get up and get dressed, facing the day with a mix of vulnerability and determination. The echoes of Yelena's departure still resonate in your mind, but as you glance at the ring, you find a subtle strength. The journey ahead may be uncertain, but in that quiet acknowledgment, you feel the weight of a promise made, a connection forged, and a future that holds the potential for healing and new beginnings.

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"Yelena kissed my cheek; she almost kissed my lips, actually," You run your fingers across your cheek and the corner of your lip. "She had to go on a mission, and she told me the same words you did before you left me forever. I broke down. I seem to do that quite a bit with her now." You’re looking at Natasha's grave. It has been two years now since she left. "Tasha, I know we had our plans, and I will never forget them, but I want to move on... I need to, and in order to do that..." You pull the ring off your finger, twisting it between your fingers. "I need to give this back to you, darling." You’re trying not to choke on your tears as they flow freely down your face. You wrap it up in a little cloth, a red one, and bury it just a little ways down. "Please be happy for me, darling. You know she'll always treat me right." You are full-blown crying as you kiss her gravestone and head back home, hoping Yelena is finally home.

As you walk away, the weight of the past feels a bit lighter, as if the act of returning the ring is a step towards embracing the future. The pain is still there, the memories still vivid, but in the tears and the quiet goodbye, there's a sense of release and a tentative hope for what lies ahead. You head back home, your heart heavy but with a flicker of anticipation, hoping Yelena's absence will soon be replaced by her comforting presence.

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When Yelena comes back home, she finds you crying on the floor. She picks you up into her arms and holds you as you sob. When you finally come to from your crying session and register that she's back, you cup her cheeks and slam your lips against hers a little rougher than you intend. You soften up a bit when you realize how rough you truly were.

"You're back..." you whisper against her lips.

"I told you I'd be back," she whispers back, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you back in. The two of you kiss, hungry and passionate, as if she's been waiting all her life for this moment. In the embrace of her arms, the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future momentarily fade away. There's only the warmth of the present and the promise of a new chapter, where healing and love can coexist, a testament to the resilience of the heart after weathering the storms of loss.

"Yelena..." You pull back, leaning your forehead on hers.

"I've been waiting forever for that," Yelena admits.

"I know you were grieving, so I just wanted to be here for you, and I was never sure if I should act on my feelings," Yelena tells you, and you give her a soft, quick kiss this time.

"I talked with Tasha about it and promised I wouldn't make the first move," Yelena laughs. "When was this?" she questions.

"A year ago at her grave. You were on a mission, and I went to visit her just before starting up the Avengers company. I told her about how I was falling for you and to not hate me for it. The wind whipped around me, and so I promised I wouldn't make the first move. When you kissed my cheek before leaving, I took that as you making the first move. I visited Natasha yesterday and told her about it and gave back her ring. I left it with her so that I could move forward," You explain, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief.

Yelena brushes her thumbs against your tear-stained cheeks and listens to your words. "I promise I'll live up to your expectations. I'll do everything I can to do right by you, Y/F/N," she says, and you chuckle at the use of your full name.

"I know you will, and so does Natasha. I don't think I could be in better hands than yours, Lena," You say, feeling a sense of acceptance and hope for the future. The weight of grief begins to lift, replaced by the promise of a new chapter, and the knowledge that love, even after loss, has the power to mend and rebuild.

#ley writes #ley speaks #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova x you

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lillymakesart · 9 months ago

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mizu's origin story in ep5 can have multiple interpretations

mama and mikio betrayed her - this is the one that the writers are pushing, and it's honestly already great. mizu's turmoil is grounded in internal chaos and her immediate connections. her onryo is fueled by self hatred and the reality of the world that she will never be accepted, not even by the only two people closest to her that know her as her full self. she has no paths left here. her only path is violent revenge and self annhilation.

mama betrayed her and mikio is innocent - this one fuels her onryo via external influences. mama's only M.O. is her opium addiction, which was introduced by the white men that poisoned the country with their opium imports. it shows that even here, in the countryside, away from everything and everyone that would hate her as a half breed, bridled next to her first love whose relationship is only just beginning, even here she cannot escape the white man's influence. her onryo is fueled by hatred of the white men that ruined her life so thoroughly and completely, even when all odds were in her favor.

mikio betrayed her and mama is innocent - this one fuels her onryo via self hatred. mikio, her first true love and guardian of her trust, tosses her aside and means to kill her after seeing the last facet of her identity as a warrior. here, she has failed so astronomically as a woman that it brings her life to ruin, shattering her heart into pieces and leaving nothing left of her. she hates herself, hates that she was born this way, and embarks on a grandiose suicide mission to end the white men that created her, but the underlying motive is simply self destruction (but make it fashion)

bonus interpretation:

mama and mikio are both innocent, but both are useless in her time of need - maybe a passing messenger saw her and took the opportunity to turn her in for a quick buck. the experience is traumatic, but no one is helping her. mikio runs because he is a coward, mama can only think of herself because she is narcissistic and can't spare any empathy. they are both squabble among themselves but no one is raising a hand to hold her, love her, care for her in the way she needs to be cared for. her onryo is fueled by nihilism and silent betrayal. what's the point of living when this is as good as it gets? why play into the charade of society when there is simply nothing left for her? might as well exercise her artistic capability to its highest form of expression (fighting, killing, exacting revenge) and call it here.

every interpretation is sad, there's no respite anywhere for our mizu send post

#mizu #mizu bes #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai fan theory #fan theory #bes fan theory #lillydrawsmizu theory

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creedslove · 1 year ago

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BABY BLISS 🍼

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Tommy's daughter was born a couple of months ago but Joel can't bring himself to be around the baby as painful memories of his late daughter continue to haunt him and you try your best to support him

(This can be read as a continuation of SLEEP BLISS 💤, SHOWER BLISS 🫧 and MOONLIGHT BLISS 🌙 or as a stand alone, it's up to you)

Warnings: established relationship, age gap, fluff, angst, hurt, anxiety attack, talks of pregnancy, as usual, out of character Joel as always lol

A/N: I LOVE JOEL MILLER 🥺😔

2k words

You thought Joel was indestructible. He was fearless, courageous, when needed, he was violent, brutal, mercilessly. You'd seen him take down men and creatures without flinching.

Nothing seemed to faze him, and you were sure he feared nothing in his life.

So watching Joel Miller being scared of a baby was actually pretty funny. At first.

Ever since Maria's and Tommy's baby was born, you'd been to their place a lot of times. You just loved helping them out with the baby, it wasn't the smartest idea to have one during the apocalypse, but then, they were married, in love, safe in a community and who were you to judge after all? Babies represented a new life, a wind of change, so when you saw that beautiful little thing for the first time, your heart melted.

She was an adorable baby, so quiet and small and you loved holding her whenever Maria would let you to.

Her sweet precious Flora smelled really good, you had heard of people talking about how babies smelled good but you didn't think it was true until you held her. You just couldn't get enough of your niece.

Niece.

That made you giggle.

You and Joel finally made things official after he took you on a date. You had been in love with each other for long, but you were both too scared to admit it.

Looking back at things now, you realized how silly it was because of how obvious your feelings for each other were, and you could swear you were the happiest woman in Jackson, as you could be with the man you loved.

But when you saw how happy Maria was with her baby, you realized maybe you were the second happiest woman in town.

The only thing that felt off was Joel's reaction. He never seemed very enthusiastic about the news his brother was going to be a dad, and when Maria finally delivered the baby, he was just in a weird mood. He kept to him, didn't say much, congratulated his brother and took him out for a drink, but he declined when Tommy offered him to hold Flora.

And since then, he kept his distance from the baby. He glanced at her from afar and that was it.

At first you didn't give it much thought, but you began finding it weird, especially after the uncomfortable silence that lingered in the room whenever Joel didn't actually acknowledge his niece.

Tommy didn't pressure him into holding Flora or anything like that, he had an idea why his brother was distant, so he'd rather not go there and make him uncomfortable.

You'd spent the whole after at Maria's while the men were out in town working and doing other tasks. Very often Tommy and Joel went back to some construction jobs, just as before everything went to shit.

He knew you'd stay at his brother's so he'd told you he'd stop by later and you two could walk home together.

Joel was hoping that you'd be good to go once he got there with Tommy, but of course you had to be inside, he sighed and looked around, trying to come up with an excuse so he wouldn't get in, but his brother was already holding the door open for him with a dumb smile and he could hear your voice inside.

The house was silent, the only thing they could hear was your voice, but you weren't speaking, you were humming.

Maria was in a comfortable slumber, she lay on the couch and ended up falling asleep once she saw her baby girl was safe in your arms. She'd spent most nights awake and it was a relief to have you around helping her. She didn't even know how to thank you, but to you, it was such a bliss to take care of Flora.

Joel stepped inside, he swallowed hard the moment he saw you holding the baby. You hummed a lullaby but she wouldn't close her little eyes. Flora was smart and curious, always looking around and cooing at people. He knew you'd already told him he should be a little warmer to her, of course she was a small baby and didn't understand things, but you reminded him maybe Tommy and Maria could be offended if he didn't show any interest in their daughter, after all, she'd been born a couple of months ago and Joel had barely looked at her.

But he didn't want to look at her, because if he did, he would recognize the features he used to love so much and he lost. He didn't want to hold her, because he knew her smell would remind him of the smell of the one he lost for good.

He couldn't do that to himself, he didn't want to live through that pain again, now he was happy and though he would never forget what happened, some days it hurt a little less, because he had you in his life and you made it all easier. But when he saw you holding Flora, he didn't feel strong enough. The way she cooed in your arms and blinked curiously and the way you pecked her forehead so gently, it gutted him.

"Hey princess, that's uncle Joel" you cooed at her and saw her fussing a little before giving him a gummy smile.

You chuckled and got closer "do you wanna hold her?" You offered gently. He saw your eyes sparkling and he wondered if you ever wanted to be a mom, you were a natural with kids, they always seemed to love you and sometimes he closed his eyes and wondered what things would be like if you ended up pregnant, but he dismissed this thought as soon as it appeared.

He could see how happy you were to be holding Flora, and how comfortable you were with a small baby in your arms.

He hadn't told you why he didn't want anything to do with the baby, he knew he was kind of a jerk, but since his brother never brought it up, then he didn't feel the need to explain it.

But when you looked at him that way, it melted his heart, he couldn't bring himself to say no to you. He heard a small coo and looked down onto your eyes, taking a deep breath and extending his.

You didn't think Joel would be willing to pick Flora up, and if he weren't you wouldn't insist it at all, but there he was, surprising you after all. Little Flora settled comfortably in her uncle's arms, her small nose nuzzled his chest as she began closing her eyes feeling sleepy. She looked curiously at him, but he was so warm she couldn't fight sleep for much longer.

Joel was in awe at his niece. She didn't even know him, and yet she trusted him enough to fall asleep, silly little princess, he thought to himself and smiled. She was so soft and small and the warmth in his arms brought him back so many memories he thought they were buried deep.

He didn't know why he was blushing, but he still avoided looking at you or Tommy, wanting to focus only on the beautiful little girl he had in his arms. He scanned her features and smiled at her, closing his eyes as he inhaled her characteristic baby scent.

His heart skipped a beat and his smile died as a lump formed in his throat. He was enjoying the moment, he really was but then everything came back, all at once and the moment he opened his eyes again he didn't see Flora anymore, all he saw was Sarah.

His sweet baby Sarah, it'd been so long and yet there she was in his arms. He felt a pang in his chest, thinking he'd gone crazy. The first time he held her in his arms, her first word which was also the first time she called him dada, the first time she scraped her knee and called for him, the movie nights they had together and finally how he held her limp body against his, the smell of her fresh blood invading his nostrils and how cold she got in his arms.

Joel let out a sob and opened his eyes again, Flora was still asleep but Tommy quickly picked her up from him "I got this" he said in a concerned way as Joel walked out the backdoor.

The lump in his throat was making it impossible for Joel to breath, he placed his hand in his chest, trying to reach for air but his heart hammered faster and faster in his chest. He looked around hoping he could find something to focus and calm down, but it seemed impossible. Tears ran down his cheek as he fought for control but felt he got to a dead end.

You ran to Joel as fast as you could, he was anxious and tense and you didn't know exactly how to help him, your eyes glistened with tears as you saw his own.

Your arms wrapped around his body.

"I'm here Joel, I'm here" you whispered to him and felt him fall onto his knees, you followed him and felt him burying his face into the crook of your neck. You pressed it, caressing his hair so gently, reminding him you were there for him.

"Breath honey, breath" you said as calmly as you could. Joel's grip was tight around your waist and you lost track of how long you stayed there.

•••

The walk home was silent, Joel didn't say anything and you didn't ask. He was embarrassed after what happened, to him it was a sign of weakness and he was sure that changed how you viewed him. He would rather be alone than be with you if you pitied him.

You, on the other hand, didn't want to leave his side at all, you didn't feel sorry for him, you felt love. You felt a burning ache, longing for him. You had seen the most human portrait of Joel someone could ever witness.

He wasn't a murderer, he wasn't cold blooded, he was a wounded man. A man who lost all but somehow made his way back to being happy with you.

Once at home, Joel went to his room and stayed there, complete silence filled the house and though you wanted to give him all the time he needed, at the same time you felt a need to be next to him.

You knocked on his door, and opened it, Joel was sitting on the bed, watching old pictures of Sarah.

You smiled sadly as he hid them quickly. They were his and he never let anyone see them, not even you. And you respected that.

You sat next to him and ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his arm pulling you by the waist as he let his heavy body lay comfortably in bed and pull you closer to him.

"We don't have to talk about what happened if you don't want to… but I want you to know I'm proud of you, proud of how strong you are, Joel" you told him and kissed his lips gently.

You wanted to tell him so many things, you wanted to tell him that you were proud he managed to hold his niece, you wanted to tell him you were sure she was as beautiful as Sarah was and you wanted to tell him if the world wasn't going to shit you would be more than glad in carry his baby, or you would never get pregnant at all, you wanted to tell him you would do anything he wanted you to, because you loved him.

So those were the only words you let it out.

"I love you, Joel"

He looked at you completely silent and pulled you even closer, kissing your forehead and closing his eyes, he wasn't there yet, he wasn't ready to tell you those three words, it could've been superstition, as he lost everyone he's ever loved, so you didn't mind, you respected his silence, because you loved enough for the two of you.

_____

A/N: I love Joel so much

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou show

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sunset-curve-fantom · 4 days ago

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Oklahoma Skies- Tyler Owens x Reader

Let me know what you guys think! I am slowly getting back into writing.

WARNING; SMUT 18+

The wind stood still, as you leaned against your front porch. The sunset haze makes the sky the most beautiful shades of orange and pink. The air light and leaves softly blowing in the wind. Tornado season was something you loved yet feared.

Terrified, the storms would hit you, but also bring the most beautiful skies after something so violent.

A warm arm swooped around your waist, tugging you close. A small smile graced your features as you leaned onto your boyfriend’s chest. The tornado wrangler himself, Tyler Owens. He chased the beauty in the storms, and you chased the sunsets following.

But this tornado season was wicked, full of untamed storms taking out multiple towns throughout Oklahoma. The damage was astounding. Which also meant Tyler was away for longer periods, chasing them.

“Where’s your mind? I can see it racing” he murmured into your ear, pressing a soft kiss under your ear.

One thing about this man was he could always see your mood, whether he was next to you or hundreds of miles away. He was fully entuned with what was bothering you at any time. He could read you the way he reads his storms.

“Just watching the sky. Have a feeling a storm is coming in” you said softly. You may not be a tornado wrangler yourself, but you were born and raised in Oklahoma. The changes in the weather were something you had come to read easily.

He chuckled under his breath. “I love when you get those feelings, Crazy Girl”

The nickname made a soft blush erupt on your face. He termed you that last year when a tornado was coming into town, and you proceeded to chase a cat to save them instead of taking cover. Tyler had to chase you, and the cat, holding you both against him as he hauled you to the storm shelter.

It was the first time he realized that you feared storms, but also wanted to save everything in its path. Your home, your friends, your family were the priority even when something so destructive was heading towards you.

His phone vibrated; he brought the screen into view of the both of you.

“Tornado is a brewing; Cells forming in the south” the text message read from Boone.

You softly groaned knowing that the time Tyler was home, now was coming to an end. You knew storm chasing was his life, but sometimes you just wanted to hold him close to your heart and never let him go.

He kissed the back of your head softly, “Gotta grab my things, Crazy Girl”

You nodded knowing that you had chosen this crazy life with him, but also felt with such worry every time he left the house following a storm. But nonetheless, you had the same routine every time he left.

Pulling open the screen door, you grabbed his go bag. It was his holy grail, and had everything extra in this world he may need. Including underwear, because in your words “If I was in a tornado, I might actively shit myself”.

He sighed, changing into his cowboy boots. Throwing on his hat, getting ready to load into the truck.

Stepping out onto the porch, he followed you. He pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. You clung to him with such love and force. This was the hardest part of any season, willingly letting him walk into storms and away from you.

“You stay safe, I love you too much” you murmured into his shoulder. Tears pricked your eyes knowing he was heading into the craziness of a storm.

He just chuckled, smiling down at you. You knew he was always safe, that he would always find his way back to you. But storms are ever changing, you never know what might happen when he is chasing.

“I am always safe you know that. I promise I will come back to you.” he said, pressing a kiss hard to your lips. Taking in the moment like it was the last one he would ever experience.

He picked up his go bag, stepping off the porch. “I love you Crazy Girl”

Winds began picking up faster, the sky beginning to darken, taking away the most beautiful sunrise. The rain began falling, thunder echoing through the sky with lightning streaking the sky.

Rain began to soak Tyler's white shirt as he walked away from you. You could start to see his tanned skin through the wet material.

The way his shirt was clinging to him, made you weak in the knees. You wanted nothing more than to follow him and drag him back to bed with you.

Ripping his soaked white tee from his chiseled muscles. You were pulled from your fantasy by the blaring of the tornado warning. The storm must have shifted, it was coming towards town.

Your feet carried you off the porch as the panic began to set in, quickly finding your voice, "Tyler"

He whipped around, his features watching the fear on your face as he quickly made his way towards you. He grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the storm shelter.

You both caught a view of the horizon; you could see the dark, swirling line of clouds coming your way. A sense of unease filled the pits of your stomach as Tyler pulled you faster behind him.

You knew the signs; you knew this storm was going to be absolutely vicious seeing how fast it changed directions and grew in the sky.

Panic rose in your chest as he pulled open the storm shelter, rushing you inside with ease. “It’s okay Crazy Girl, just breathe” he murmured as he locked the door behind you.

The wind was whipping outside at no mercy, you knew this storm was going to be something different for you both. It came to you, instead of Tyler chasing it miles away.

You were drawn from your thoughts with Tyler pulling you gently down onto the mattress with him. He knew you were terrified; he knew the panic you were feeling.

The glint in his eyes when you looked at him brought you comfort, knowing that he was going to protect you no matter where this storm took you.

“Hi crazy girl” he murmured catching your lips softly, his warm hand finding its way into your hair, gently pulling.

A soft moan escaped your lips, knowing he was trying to clear your mind. This was his go to move whenever a storm headed your way.

Being tangled up with him always made the storm disappear in your mind.

That’s how the mattress ended up in the storm shelter in the first place.

Your hands found their way to the brim of his hat, carefully pulling it off his head. Hands finding their way to his hair.

Lips breaking apart, he slowly started nipping at your earlobe, placing soft kisses to your neck finding your sweet spot.

Softly sucking, a moan escaped your lips. You felt him smile against your skin.

His hands trailed along your hips, finding their way to the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head.

Clothes fell from both of you, as your hands explored each other. Your exposed skin drawing each other in.

Lust filling your senses as you pushed him down softly, taking his hardened length in your hand.

“You gonna ride me crazy girl?” he said, his grip on you hard as he pulled you in his lap. His length rubbing against your wet cunt.

You smirked, bringing your lips to his. Kissing him hungrily as you grinded your hips into him. The pressure from his hardened cock, making you desperate for him to be deep inside of you.

Breaking the kiss, you grabbed his cock slowly lowering yourself onto him. Your eyes rolling back as his large girth stretched you out.

“Fuck baby” he hissed, grabbing hard onto your hips slamming the rest of the way into you. A hard moan escaping your lips.

The sounds of slapping skin filled the shelter loudly, blocking out any remaining sounds of the storm. “You’re taking me so good, so deep inside of you”

“Fuck me” you moaned throwing your head back as he abused your cunt. The rough thrusts reaching every crevice you could ever imagine. Your tight cunt throbbing around him with every thrust he delivered.

His hands found your waist again, flipping you over so he could slam into you once more. Your eyes fell shut as he slammed into your cervix, moans falling off your lips echoing through the room.

The pace unrelenting, he continued to fuck you hard and deep as you were coming unraveled below him.

“S So B-Big" you moaned, nails scratching against his exposed back as your felt the fireworks building in your stomach.

“You’re close, I can feel you” he moaned, his grip continuing to tighten around your exposed skin pulling you against him.

A smirk crossed your features, as his catchphrase came to mind, “If you feel it, chase it” you moaned against his lips.

A smile crossed his face, as his pace picked up once more and his hand finding your clit. Your entire body began to shake, your orgasm overtaking you as you tightened around his length.

Tyler moaned loudly, the warmth of his seed filling you. The both of you seeing stars from your overwhelming orgasm.

He pulled you close to him as he settled next to you, “I’ll protect you no matter the storm” he murmured softly as sleep overcame your senses.

And for once, the panic didn’t rise in your chest. You felt peace among the tornadoes.

#tyler owens x kate carter #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #tyler owens imagines #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x fem!reader #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #twisters #tyler owens twisters #tyler x kate #javi rivera #kate carter

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sgiandubh · 17 days ago

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Chain of fools

Promo season seems to always reactivate #BestOfFans' predatory instincts. Today, one of the people I was mildly 'following' on X, knowing she was a very decent, half-clandestine shipper had the naivete to share a pic taken today with C. Lo and behold, the KGB across the street immediately started the screeching. I would have granted them a pass, were it not for the very curious angle they chose to present things, this time:

Most, if not ALL of the women involved in that conversation were born and lived their entire lives in a country where democracy was never completely obliterated. They have no idea, nor direct experience of what a dictatorship looks and sounds and feels like and yet they look and sound and feel exactly like The Pravda, circa 1951, where enemies of the people (including Americans, so basically... themselves?!) were currently called 'reactionary/ imperialist vipers'. Replace shipper by 'enemy of the people' and voilà:

'Because she's a known shipper enemy of the people and has been one for a long time. All smiles around Cait and on SM and her tumblr page she's a snake like the rest of her ilk.'

Most, if not ALL of the women involved in that revolting conversation can recite by heart The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag:

[Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pledge_of_Allegiance]

'With liberty and justice for all'. This includes the freedom of speech, set into stone by the First Amendment to the US Constitution, which reads:

[Source: https://constitution.congress.gov/browse/amendment-1/]

You think I am overreacting? In that case, I wouldn't be the only one. It took me exactly three minutes to find on Google a short, but very interesting blog post about the metaphor of the snake being used as a dehumanizing tool in many totalitarian regimes' official rhetoric and media. I will quote it briefly, leaving the rather ironic references to current US politics aside. I find it very interesting and enlightening, for a certain pervasive mentality, in some regions of this fandom:

[Source: https://www.dangerousspeech.org/libraries/beware-of-snakes-a-common-dehumanization-trope]

I have written it before and I probably will write it again, but the Eastern European I am feels unsettled and worried about this. It is not only unsavory, it is violent and denotes a totalitarian way of thinking I am very surprised to find in the minds of these mature women, who lived in complete freedom for all of their lives.

Oh, and by the way. Given that particular 'enemy of the people''s active and very public commitment to charities supported by C (you know, as in raising money for WCC and so on...), I am absolutely sure C knows very well who she is. And I wonder what were they expecting from her, in a work-related context nonetheless, even if (the premise is perfectly absurd, as C does not give a fuck about fandom wars) C would not stand shippers.

By the same token, why would C offer anything more than a vague, borderline formulaic birthday reference while talking to the press, knowing fully well each and every word she utters would be immediately dissected to death and weaponized by the factions of this fandom?

Ironically, their knowledge about Eastern Europe is about zero. I just had to LOL (not really), reading this very serious and concerned dialogue between Marple and The Vulgar Canadian Journo. The Canadian was pissed off about Maril showing up, as she is supposed to, for promo, in NYC:

It's not STAZI, madams, but STASI - short for Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, or Ministry for the State Security. Each and every USSR satellite state had one, but both of these arrogant and superficial Westerners make it sound like a harmless gossip and propaganda machine. In reality, the STASI, along with its sister institutions, was a supremely powerful, merciless apparatus that crushed tens and tens of thousands of lives, encouraged hatred and denouncement (for money, political protection and social climbing) even within the same family. And I personally remember the day where an agent of the local STASI, the Securitate, picked me up from school, walked with me for almost one hour until he left me on my doorstep, in a cruel attempt to make me denounce Shipper Mom. I was nine years old. I will never forget, nor forgive. I felt raped. You don't care and you could never understand, of course, but for the love of God, keep off such complicated tropes you have no idea about.

#fandom #shitshow #promo time

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calisources · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. all sentences have been taken from the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds and snakes book and some from the movie trailers. might include spoilers for the movie and book. change pronouns and locations and names as you see fit.

“Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.”

“Being from the Capitol doesn’t give you that right. Nothing does.”

“Well, as they said, it's not over until the mockingjay sings.”

“People aren’t so bad, really, It’s what the world does to them.”

“That is the thing with giving your heart. You never wait for someone to ask. You hold it out and hope they want it.”

“Snow lands on top.”

“I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. You know when you’ve stepped across the line into evil, and it’s your life’s challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line.”

“Before need, before love, came trust.”

“And try not to look down on people who had to choose between death and disgrace.”

“What are lies but attempts to conceal some sort of weakness?”

“The strain of being a full-fledged adult every day had grown tiresome.”

“You can blame it on the circumstances, the environment, but you made the choices you made, no one else.”

“Wars are won by heads not hearts.”

“There is a point to everything or nothing at all, depending on your worldview.”

“You're mine and I'm yours. It's written in the stars.”

“But better off sad than dead.”

“What young brains lack in experience they sometimes make up for in idealism. Nothing seems impossible to them.”

“I think it’s more important than love. I mean, I love all kinds of things I don’t trust.”

“I’m planning to build a whole new beautiful life here. One where, in my own small way, I can make the world a better place.”

“If the war’s impossible to end, then we have to control it indefinitely. Just as we do now.”

“What was there to aspire to once wealth, fame, and power had been eliminated? Was the goal of survival further survival and nothing more?”

“They were both after all, still children whose lives were dictated by powers above them.”

“Star-crossed lovers meeting their fate.”

“I’m bad news, all right.”

“The ability to control things. Yes, that was what he’d loved best of all.”

“What happened in the arena? That’s humanity undressed. The tributes. And you, too.”

How quickly civilization disappears. All your fine manners, education, family background, everything you pride yourself on, stripped away in the blink of an eye, revealing everything you actually are.”

“A boy with a club who beats another boy to death. That’s mankind in its natural state”

“Please, Coriolanus, I would never forget the favor.”

“Who are human beings? Because who we are determines the type of governing we need.”

“What sort of agreement is necessary if we’re to live in peace? What sort of social contract is required for survival?”

“It’s just the kind of story that catches fire.”

“And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

“Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains.”

“If history teaches you anything, it’s how to make the unwilling comply.”

“You know what I won’t miss? People. Except for a handful. They’re mostly awful, if you think about it.”

“And to erase me, they must erase the Games.”

“Why did these people think that all they needed to start a rebellion was anger?”

“And if even the most innocent among us turn into killers in the Hunger Games, what does that say? That our essential nature is violent.”

“It's the things we love most, that destroy us.”

“We all did things we’re not proud of.”

“What are the Hunger Games for?”

"If you want to protect people, then it's essential to accept what human beings are and what it takes to control them."

“Hope is the only thing stronger than fear."

“If the cause wasn’t honorable, how could it be an honor to participate in it?”

“He’s a Capitol boy and clearly I got the cake with the cream, ’cause nobody else’s mentor even bothered to show up to welcome them.”

“To dine with her suggests that you consider her your equal. But she isn’t.”

“The endless dance with hunger had defined his life.”

"In nature, things that are prey, that are weak, are marked"

"The world is not kind to those who don't fit in"

"We all wear masquerades in this Capitol"

, "There's a price for everything, Lucy. Sometimes you pay it willingly, sometimes it's taken from you,"

"Freedom is not given, it is taken"

“I’m not convinced that we are all as inherently violent as you say, but it takes very little to bring the beast to the surface, at least under the cover of darkness.”

#rp meme #sentences memes #rp resources #meme call #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

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sayafics · 1 year ago

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Dragon of Dorne - Chapter I

A tale in which, during his marriage to Alicent, Viserys falls for a Dornish Lady of the Court and takes her as a second wife behind closed doors.

His relations were kept secret to all but his Hand and his Queen, at the behest of his young lady-wife.

Alicent is grateful for the reprieve, as although Viserys remains a dutiful husband, he has started to visit her chambers fewer times as his love for his newest wife grew.

This, of course, irked Otto Hightower. The man grew worrisome that if Viserys' third wife were to bear a boy, he would hold greater favour to be named as heir than his own daughter's children.

So when Viserys' third wife gasped her last breath in the midst of agonising and violent labours, leaving only a daughter in this world before passing into the next - well no one truly batted an eye, for a woman's labour and the task of birth, though an expected duty was a cruel and gruesome fate some failed to survive.

But Viserys' heart grew softened towards his surviving daughter, who somehow managed to resemble his first wife and last.

And thus, was born Viserys' youngest daughter - Alaynha Targaryen.

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Alaynha Targaryen was a bright-hearted and loving girl, growing up in the Keep alongside her half-siblings - Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena - she had never been left alone long enough to feel unwanted or unloved.

Over the years, it had been Aegon who had taken her flying on Sunfyre towards the horizon, over calm oceans and tumultuous seas when she cried in his arms about her dragon that did not hatch.

It had been Helaena who whispered to her the dragon dreams of a beast, quiet and grey, that hid between the clouds and skimmed across the ocean's surface.

It had been Aemond who sought out the dragon, Alyanha holding him tight as they rode on dragon-back upon Vhagar, so she could finally claim it as her own.

It was her three siblings who cherished her wholeheartedly, even if she was not wholly their blood but simply half. It was her three siblings, whom she admired so graciously and so lovingly, that encouraged her to claim a dragon so wild and free that she was able to be where she was at this moment in time.

***

Alaynha rode on dragon-back upon her mount, a shy and young dragon that spent his years hunting across the sea and hiding amongst the clouds.

Grey Ghost.

A most honourable partner, should a Targaryen seek such a quality in a dragon.

Having spent most of her years wandering the Keep, she revelled in the freedom of flying whenever she got the chance. Unfortunately, the chance of doing so was rarer than she would like - both her protective father and kind stepmother fearful they would lose the girl much like her father had lost her mother.

***

Alaynha was only a babe when her mother passed, barely a gasp of breath in this new world when her mother took her last.

There were no portraits in the Keep, but her father would say he had her mother's eyes - dark and warm, like a beautiful autumn evening where the ground, deep and muddy, is flourished in hues of every shade from falling leaves and sprouting flowers.

She also had her mother's complexion, a glowing bronze in the flamed torches at every corner of her home. But her hair, long and twisting curls, were what made her ancestry undeniable.

Lucious white tresses that fell in wild and messy waves lay freely down her back. Her father would say they resembled that of his first wife's, and sometimes when he would look at her it'd seem as though he was staring into the eyes of a ghost or the shadow of an echo.

Alaynha was never sure if he was seeing his first wife or last, but each time she saw his stare her heart burned with pity for the old and decaying man, who simply craved love and affection from the women who had died brutal and unkind deaths.

Her stepmother was a religious woman, so caring and compassionate, that although Alaynha was not her own blood she treated her as though she was.

Alicent raised her as her own, grew to love and cherish her, to see her as an extension of not only Viserys but her own children. They grew up together, loved each other, and held each other close.

Alaynha was a secret Alicent wanted to keep forever.

Rhaenyra had already taken her son's eye, had taken Alicent's dignity and any respect she may have once held in Court. Alicent would not let Rhaenyra take her youngest daughter too.

Not when they managed to keep her hidden for so long.

Viserys tried to convince Alicent he did not hide the girl from his eldest daughter out of shame, but she knew better. She knew questions would arise because of the colour of her eyes or her complexion - questions Viserys did not want to answer to.

So when she had been old enough, perhaps two namedays or three, Alaynha had been sent off to live with her late mother's family in a city in Dorne, being taught the duties of a Lady until she could return home and learn that of a Princess'.

When Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone, Daemon at her side and her husband dead, Alicent let out a quiet sigh of relief. Her throat ached with gratitude at Rhaenyra's departure, as it meant her young child could return home from Dorne.

When Alaynha had returned to King's Landing, she cried for her brother who lost an eye, as he consoled her with the revelation he had gotten a dragon in return. Aemond made her promise to shed no more tears over a worthwhile sacrifice, assuring her that now he had the largest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, he would help her claim one of her own.

She still sniffled, latching onto her brother's side, inconsolable by the sheer violence he had endured, but accepted nonetheless.

It had only been a few years later when her siblings helped her find her life-long companion in her large and bashful dragon.

Alaynha had been taught the duties of a Princess from then on, kept close to Alicent's side if she was not at her brothers'.

Alicent couldn't explain her love for the girl, she had barely spoken to the girl's mother - her sister-wife - before the young lady had passed. But there was a fondness that grew so quickly, and soon it became as though she was simply staring at a child that was her own.

***

Alaynha reminisced over the small moments as she rode her dragon, her heart growing softer as she thought of all the affection she received from her family. She was only half Targaryen, but she was wholly their's.

Perhaps that was why time had slipped so quickly through her fingers, the sky darkening quickly before she realised that she had been cruising the sea for what must have been hours now upon her patient mount.

She sucked in a sharp breath, the darkening sky a reminder that she was to attend dinner with her family this evening - her Kepa would be there too. And, how dearly she had missed him. Father.

Her father had been kept dosed upon milk of the poppy, too far out of his mind to tell her apart from Aemma and her own mother, or Rhaenyra and herself.

***

There was a petition for Driftmark today between Vaemond and her nephew Lucerys. Her grandsire - simply in name - Otto Hightower had asked for her to stay away from the Keep until the matters had been dealt with, then she could return to the Keep when everyone had returned to their chambers and if all went their way, Rhaenyra would return with her family to Dragonstone the next morning and all would be set right.

Those plans had changed when Viserys denied his milk of the poppy, asking instead that a dinner party be held the same evening. He had summoned her at that moment, beckoning her closer before laying a gentle hand on the curve of her cheek - "my sweet child, I have done you wrong. Hiding you away from your blood. But no longer - today you shall meet your sister and nephews. Today you shall meet my brother - your uncle."

She had been nervous at his words, growing worrisome that her sister would dislike her because they did not share the same blood completely. Feared that her newphews would hurt her as they had done to Aemond.

There were restless whispers murmuring through her mind as she rested within her chambers, waiting for the petition for Driftmark to begin before she could sneak off to ride on her dragon. Aegon had come to see her before the petition began, and for all his faults - a drunken, petulant man who was never given the opportunity to be a child, simply a challenge to a throne he did not want - he was a great listener, offering comfort when he heard her speak of her fears aloud.

Aegon had to leave shortly after, though quite reluctantly. And Alaynha had taken that moment to sneak through the tunnels of the Keep to find her dragon whilst remaining undetected.

***

Alaynha was on her way back towards the Keep, her throat clogging up with a heavy weight as butterflies squirmed within the pit of her stomach. She didn't feel nauseous, but it was something close.

As the Keep grew closer, Alaynha began to wonder how this would all go. And even as she unmounted her majestic, pale beast, she did not let herself escape the confines of her mind - fearful she would turn away and return to the skies, too hesitant to take a step closer.

***

Alicent had not been happy with Viserys' decision to introduce Alaynha to Rhaenyra. The truth was no one was, and some part of Viserys was hesitant too. Fearful of the rejection his young girl may face, much like all his other children had.

Viserys was not blind to the favouritism he played, nor the feelings his children held towards each other. But remaining drunk upon the milk of poppy made it easier to ignore such notions, and act oblivious to the disharmony that existed in the blood of his dragons.

He had been growing worrisome, not having started the feast as he waited restlessly for his daughter to come, unbothered by the curious stares of Rhaenyra or Daemon. His mind began to wander as he imagined the sorts of horrors she could have experienced during her flight around the sea, blaming himself for allowing her to be out so late or at least not sending Aegon or Aemond as company.

"Is there a reason you wait, brother?"

Daemon's voice sounded placid, but there was a growing frustration as the table sat in a tense silence waiting for the King to make his move.

It seemed as though Viserys didn't hear him, and Dsemon rolled his eyes in annoyance. Instead, the man turned towards his wife, eyes glancing towards the empty chair that sat between Aegon and Aemond as he spoke - "where is my dearest daughter? I fear we cannot begin without her."

Alicent opened her mouth to reply, but a saddened voice spoke from behind Viserys, concern colouring her tone as Rhaenyra spoke - "I am right here, fath-

"I am sure she is on her way, my love."

Rhaenyra looked towards Alicent accusingly, and she truly wanted to laugh out of incredulity. For Rhaenyra to make such a bolstered claim, thinking her father spoke so sweetly of her instead of another was quite amusing, indeed. It made the possibility of Rhaenyra meeting her youngest sister slightly more tasteful.

"If it would ease you, Your Grace, I can go fetch the girl. She has likely forgotten about her promise to dine, distracted by her books and dragons."

Otto spoke precariously, knowing the girl was only out dragon-riding at his behest and though Viserys agreed at the time, reminding the man of such a thing when he was so wound with worry would do no one any good. And perhaps a reluctant part of Otto, the same part of him that cared and loved his sweet Helaena, had also grown fond of Alaynha.

Alicent spoke, fingers fiddling with each other as she pinched at the skin of her thumb. A blatant sign of her own anxiousness at her daughter's absence, "yes, that wou-"

The doors were opened, but no announcement was made. Instead, a frantic voice echoed across the hall as a young girl dressed haphazardly in a prim and proper light blue dress bound up the stairs - "Kepa! I am so sorry! I hadn't realised how late it had gotten."

Daemon Targaryen was a man of few words, preferring to show his anger out on the battlefield or his passion in the confines of his chambers. He had sat quietly so far, only a nodded greeting to his brother as he joined them was an indication that he was actually paying attention.

And now, eyes trained on the young girl who stood in front of him, cheeks heated from the cold wind brushing roughly against them, and eyes blazing and wild from the high of riding a dragon so freely. He felt a warmth begin to fill his blood, his face passive as his eyes burned at the sight of her.

Who was this girl? Was she his niece?

She had called Viserys father, but surely her mother could not be Alicent?

Was she a bastard, much like his own step-children?

Or an orphan they had pitied and taken in?

Daemon knew one thing for sure, the girl who stood in front of him - a timid smile and fumbling fingers - had captured his interest. Had ignited a flame he long believed to have been put out - tamed and tempered by Laena Valeryon. Extinguished by Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Rhaenyra he had fallen for all those years ago had not been the same one he had married that day in Dragonstone, but she had Rhaenyra's eyes, her hair and her face, her voice and her touch.

Daemon had convinced himself he would need time to readjust, time to accept her as she was.

They had two children together, another on their way.

Daemon had accepted, he had conceded. And still, he felt like half the man he used to be, an ounce of the warrior that used to ignite his soul.

Now, violet hues clashing with glowing brown, he felt the dragon within him ignite and rise from the ashes of a man scorched and burned.

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta

#daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #hotd x reader #hotd x oc #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryenx targaryen!oc #dragon of dorne

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