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randomdragonfires · 4 months ago

Text

Parallel Lines, Act II

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other. Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Gore and Graphic Depictions of Violence.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Henlo! This was meant to be a duology, but the second part became too long so I ended up making it a trilogy instead. Hope it doesn't disappoint! :)

WORD COUNT | 13.9k

On a rare stormy night in King's Landing, the trees danced violently during a torrential downpour. A world-weary mother cloaked in the shadows of the flickering candlelight, whispered her gratitude to the Gods while on her knees - her sickly son had clung to life for yet another day. She thanked the Seven for their mercy upon her child and prayed with a fervent desperation.

"Gentle Mother, I beseech you. Mercy for my boy. He has suffered enough. Rid him of his pain, and give it to me if you can."

Her voice, trembling with exhaustion, echoed through the cold stone walls of the Sept. She turned, the weight of countless nights spent wanting, praying, and begging for her son's life pressing heavily upon her. As her whispered plea lingered in the air, a dark shadow crept through the halls of the Red Keep.

Back in the dimly lit chamber, her son laid fragile and fevered. The babe's suffering ended not by divine mercy but by a blade’s cruel bite, leaving a pool of crimson beneath the crib.

War had come to their doorstep, a brutal retribution for her husband's actions.

As the Princess crossed the threshold of the Sept’s grand doors, the candle flame she had lit in her son's name sputtered and died, extinguished by an unseen hand - that of the Gods, it must be.

The storm outside seemed to howl with discontent, and an eerie silence settled over the castle, broken only by the distant, mournful wail of the wind. The gods had not answered her prayers - only darkness had.

The funeral had taken place that morning, a bleak procession of mourning and regret. Aemond had stood like a statue, his heart a hollow void as Vhagar’s flames engulfed the little bundle at his command. He had not shed a tear, his grief and rage too immense to be expressed in such simple ways.

She hadn’t either.

Later, he had descended into the castle's black cells, taking Larys Strong with him. The rogue Gold Cloak who had murdered his son lay shackled to a stone slab, his eyes wide with terror.

Aemond approached the man, his eyes cold and dead. "You took my son," he whispered, his voice a venomous hiss. "Now, you will pay."

He began with the nails, gripping the rusty pliers with a hand that trembled not with fear but with a seething rage. One by one, he yanked the nails from the man's fingers, the sickening crack of breaking bone and the wet pop of tearing flesh echoing through the cell. The man's screams were shrill, a high-pitched wail that echoed through the stone walls, but Aemond felt no satisfaction.

"Please," the man gasped, his voice raw and broken. "Mercy..."

Aemond's lips curled into a snarl. "You showed my little son no mercy." He moved to the fingers next, taking a blade and slowly severing them, joint by joint. Blood spurted in thick, dark streams, pooling on the cold stone floor. The man's howls grew frantic, agony that only fueled Aemond's fury.

He grabbed a branding iron, heated until it glowed red-hot, and pressed it against the man's skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and suffocating. The man's screams turned to guttural roars, his body convulsing in torment. Aemond's own face twisted in a mask of hatred and pain, each act of brutality a futile attempt to fill the gaping void in his heart.

"Confess!" Aemond demanded, his voice a thunderous roar. "Confess your crime!"

"I did it!" the man wailed, his voice a ragged sob. "I killed the boy... He made me do it... please, stop… the Rogue Pri-"

But Aemond did not stop. He could not stop. He continued his relentless torture, burning, cutting, and breaking, each act more savage than the last. The man's pleas for mercy turned to incoherent babbling, his mind shattered by the unending pain.

Hours passed, the cell becoming a chamber of horrors. Blood stained the walls and floor, a macabre display of a grieving father’s wrath. Finally, when the man was nothing more than a broken, bleeding husk, Aemond stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion. The rage had not subsided. It never would. But he was too exhausted to continue.

He had been ready to slowly kill the other ratcatcher when found, but Aegon, much less patient, had ordered the hanging of every ratcatcher in the city as recompense for his nephew's life. The streets of King's Landing would run red with blood, a brutal reminder of the price of crossing the King that sits the Iron Throne.

As Aemond ascended from the depths of the castle, the echoes of the man's screams still ringing in his ears, he felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him, a crushing burden that threatened to consume him. He had failed his family, and no amount of blood or pain could ever atone for any of it. Each step he took felt like walking through quicksand, dragging him further into an abyss of guilt and despair.

Now, the greatest task awaited him: facing his wife. How could he? How could he look into her eyes, knowing very well that it may as well have been his own hand that had slain their child? How could he, when he had been out at a whorehouse while his only son was murdered in cold blood?

No matter how angry and fierce he had been moments ago, now he felt small and cowardly. The righteous fury that had fueled his brutal interrogation of the rogue Gold Cloak had dissipated, leaving behind a hollow shell of a man. His rage had been a mask, hiding the unbearable sorrow and guilt that now threatened to overwhelm him.

He paused outside the door to her chambers, his hand trembling as it rested on the fine wood. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushed the door open. His wife sat on the floor, clutching Aerys' blanket to her chest, her eyes hollow and fixed on the bloodied crib. The sight of her, so broken and lost, pierced his heart more than anything else ever could.

He’d failed as a husband, father and protector.

The servants moved around her like phantoms, silently removing the stained mattress and the crib that had once held their precious boy. She did not give them a second glance, her body rigid and unyielding, as if she had turned to stone. The servants bowed to Aemond as they passed, their eyes lowered in sorrowful respect and fear. He watched them, his heart shattering with each step they took, carrying away the last remnants of his son.

Aemond's throat tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps. How could he face her? How could he bear the weight of her grief and anger? He took another deep breath, forcing himself to move. Each step toward her felt like an eternity, the distance between them an insurmountable chasm of pain and regret.

He knelt beside her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She did not flinch, did not acknowledge his presence. Her gaze remained fixed on the empty space where their son had once lain. If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought her dead.

“You were not there,” she said, her voice a hollow echo in the dim room. “You were not there when he was born. It’s only fitting that you weren’t there when he died as well.”

The words struck Aemond like a physical blow, each one a dagger to his already bleeding heart. Her tone, completely devoid of any emotion, sent a chill through him. The emptiness in her voice was far more terrifying than any rage or grief. It was the voice of someone who had been utterly broken, and it slowly killed him a little more with every passing moment.

His mind flashed back to that night, so long ago now, when Aerys had been born. He had been with the Madame, scared of losing his wife so much that he could not bear to stay - leaving her to bear their son alone. He had returned to find her pale and exhausted, cradling their newborn with a mixture of joy and exhaustion.

Her eyes, once filled with warmth and love for their boy, now held only a deep, hollow emptiness. “He needed you, Aemond. I needed you, I went out of my way and begged you to protect us. And you weren’t there. Not when he took his first breath, and not when he took his last.”

She turned away, clutching Aerys’ blanket tighter to her chest, her body shaking with silent sobs. “I watched him suffer every night,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I watched him cry out in pain from the fevers, and I couldn’t do anything to save him. I prayed, Aemond. I prayed so much, and the gods took him anyway. And how… how he must have suffered…”

“I don’t know how to live with this,” she continued, her voice cracking. “Everywhere I look, I see him. His toys, his clothes, his empty crib. And I see you, and I wonder how we’ll bear it. How can we live with ourselves, knowing very well that we’d failed him?”

Her choked sobs gave way to cries, piercing the silence of the room like a thousand daggers. Aemond turned to hold her close, desperate to offer any semblance of comfort. She pounded on his chest with her fists, weakly at first, then with growing strength as her grief overwhelmed her. She tried to push him away, but he held her closer with each blow, his arms a fortress around her fragile body. Her screams grew louder, echoing through the empty chambers, the corridors, the entire Keep.

“What do we do, Aemond? How do we go on?”

For what felt like hours, he held her as she struggled, his heart breaking anew with each of her sobs. She pushed him away again and again, but he pulled her back every time, refusing to let her go. He whispered words of solace, though he knew they were hollow, futile against her anguish. The warmth of her tears soaked through his tunic, mingling with his own as they wept together.

Gradually, her struggles weakened, her sobs quieting into shuddering breaths. Exhausted, she slumped against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He stroked her hair gently, his own tears falling into her tangled locks.

When she finally calmed, she lifted her head to look into his eyes. The depth of her pain was mirrored in his gaze, their shared torment powerful enough to get the Gods to bow down their heads n shame. "I see you," she said, her voice throaty, raw and trembling. "I see you, Aemond, and I see the reason our son is dead."

Her words cut through him like a blade, and he flinched, but she continued, her eyes never leaving his. "But I also see the only person who feels this loss as much as I do. I hate you, Aemond, for what you've done, for not being here, for all of it. But I cannot push you away. I don't have the strength to be alone. Not now. Not ever."

Her voice broke on the last word, and she buried her face in his chest again, clutching his tunic with trembling hands. "Do not leave me," she begged, her voice a whisper of desperation. "Please, Aemond, do not leave me today."

She cried against his chest once more, her tears soaking through the fabric. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, a frantic rhythm that matched his own. The memory of their son lingered in the air, as they clung to each other - two broken souls, adrift.

Aemond and his wife grieved, their methods as different as night and day. He poured himself into the war, throwing himself into strategy and shadow plotting to escape the crushing weight of his anger, guilt and sorrow. Every victory that Criston wrote to him about was a fleeting distraction from the void left by their son's death. The fight, the anger, the bloodied lands had his heart become cold, and his mind was focused on the immediate need to conquer.

She, on the other hand, hid herself away in her apartments, crying until her tears ran dry, only to begin again as soon as the next wave of sorrow crashed over her. The chamber was an eerie tomb of memories, filled with the echoes of a child whose cries were now silenced. She clung to their son's bloodied blanket, refusing to let the maids take it away. It was the last tangible piece of him, the only thing she could still hold. Her grief was raw and unending, a torrent that left her exhausted and hollow.

He watched her more than once, standing silently in the doorway, his heart heavy at the sight of her frail form curled up on their son's blanket. She was a shadow of the woman she once was, a stranger that he shared his deepest failure with - not to mention the subsequent pain of it all. Her sobs were gut-wrenching, a mournful lullaby that haunted the silent halls. Each sob was a reminder of his failure to protect their child, to protect her.

On those nights, he would tentatively approach her, his steps hesitant and unsure. Sometimes she would receive him, allowing him to hold her as she wept, her tears soaking into his leathers. He would murmur soft, broken words, his hand gently stroking her hair in a futile attempt to offer comfort. Her pain was palpable, a living thing that wrapped around them both and squeezed until they could hardly breathe. He felt helpless, his warrior's strength, his proud lineage and dragonrider’s blood useless against the insidious enemy of grief, one that had thoroughly defeated her.

Other nights, she would blame him, her grief turning into fury as she screeched at him to never darken her door again. Her words were sharp, each one a poison-tipped arrow aimed at his heart. She accused him of failing them, of failing their son. He took her anger in silence, his eyes hollow and his heart heavy. Her words cut deep, but he could not refute them. He had failed, and he bore that failure like a scar across his soul. And when she was done screaming, she’d fall into his arms and cry once more - for who else did they have in their grief, apart from each other?

On those nights, the pain of her rejection would drive him to the Madame, seeking the comfort he could not find at home. The whorehouse was a stark contrast to his wife's chambers. It was filled with the scent of perfume and sweat, the air thick with the sounds of laughter and moans. He would lose himself in the warmth of another's body, the physical release a temporary balm for his wounded soul. She was experienced, her touches skilled and knowing. She took him without question, a vessel for his anger and sorrow. He sought solace in the intensity of their embraces, the roughness of their passion, and the desperate attempt to drown out his grief.

The relief was fleeting, and the guilt that followed only deepened his despair. He would leave the Madame's alcove, his body sated yet not, his heart heavy yet not. The walk back to the castle was a walk of shame, each step a reminder of his failure as a husband - what good was he if he could not protect or comfort?

In stark contrast, his time with his wife was chaste, almost delicate. He would sit beside her, his hand hovering with uncertainty before resting gently on her shoulder. She would not speak, but she would not push him away either. Aemond treated her like fragile glass, afraid that one wrong move would shatter her more than she already had been.

Today was not one such day. Today, he would fly Vhagar to war.

Rook’s Rest beckoned him; his call to glory. This would be the day that he began his legacy.

Aemond stood in his chambers, his fingers trembling as he repeatedly failed to secure his hair with a threadbare tie. His heart pounded with a potent mix of nerves and eagerness. Each time the tie slipped through his fingers, frustration mounted, his movements becoming more erratic.

The door creaked open, and he turned sharply, ready to lash out at whoever dared interrupt his solitary struggle with no warning. But it was not a servant. It was his wife.

She looked to be in good spirits. He knew better.

She entered the room with a quiet grace, her presence a stark contrast to her appearance these past few weeks. She looked every bit the regal princess she was - her posture poised, her expression serene. She held his riding leathers in her hands, a gesture that spoke volumes without a single word. “I… I thought I’d wish you well,” she said softly, her voice a hesitant murmur.

He didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions. The lump in his throat made it difficult to speak, and he watched her as she approached him, each step measured and deliberate.

His gaze lingered on her face, committing every detail to memory as he prepared to throw himself headfirst into the fighting. Her hair, cascading in soft waves, framed her delicate features. He noticed the way a few errant strands fell over her forehead, the way her ears peeked out from beneath the locks, adorned with earrings that his mother had gifted her upon the birth of their son.

There was a softness in her eyes, a vulnerability. He traveled the lines of her face with his eye, the gentle slope of her nose, the faint freckles that dusted her cheeks, barely visible but always there. His gaze settled on her lips, lips that he had not kissed since their wedding almost two years ago. They were slightly parted, as if she were about to say something, and he could see the subtle tremor in them. He remembered their first kiss, the way her lips had felt against his - cold and limp.

Her touch sent a jolt of warmth through him, and he found himself highly aware of every movement she made. She helped him into his clothes with a seemingly practiced ease, her fingers grazing his skin and leaving trails of heat in their wake. He stilled, his gaze locked onto her, and her alone.

She started with the undershirt, guiding his arms through the sleeves. Her hands were gentle yet firm, the fabric sliding over his skin. She moved to the leather jerkin then, her fingers deftly fastening the buckles and sending shivers down his spine. He could feel the heat of her hands through the cool leather.

Has she ever helped dress him before?

As she cinched the straps around his waist, her body pressed close to his, and he inhaled the scent of her - a mixture of lilacs and something uniquely her. Her fingers brushed against his neck, and he fought the urge to close his eyes and savor the sensation.

Once the leathers were secured, she stepped back, her eyes scanning his form to ensure everything was in place. "Do you need your hair braided?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

He shook his head no, unable to find his voice. She walked behind him, her fingers threading through his silver strands. Her touch was soothing, and he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. She gathered the top half of his hair, pulling it into a knot, while leaving the bottom half loose - just the way he preferred. Her movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as if she were committing every strand to memory.

Was she trying to remember him just as he did her?

When she finished, she stepped back to admire her work, her eyes meeting his functional one in the mirror. For a moment, they simply stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. He turned to face her, his gaze never leaving hers.

She laid her hands on his back and began reciting a prayer to the Seven, her voice trembling. Her fingers traced the lines of his muscles, as if memorizing the feel of him, and when she finished, she nodded and smiled weakly - a weak upturn of her lips so full of fear, for him.

She walked away, each step heavy with reluctance, until she stopped midway and turned when he whispered her name. “Your favor.” His voice was steady, almost devoid of emotion, but she knew him too well. The slight upward curve of his lips, the brief twitch of his eyebrow before it settled back, revealed more than words ever could.

Her hand trembled as she reached into her neckline, pulling out a small satin square. He caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and she felt the world narrow down to the space between them. As she handed him the token, she stepped closer until their foreheads met, their breaths mingling, becoming one.

They stood there, suspended in a moment that felt both fleeting and eternal, the possibilities and uncertainties pressing in on them. It was a fragile convergence, their desire to be together finally surfacing, only to be shadowed by the looming threat of separation. The cost of their union was too much - Aerys, was too much - a weight neither of them will ever be rid of.

Her head was nestled against his neck, hidden from the world by the veil of her loose hair. It fell around her like a curtain, hiding her from the chaos. She whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, “I need you to come back.” For me, she didn’t say.

Aemond felt her plea in every fiber of his being. He understood her without needing her to elaborate. As he held her close, he let her imprint his presence into her memory, knowing that she believed that this might be their last shared moment -he was sure of their victory, and he knew she was too. But she was a wife, and he supposed it was in her nature to worry.

I don’t have anyone else here.

Their foreheads met, a tender touch that spoke volumes. Her eyes searched his own, and he saw the reflection of his own yearning and fear. The intimacy of the moment was almost unbearable, a poignant reminder of what they had already lost, what they stood to lose. Her breath mingled with his, her scent enveloping him, and he memorized every detail - the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body, the depth of her woes.

Any closer, and he could kiss her. But he didn’t.

Later in the yard, the waiting wife watched her warring prince go, her heart heavy as he carried a piece of her with him into battle.

She didn't pray anymore.

The Gods had seen fit to snatch her son away, and their cruelty had hardened her heart to stone. Yet, as she stood on the battlements of the Keep, watching the wounded men stagger through the gates, she felt the faintest pull toward the Sept, an old, almost forgotten reflex. The soft murmurs of hymns, the flicker of candles, the scent of incense - all seemed like distant memories of a life now lost to endless war.

So many men. Sons, brothers, husbands, uncles…

The scene below was a scene of abject suffering, a picture of agony and despair. Soldiers limped and staggered, their bodies broken and burnt, some supported by their brothers in battle, others barely able to move. Blood stained their armor, their faces twisted in pain, their eyes hollow and vacant. The air was thick with the stench of blood, burnt flesh, and the acrid smoke from dragonfire, a vile miasma that clung to her senses. The cries of the wounded echoed in the courtyard, a chorus of despair that seemed to reverberate off the stone walls and pierce her heart.

Her gaze flitted over the faces, each one etched with pain and horror. She saw men clutching at wounds, their fingers slick with blood, their expressions a mixture of shock and resignation. There were those whose eyes stared unseeing, their bodies no longer vessels of life but remnants of what had once been vibrant souls. Young boys, barely old enough to be called men, uncharacteristically sobbed. Older men, who had seen countless battles, now faced the grim reality that this war may as well bring their end.

Then she saw him.

Barely alive, Aegon’s body was a ruin of burns and bandages, carried on a stretcher like a broken doll. His frame was now a pitiful sight, his breath shallow and labored. She’d never liked Aegon in all truth - but he was her King. If he died, would all this blood be for naught?

Her heart clenched as she tried to move closer, to see the extent of his injuries, but the soldiers turned him away, rushing him towards the Maester’s chambers with a sense of urgency that spoke volumes.

“Make way for the King!”

She felt the strength drain from her legs, her back sliding down the cold, unyielding stone of the castle wall. Shock and despair settled over her like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. How much more of this horror could she endure? How many more lives would be lost before this nightmare ended? The enormity of the suffering, the endless cycle of loss and pain, was almost too much to bear.

Criston Cole emerged from the chaos, looking as though he had walked through the depths of Hell. His armor was blackened, his face lined with exhaustion and grief, his eyes dull and haunted. When their eyes met, she saw a flicker of something she never expected - pity.

“Princess, you should not be here.”

“What happened? Please tell me, Ser Criston.”

“King Aegon valiantly slayed Rhaenys and the Red Queen,” he said, his voice raw and weary, barely more than a whisper - empty. “Led his men into battle with valor. And now he’s brought back in a damned box, fighting for his life.” In his voice was a heaviness she never thought she’d hear from him - but how else was he supposed to sound when he’d watched a boy he helped raise himself come back looking shriveled in burn wounds? Her throat tightened, and tears threatened to spill. The weight of his words crushed her, a stark reminder of the relentless cost of war.

And where was Aemond? Her thoughts turned to him, a fresh wave of dread washing over her, suffocating in its intensity.

“What of my husband?”

“With Vhagar at Blackwater Bay. I… May I suggest that you keep away from him for a time, Princess? Give the Prince time before you go to him. Anger and… one does not have control over their words or actions after having immediately come back from a battle. Especially one like this.” It seemed like he was concerned for her, but she detected a sneer in his tone, especially in his last words.

Since when was Ser Criston Cole’s anger meant for Aemond? What could have possibly happened?

Blackwater Bay stretched out beneath the setting sun, the waters shimmering with hues of gold and crimson. The sky had dark clouds mingling with the fading light. The scent of salt and smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the distant cries of seagulls and the echoes of the day's violence. The waves lapped gently against the shore, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had unfolded earlier.

Aemond stood beside Vhagar, the massive dragon that had been his companion through his latest victory at Rook’s Rest. Her scales, a mottled mix of bronze and green, glistened in the twilight. Vhagar's snout was as wide as a cart, and Aemond leaned against it, his forehead resting gently against her scales. He murmured softly in Valyrian, his voice a soothing melody that calmed the mighty beast. The dragon's breath, warm and steady, seemed to wash over him, ruffling his silver hair. Her massive chest rose and fell with each breath, a rhythm that mirrored the ocean's tides.

From a distance, she watched, her heart pounding in her chest. This was the closest she had ever been to Vhagar, the legendary dragon whose mere presence could instill fear in the bravest of men. She had seen Vhagar from afar many times, a distant silhouette in the sky or a menacing figure on the horizon, but never this close. She hesitated, unsure if she should approach. Would she be welcomed, or would Vhagar see her as an intruder?

Summoning her courage, she stepped forward, her feet sinking into the sand as she made her way toward them. The closer she got, the more details she noticed. Vhagar's scales were not just bronze and green but interspersed with streaks of darker hues. The dragon's claws, as long as swords and just as sharp, dug into the earth, leaving deep gouges in the sand.

Aemond lifted his head slightly, his keen senses alerting him to her presence. He turned, his gaze meeting hers, a mixture of surprise and something softer in his eyes. He didn't say anything, but his eye spoke volumes. With a slight nod, he acknowledged her approach, his silent permission for her to come closer.

She took another step, her breath catching in her throat as Vhagar's massive head turned toward her. The dragon's golden eyes locked onto her, and for a moment, she felt a wave of fear. But Vhagar didn't move, only watched with an inscrutable gaze.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, stopping just short of touching the dragon's scales. The heat radiating from Vhagar's body was almost overwhelming, a reminder of the sheer power contained within. She glanced at Aemond, seeking reassurance, and he gave a small, encouraging nod.

Gathering her courage, she placed her hand on Vhagar's snout. The scales were surprisingly smooth, warm beneath her touch. She felt a tremor run through the dragon, a rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her own chest.

"She won't harm you," Aemond said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Are you alright?" she asked, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the turmoil she sensed within him. The tempestuous energy that seemed to emanate from Vhagar mirrored the tension she felt in Aemond, a war-heavy restlessness that seemed to seep from the dragon into her husband.

Aemond's jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "Hm," he replied, his tone clipped. The anger in his voice was barely contained, simmering just beneath the surface.

She took another step closer, her hand still resting on Vhagar's snout, the warmth grounding her. "I can feel it," she said softly, "...the fury. It's in Vhagar... and in you."

He met her gaze again, his eye hardening. "War does that to a man," he said bitterly. "It changes you."

She nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the smooth scales of the dragon. "It's not just the war, is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's something else."

For a moment, she expected him to speak of the men they had lost, the lives extinguished under his command. As their war general and First Sword, she thought he would be burdened by the weight of their deaths. But as his eye flashed with anger, her heart sank, a knot of dread forming in her stomach.

"Aegon," he spat, the name laced with venom. "That fool rode in on Sunfyre and stole the glory that was rightfully mine. I fought, I orchestrated this victory, and he swoops in at the last moment, drunk as a street lecher, to claim it as his own."

Her breath caught in her throat, the raw bitterness in his voice slicing through her. "Aemond," she said gently, "I know you wanted to prove yourself, to show your worth. But isn't it enough that you fought bravely, that you survived? Aegon is battling for his life, but you have come out unscathed!"

His eye narrowed, the fury in his gaze burning even hotter. "It's not about survival," he snapped. "It's about being remembered, about being recognized for my strength, my skill. And he took that from me."

The realization hit her like a blow. He was not mourning the fallen soldiers or the horrors of war. His rage was fixated on Aegon, on the stolen glory. The bloodshed, the loss of life, barely seemed to register in his mind.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What about the men we lost? The lives that were sacrificed?"

He looked at her, his expression hardening further. "They were necessary," he said coldly. "A means to an end."

Her heart broke at his words, the chasm between them widening. The man she had married, the man she tried to love, was consumed by ambition and a thirst for recognition to the point of it being beyond inhumane. She glanced at Vhagar, the dragon's golden eyes reflecting her own despair.

"I thought..." she began, her voice faltering. "I thought you would care about them, about the lives we lost."

Aemond's eye softened slightly, a flicker of something like regret passing over his face. "I do care," he said quietly, "but not in the way you think. My duty is to win, to secure our place. Everything else is secondary."

As Aemond's words hung heavy in the air, she felt disillusionment settle upon her heart. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer, her gaze drifting to Vhagar whose golden eyes mirrored her own despair. The dragon, magnificent and fearsome, was a reflection of Aemond's ambition, a creature driven by instinct and power, heedless of the lives trampled beneath its might.

At that moment, she understood Criston's anger. She felt a wave of sympathy for him, for having to witness the transformation of the boy that he helped raise and taught, into a man driven by ruthless determination. Was this what Ser Criston feared? Was this the monster he saw lurking beneath Aemond's exterior, waiting to be unleashed by the brutality of war?

She didn't blame him for his anger. In fact, she shared it. She was angry at Aemond - for his callousness, for his disregard of the lives lost, for his single-minded pursuit of glory. But underneath all her anger, there lingered a deep, unsettling fear.

She feared that man he was becoming. What did it say about him that he cared so little for men that fought in his family’s name?

What did it say about her that she still yearned for him all the same?

Sleep eluded her that night.

How could it possibly come, after the horrors she had witnessed? And that too, only from the training yard! Aemond had been on the war ground, surely suffering even worse torments. She longed to seek him out, to offer the solace he might need, as she had done before. But how could she?

What of the men we lost? The lives sacrificed?

They were necessary... A means to an end.

He frightened her. War was transforming her husband into a monster—she knew he was bloodthirsty like every warrior who ever graced the earth, fiery with the dragon blood that coursed through his veins. But was he truly as callous as he seemed today?

A means to an end... Did he think of Aerys that way too?

Her son, her precious boy…

No.

The darkness of the night weighed heavy on her heart, each passing minute a relentless reminder of her fears. The once comforting silence of their chambers now felt oppressive, suffocating. The flicker of candlelight cast dark figures, transforming familiar surroundings into a space that she hated to remain in.

A means to an end... Was that all they were? Was that all their son was? The questions gnawed at her soul, each one a dagger of doubt and despair. She feared for Aemond, for their future, and most of all, for Aerys - the innocent caught in the maelstrom of her husband’s making.

Sleep eluded her that night, and with it, any semblance of comfort.

Her mind spiraled, a whirlwind of anguish and dread, each thought more tortuous than the last. She could no longer bear the torment alone, her heart ached with the weight of her fears. Driven by a desperate need for answers, she found herself rushing to Aemond’s chambers in nothing but a shift and her robe, her hair unkempt, the lack of sleep and stress etched into her face.

Bursting through the door without knocking, she stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. Aemond stood before her in his dark green leathers, a cloak draped over his shoulders, the flicker of the torchlight illuminating his features. He froze at the sight of her, his eye piercing straight into her soul.

“Wife, you are not dressed.”

"And you are. It is late in the night, and you are dressed. Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling, barely a whisper.

His silence was deafening. The tension between them was palpable, a suffocating presence in the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing her growing despair.

"Where are you going?" she repeated, her voice breaking.

Still, he said nothing. His eyes, usually so full of fire and passion, were now cold and distant. She took a step forward, her hands trembling, reaching out to him as if trying to bridge the chasm that had grown between them.

The whorehouse. Was he going to the whorehouse again? Where else had he ever gone at this time of the night?

Her mind spiraled, a whirlwind of anguish and doubt. The thought of him seeking solace in another’s arms twisted the knife deeper into her heart. Tears welled in her eyes, her voice breaking as she spoke.

“You said the soldiers were a means to an end,” she choked out, her words trembling with emotion. “Is that all Aerys was to you too? Is that all I’ll ever be?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face hardening. “Do not bring Aerys into this,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

She wounded him, but she couldn’t stop herself. “How can I not?” she cried, her tears flowing freely now. “You talk about sacrifices and means to an end. Is that what we are to you? Just another sacrifice?”

His eye flashed with a mixture of anger and pain, his body tensing as if ready to strike. “You know nothing of what I endure,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Do not presume to understand.”

“Then help me understand,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Tell me why you leave me here, alone with my fears.”

“Do not ever suggest,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous, “that you and our son are anything less than everything to me.”

Her body trembled, not from fear, but from the raw intensity of his emotions. Tears streamed down her face, her voice a broken sob. “I don’t know what to believe. You’re going back to the whorehouse, and I don’t know what to think. I thought we were doing well but—”

Aemond’s silence was like a chasm between them, widening with every passing moment. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his pride and his vulnerability. But still, he said nothing.

Her heart shattered at his refusal to speak, the weight of her doubts and fears pressing down on her. “Is it the whorehouse?” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Are you seeking comfort in another’s arms again?”

His face contorted with rage, and in a swift, violent motion, he grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall. The force of the impact left her breathless, the pain a sharp reminder of the distance between them.

“How dare you,” he hissed, his face inches from hers.

She trembled beneath his grip, her tears falling like rain. “What am I supposed to think?” she sobbed. “You leave me night after night, and you won’t tell me where you go, or what you do. You insist that you are true to me in your heart, but that means nothing when the servants keep seeing you slip out of the Keep and into Silk Street. How am I supposed to believe in you, when you keep pushing me away?”

Aemond’s grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. “I fight for us,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Everything I do, I do for us. To protect you, to avenge our son. Do not question my loyalty.”

Her voice was a broken whisper, the pain in her heart almost unbearable. “Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

He silenced her with a kiss, fierce and desperate, pouring all his anger into that single act. His lips crashed onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away. It was not gentle, but raw and consuming, as if he were trying to convey every unsaid word, every buried emotion, through the touch of his mouth on hers. Her protests melted away, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

She felt his hands tremble as they cupped her face, his fingers threading through her hair, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking hers with a hunger that spoke of months of separation, of sleepless nights and lonely days. Her own hands reached up, clutching at his cloak, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she feared he might slip away again.

Their breaths mingled, warm and erratic, each exhale a whisper of longing and regret. She tasted the salt of her own tears on his lips, mingling with the unique taste of him - how could you miss something so much if you had very little of it to begin with?

His lips moved with a desperate urgency, as if he were trying to memorize every contour, every curve, and commit it to memory.

He was kissing her. He was kissing her. He was kissing h-

His lips on hers, her breath and his as one, their souls entwined. She felt the weight of his body pressing against hers, the solid, reassuring presence of him grounding her in the reality of the moment. The room around them faded away, leaving just the two of them, locked in a world where only their connection mattered.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm echoing the frantic beat of his. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her shift, his warmth seeping into her skin, banishing the cold that had settled in her bones during his absence.

He broke the kiss only to rest his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. His eyes bore into hers, speaking volumes without a single word.

He had not kissed her since their wedding ceremony. This was the first in more than a year.

"Don't go," she whispered, her back pressed against the cold, unyielding stone of his chambers. His dark presence loomed over her, a shadow that both entrapped and intoxicated her. She was in no place to command, but this was a desperate plea, the truest command she had ever uttered. "I am.. I am a mother without a child, but tonight, let me be a wife to my husband. However you'll have me."

Her lips, soft as the brush of a feather, sought the hard line of his jaw, leaving a trail of tentative kisses. She held his head to hers, fingers tangling in his dark hair, lifting herself on tiptoes to reach him.

"Please, for once," she implored, her voice breaking. "I’m begging you, choose me."

His eyes flickered, emotions swirling within their depths. Intensity surged, a fierce storm, yet there was a hint of softness, a vulnerability that made her breath hitch. Then he laughed, a cruel, beautiful sound that sliced through her. She had always despised how his laughter made him even more captivating, even as it shattered her.

Humiliation washed over her, hot and sharp. She released him, feeling the sting of her own words. She had vowed never to beg for his love, yet here she was, laid bare and begging. And he laughed.

Her head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, she tried to step away, her heart a heavy stone in her chest. But he was quicker, his hand shooting out to slam her back against the wall once more. The force of it rattled her, but she could not escape the vice-like grip of his fingers on her arms. His face was inches from hers, the ridges of his brow now visible to her in a way that it had never been before. His lips twitched, a predatory smile playing at the corners, and his fingers dug deeper into her flesh.

His nose brushed against hers, a tender gesture at odds with the roughness of his hold. She braced herself for more cruelty, but his words were unexpected.

"You once said you didn’t like begging for me. Shame," he murmured, his voice a deadly caress. "I quite like it when you do."

She was ensnared, caught in the dark web of his presence, and despite everything, she realized she didn't want to escape. His touch, his words, his very essence were chains she had willingly bound herself with. All she could do was surrender.

“I now find that I’m not above it if it brings me to you,” she whispered, her voice a fragile murmur lost to the wind.

He sensed her surrender, an unspoken truce formed between them. Was it exhaustion, or a sense of defeat from all they had endured? She couldn’t say. But at this moment, she knew where she stood. She needed him. She had no one else, and she needed him to be there for her, with her. Pathetic, really. The cost of them finally seeing eye to eye was too high, but she couldn't help but crave it all the same. She sought the same comfort he did. It felt heavy, but a bond forged by a loss as monumental as theirs had to be, surely?

His grip softened, the rigid tension in his body easing. Sensing his unspoken assent, she moved her hands to the clasp of his cloak, her fingers trembling as she unclipped it one by one. She nudged him forward as she pushed it off, watching the thick cloth fall to the floor with a soft thud.

In a swift, almost predatory movement, he pushed her onto the vanity near them, his lips crashing down onto hers with a fervent passion that stole her breath away. His kiss was searing, consuming, filled with a desperate urgency that came with not having each other as long as they hadn’t. He moved from her lips to her neck, his hands bunching up her shift with a roughness that sent shivers down her spine. He hauled her thighs forward, spreading her legs wide, and stood between them, his hardness pressing against her clothed cunt as she perched precariously on the edge of the table. His lips marked her skin, each bite and suckle sending jolts of pleasure and pain that mingled until she felt dizzy with desire.

She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging into the leather of his back, holding on as if he were her anchor in a storm. A moan escaped her lips when his thumb pressed against her damp smallclothes, a wicked smile curving his mouth in response. The smallclothes were swiftly discarded, his thumb tracing the slick line of her slit before he plunged a long finger into her warmth. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, her body arching into him. It had been so long since she’d felt him.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but his voice, rough and commanding, pulled her back. “Look at me,” he ordered, his tone a dark promise.

Her gaze locked onto his, the intensity of his stare holding her captive as his fingers pumped in and out of her. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, building until she thought she might shatter. Her world narrowed to the man before her, his touch, his presence, his power over her.

His fingers worked her expertly, his thumb circling her pearl as he added another finger, stretching her, filling her. She could feel the coil tightening in her core, the pressure mounting as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held on for dear life.

“Issa ābrazȳrys,” he growled. His voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her. My wife.

He thrust harder, faster, his lips capturing hers in a bruising kiss as he drove her over the edge. Aemond tasted the copper tang of blood blooming from her lips from his attention and was certain he was going to lose all control. She came undone around his fingers, her body shattering in a blinding wave of pleasure. Her eyes never left his, her gaze locked onto his as she fell apart, her climax ripping through her with an intensity that left her trembling in its wake.

He held her through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, prolonging her pleasure until she was spent, her body limp and sated in his arms. As the last tremors subsided, he pulled his fingers from her, bringing them to his lips and tasting her essence with a satisfied smirk.

She was his, utterly and completely, and in that moment, she knew she would never be free of him. Nor did she want to be. It scared her, but she could not help herself.

Her lord husband. Hers, hers, hers, h-

“Gevie.” Beautiful.

“What?” she asked, her voice breathless and filled with anticipation.

He responded with a firm squeeze of her hips, urging her to remove his jerkin and undershirt. Her fingers trembled with excitement and desire as she worked at the fastenings, feeling the heat radiating from his body. She wobbled slightly as he lowered her to stand, catching the smirk on his face as he steadied her. The look in his eye, dark and predatory, sent a thrill through her. His touch was both gentle and commanding, a stark contrast that made her knees weak.

Her robe and shift followed quickly, sliding from her shoulders in a soft whisper of fabric. She stood before him, exposed and vulnerable, watching his single eye darken with raw desire as her breasts spilled free. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver, a delicious anticipation coiling low in her belly.

This time, she was the one who initiated the kiss, her lips seeking him with a desperate hunger. She pressed herself against him, reveling in the sensation of his bare skin against hers, his muscles taut and unyielding beneath her fingers. His hands roamed her body with a possessive urgency, gripping and kneading her flesh as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

He guided her gently backwards, his movements controlled and purposeful. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she let out a soft gasp as he laid her down, the plush, satin-chased mattress cushioning her fall. She bounced slightly, her hair fanning out around her head, and looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Her gaze flickered to his eyepatch, a question forming in her mind, but she made no move to remove it.

His growl, low and primal, reverberated through her, sending a shiver down her spine. His hands moved to her thighs, spreading them wide, exposing her to his heated gaze. He lowered himself over her, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and collarbone. She arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back, leaving red marks in their wake.

“Gevie,” he whispered against her ear, the word a rough caress that sent a jolt of desire straight to her core.

His fingers found her entrance, teasing and testing, before he thrust his hardened cock in her with a single, powerful stroke. She cried out, a mix of pleasure and pain, her body stretching to accommodate him. He set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her higher, pushing her closer to the edge of oblivion.

Her hands clung to him, nails scraping down his back, drawing blood. She bit down on his shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise, marking him as hers. He responded with a harsh slap to her thigh, the sting adding to the heat between them. His hand then moved to her breast, squeezing and kneading, his mouth descending to capture a nipple.

“A mother without a child,” she had once said. He remembered those words as he let go of her leaking breast and thrust into her with renewed vigor. Her second climax came swiftly, his fingers working her to pleasure, rubbing in tight circles as he pounded into her. She shattered around him, her body convulsing, her cries filling the room.

Even as she came undone, he didn’t stop. He continued to thrust, using her body to chase his own release. She clung to him, her body spent, her mind a whirl of incoherent thoughts. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he neared his peak. His movements became erratic, desperate.

“I’ll make your belly round with my heir again,” he murmured, his voice strained. “I want to see you dripping with my seed.”

She could only moan in response, the thought of another child not something she had entertained - not so soon after Aerys. But in that moment, with him inside her, it was all she could think about. He thrust one final time, burying himself deep inside her as he came, his release filling her, marking her as his.

Another child. Another child. Another-

The words echoed in her mind as she lay there, sated and spent before she fell asleep in his chambers for the very first time.

He was back at the Keep that fateful night, the acrid smell of blood thick in the air, mixed with the metallic tang of fear and sorrow. He pushed open the door to Aerys' room, his heart pounding in his chest. The once pristine nursery was a scene of unimaginable carnage.

Blood smeared the carpet in grotesque patterns, splattered as if by some violent, monstrous force. It pooled on the floor, thick and dark, congealing around the lifeless body of his son. Aerys' headless form lay cradled in the arms of his wife, her wails piercing the oppressive silence. Her face was one anguish, her eyes red and swollen from relentless tears.

She was screaming, but he couldn’t hear her - only the ringing in his ears.

Aemond's legs felt like lead as he stumbled forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “No, no, no…” His eyes were drawn to the small, severed head lying a few feet away, Aerys' lifeless eyes staring up at him with a silent accusation that pierced at him.

The scene shifted violently, and he was atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon roaring beneath him. They were in the skies, the cold wind and rain biting at his skin. Below, he saw the small figure of Lucerys Velaryon, desperately trying to evade him. The storm raged around them, but nothing could drown out the roar of Vhagar as she lunged, her massive jaws closing around the boy and his dragon.

“No, Vhagar! No!” Aemond screamed, though his voice was swallowed by the wind. He watched in horror as Vhagar's teeth tore through dragon and rider alike, the blood raining down upon the stormy sea. The boy's scream echoed in his mind, a sound that would haunt him forever.

The scene shifted again, and he was back at the Keep. This time, he saw Aegon, battered and broken, lying on the stone floor. Aemond’s chest tightened with a mixture of anger and regret. He had warned Aegon, advised him to stay put, to avoid the fight.

“Why didn’t you listen?” Aemond’s voice trembled with rage and sorrow. “I wouldn’t have had to burn you if you stayed home, brother. If you learnt to respect me, to fear me!”

In his nightmare, Aegon's eyes opened, filled with a pain that mirrored Aemond’s own. “This is your fault,” Aegon whispered, burnt beyond recognition, his voice a hollow echo. “All of it. You started it!”

The nightmare repeated in a relentless loop. Aerys' bloodied room, Vhagar's deadly bite, Aegon's broken body. The guilt and horror twisted inside him, a never-ending torment.

Suddenly, amidst the chaos, a warm sensation began to seep into his consciousness. It started faintly, then grew stronger, more insistent. A vision of his wife appeared before him, holding their son, Aerys, who was smiling and content. Her eyes, filled with love and concern - he has seen concern on her face, but she looks much more beautiful in love with him, he decided - reached out to him.

“I'm here, it's me. Just me, husband. Please, come back to me.”

Her words pierced through the fog of his nightmare, anchoring him. He kept hearing it, over and over, until he realized it wasn’t just a dream. The warmth he felt was real. Her touch, her voice, were pulling him back from the brink.

His wife had stayed to share his bed.

Aemond’s eyes snapped open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was disoriented, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to him. He heard her voice again, soft and soothing, as she held him close.

“I'm here, it's me. Just me, husband. Please, come back to me.”

He felt her arms around him, her hand moving to his head, stroking his hair. He could still hear her voice, the same words repeated like a prayer, grounding him in reality. Aemond buried his face against her breast, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his nightmare. She rocked him gently, her touch a balm to his tormented mind.

After what seemed like hours, he began to calm down, his breathing evening out. She continued to hold him, kissing his head, her presence a constant reassurance. Aemond’s hand moved instinctively to her breast, seeking the comfort of her body. He wrapped his arm around her, clinging to her like a lifeline, squeezing her so tight like she’d slip through his fingers. When his weight became too much for her to bear, she gently lifted his head, making him look into her eyes. She kissed his forehead, her touch tender and reassuring.

This time, she reached up and unclasped his eyepatch with no hesitation.

Does she see what everyone sees? Does he terrify her?

She adjusted herself, crossing her legs to allow him to rest his head upon her thigh. She began to massage his scalp, her fingers working through his hair with a soothing rhythm.

No signs of terror. Or was she indifferent?

As he lay there, her touch grounding him, Aemond’s mind replayed the words he had uttered in his nightmare.

“I wouldn’t have had to burn you if you stayed home, brother.”

The realization hit him like a blow. In his delirium, he had revealed a truth he had kept hidden. Would she have him still?

She was worried. The entire night and everyday forward, she worried about the man her husband had become.

He’d attacked his own brother at Rook’s Rest.

And yet when he took her once more the same night, she didn’t want to push him away.

What’s a cold-blooded killer to a simple woman who only wants to be held in her husband’s arms?

“I forgive you.”

He stood by the windows, the moonlight spilling over his form, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His hair, pale as starlight, shimmered in the dim light, and he seemed lost in thought, gazing out at the night sky.

She paused, taking a moment to observe him. Two days had passed since their night together, and in that brief span, something had shifted between them. It wasn’t love, no - but a deeper understanding, a mutual respect that had begun to root itself in their marriage. They were not affectionate, no tender kisses or whispered endearments passed between them. But there was a newfound ease in their interactions, a subtle partnership that had grown stronger in its quiet way.

He turned, sensing her presence, and their eyes met. She had come to understand his character, the motivations that drove him, and the burdens he carried. She wouldn’t ever justify any of it, not when the price was too steep. But it was a time of war, and she had to see everything around her differently now.

In her heart, she pondered their relationship, this delicate bond. They were equals, a balance of strengths and weaknesses, each compensating for the other. In Aemond, she saw a man driven by a relentless need to prove himself, to carve out a legacy that would be remembered. He was formidable, fierce, yet there was a loneliness to him, a void that no amount of ambition could fill.

They never addressed what he’d divulged to her in his nightmare-addled hours, how he’d treated his own brother as collateral damage. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a silent agreement to support his ambitions without question. It was this unvoiced pact that had solidified their marriage, making it stronger in its own peculiar way. She admired his cunning, his strategic mind, and in return, she offered her own strengths, her own form of loyalty that was unwavering.

What else was she to do? She couldn’t leave him for fear of her life, but she could choose to be useful to him in their time together. She could try.

Besides, is this not what she wanted?

No, she did not want a man who tried to bathe his own brother in dragonfire, she thought. But he has been good to her since Aerys’ death, so good…

As she looked at him now, she saw not just her husband, but her partner. They were two sides of the same coin, bound by a common goal, driven by a shared determination.

To survive, to thrive. They might never be lovers in the traditional sense, but they had forged something perhaps more enduring.

She tilted her head up in acknowledgement, but then she noticed what he held in his hands.

The iron and ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror. His brother’s crown.

A quick and cutting reminder of what he’d done. A crown that his brother had been anointed with, now in her husband’s nimble fingers. He let the crown dangle from one hand as he reached out to her with the other, so she came to him, her steps uneasy but surer than ever.

He lifted the crown up to her bosom, gesturing for her to take it - so take it she did.

The weight of Aegon the Conqueror's crown was the first thing she noticed - it was heavier than she had imagined. As her fingers traced the intricate designs, she marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into creating this legendary symbol of Targaryen rule.

The crown was a perfect mix of beauty and menace, reflecting the dual nature of its wearers. The metal was cool to the touch, smooth yet deceptively heavy. The rubies caught the firelight and seemed to burn with a fire of their own. The crown's inner band was lined with rich, black velvet, worn smooth by the many heads it had adorned. She ran her fingers along the lining, feeling the faint indentations left by those who had worn it before her, from Aegon himself to the rulers who had followed in his wake.

Now, her own husband was empowered by the power this crown symbolized.

With a steady breath, she stood on her toes, lifting the crown higher. Aemond lowered his head slightly, allowing her to place the crown upon his brow. The moment was charged with tension, the air thick. As she settled the crown onto his head, it fit as if it had been made for him, the rubies gleaming against his silver hair.

Her hands lingered for a moment, adjusting the crown until it sat perfectly. She stepped back, her eyes never leaving his as he turned to the mirror on his vanity. She stood right by his side, catching his gaze in their reflections.

Aemond straightened, the crown now firmly on his brow, and he looked every inch the king he aspired to be. The shadows in the room seemed to recede, and for a moment, the firelight cast a golden halo around him.

“Looks better on me than it ever did on him,” Aemond said, his voice low and edged with a bitter satisfaction, the statement hanging heavy in the air.

The shock of his words registered in a flicker of her eyes, a tightening of her lips, but it was there, palpable between them. Sensing her reaction, he squeezed her hip, his touch possessive, as if to anchor her to him.

“Do you not agree, wife?” he pressed, his tone challenging, almost playful but with an undercurrent of something darker. His words passed like heat through her ear as he bent down onto her shoulder to utter them, in heavy contrast to the coolness of the crown that now kissed her skin.

“You mustn’t say such things,” she replied, her voice a careful blend of caution and reprimand.

“‘Tis the truth, is it not?” he insisted, his gaze unwavering, boring into hers, seeking affirmation or defiance.

“I will not answer that question,” she said firmly, her tone brokering no argument.

Aemond’s eyes flashed, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “I wear it better than the King,” he spat, the last word laden with contempt.

She met his eyes in the mirror, her reflection as resolute as her stance. “You are my lord husband, the Prince Regent. It is not my place to disagree,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, a clear indication of her refusal to partake in a conversation that bordered dangerously on treason.

“Perhaps I should commission a crown for you. A queen to stand by me,” he mused, a dangerous glint in his eye, his hand sliding from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

Her mind raced, a cold dread seeping into her thoughts. If they were to be the King and Queen, then half his family would have to be dead. Aemond was not above hurting Aegon - he’s already done it once. No, no, no—

In a sudden and decisive moment, she broke away from his grasp, her skirts swishing as she whirled around. The silk and velvet fabric rustled in the heavy silence. She reached up and took the crown from his head, her hands steady despite the tumult in her mind. She set it on the vanity with deliberate care, the metal clinking softly against the polished wood.

Aemond’s smirk deepened at her defiance, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her cheek. “You’ve never been a woman of growth then?” he challenged, his voice a low murmur, his breath warm against her skin.

“Only that which comes without bloodshed,” she retorted, her voice steady, though her heart pounded in her chest.

“Hm,” he hummed, his expression inscrutable as he took a step back, giving her space but never breaking eye contact.

The room was thick with tension, the crown now a silent witness to their exchange. As she looked at him, she saw not just the ambition that drove him but the danger that lurked beneath.

His ambition was a fire, one that could either warm him or consume him entirely.

In that moment, she knew that their survival depended not just on their unity but on her ability to temper his desires. She would stand by him, support him, but she would also be the voice of caution, the anchor that kept them from drifting into chaos.

The tension in the room ebbed. "When do you march to Harrenhal?" she asked softly, her fingers deftly working the fastenings of his tunic so she can undress him for bed.

"In a fortnight," Aemond replied, his voice steady. "Cole and I will amass the troops needed by then." He lifted his arms slightly, allowing her to pull the tunic over his head. The fabric rustled as it fell to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist up.

Her movements were precise and practiced as she helped him undress. She removed his eyepatch too, revealing the sapphire set in his empty socket. This act, once so charged with tension, had become almost inconsequential - their marriage has grown, she thought.

As she moved to unlace her own dress, Aemond stepped behind her, his fingers skillfully undoing the laces of her bodice. "My mother does not speak much to me anymore," he said quietly, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. "I believe she is jealous of my authority - power that she would have liked to wield in Aegon's stead, if the council hadn't chosen me."

She listened in silence, feeling the weight of his words as he undid the last lace. She shrugged off the dress, letting it pool around her feet before stepping out of it. "Your mother loves you," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "But the burden of power is heavy, and it changes people."

Aemond’s hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment before he stepped back, allowing her to put on her shift. She moved to the vanity, removing the pins from her hair and letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. She caught his reflection in the mirror, already under the sheets, watching her with an intensity that made her heart quicken.

When she turned to join him in bed, the faint firelight cast a soft glow over their room. Aemond's gaze followed her every movement and she slipped under the covers, the warmth of his body a welcome contrast to the cool air of the chamber.

They lay facing each other, the silence between them comfortable. She reached out, her fingers tracing the contours of his face, feeling the roughness of his scar and the smoothness of his skin.

Aemond's hand moved to her forehead, brushing away a stray lock of hair before trailing down the side of her face, his touch light and deliberate. "The war progresses," he began, his fingers following a slow, deliberate path down her neck to her collarbone. "Our troops are amassing strength, and Vhagar has had her rest."

She gasped softly as his hand moved lower, his thumb brushing over her breast, lingering there as he spoke. "The Small Council debates strategy for Harrenhal," he continued, his voice a low rumble, "and I've been training harder than ever."

“Of course you have.”

His hand moved to the other breast, cupping it gently, his thumb circling the nipple until it hardened under his touch. She moaned softly, her breath catching as she watched his hand in her line of sight, mesmerized by his touch and his words.

"We will strike with precision and force," Aemond said, his hand sliding further down her body, grazing her ribs and stomach. "Cole believes we can take them by surprise."

His hand slipped under her shift, his fingers finding her wet and wanting. She gasped, her hips arching toward his touch, her need palpable. "Aemond," she breathed, her voice a mix of plea and desire.

He wasted no time, his body moving to hover over hers. His lips followed the path his hand had taken, leaving a trail of fiery hot kisses from her neck to her breasts, each kiss punctuated by his words. "We will defeat them," he murmured against her skin, his lips closing around a clothed nipple, sucking gently before continuing downward. "We will take Harrenhal."

Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles white with effort, but he took one hand and guided it to him. He moved lower, his kisses searing a path down her stomach as he pushed her shift up, his tongue dipping into her navel. "Husband, please," she moaned, her body trembling with anticipation.

He descended further, his lips finally reaching her cunt. He licked a long, slow line from her entrance to her pearl, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub before sucking it gently. She cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair, her hips bucking against his mouth.

His tongue worked her with a practiced skill, flicking and swirling, his lips sucking and tugging. "So wet for me," he murmured between licks, his voice sending shivers down her spine.

She moaned louder, her body writhing under his touch, her need building with every flick of his tongue. "Aemond," she gasped, "I'm going to—”

"Sīr gevie." So beautiful.

His words pushed her over the edge, her body tensing as she came undone beneath him. She cried out, her fingers clutching his hair, her body shaking with the force of her peak. He lapped at her pleasure through her climax, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she lay spent and trembling.

When she finally stilled, he kissed his way back up her body, his lips lingering on her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipples one last time. He settled beside her, his head nestled between her breasts, his hand resting possessively on her hip.

She offered to return the favor, her hand trailing down his chest, but he stopped her gently. "Not tonight," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm as he buried himself into her chest as tightly as he could. His breath warm against her skin, he calmed down at the steady fall and rise of her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

The vision of the Conqueror’s crown on his desk - gleaming, taunting, terrifying - was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

Aemond found himself weighed down by emotions that he neither anticipated nor fully understood. This newfound closeness with his wife was a double-edged sword, cutting through his well-guarded defenses. The loss of their son had forged a bond between them, a shared grief that brought them closer in ways he couldn't have predicted. Yet, he felt an undercurrent of unease.

His mind, ever analytical and cautious, wrestled with the implications of their growing connection. The admission of his near-fratricidal thoughts should have been a cause for her to recoil, to distance herself from him. Instead, she had not only forgiven him but had also invited him into her bed, an act of trust that both warmed and unnerved him.

Why? Why? Why?

Aemond's wariness stemmed from the unfamiliarity of it all. Affections had always been something to grasp at. His life had been a series of calculated moves, a constant struggle for power and control. But now, he found himself speaking truths he had never intended to share, revealing parts of his soul he had long kept hidden. It annoyed him, this loss of control. It annoyed him how easily she could draw out his secrets, how her presence softened the edges of his guarded heart.

She’s never proven herself to be anything but faithful, his wife. Even when he was less than good to her, she did her duty like the Princess she married him to be.

Yet, beneath the irritation and paranoia, there was a deeper, more profound desire. He wanted this connection, this closeness that terrified him. He yearned for the comfort of her touch, the solace of her understanding. It was a maddening paradox: the need to protect himself clashing with the desire to surrender to her completely.

This was not like with Sylvi, whom he had not gone to see since his wife had willingly come to him that fateful night. Here, it was a partnership of equals. Neither of them knew where it was taking them, no experienced hand to guide them.

He’d begun fucking her each night too, and he wondered how long it’d be before her womb quickened with his child. They needed an heir, and he needed to give her a child again.

He’d wronged her the first time, he won’t do it again.

Aemond sat on a chair beside the hearth, with her sitting at his feet with her embroidery in a rare moment of undisturbed rest. His fingers dug into her scalp in a calming manner, though it was more an effort to calm himself than her.

Regency. The word lingered in Aemond's mind, a whisper of power and responsibility. He would approach it with an iron fist. He would not be made a fool of, not like Aegon. His thoughts of being better than his brother consumed him, a fire that burned with fierce determination. He would rule justly, with strength and decisiveness. No one would dare challenge his authority or question his decisions. He would be a leader worthy of his name, a ruler who commanded respect and fear in equal measure.

And he would have to do it all in his brother’s name.

He looked down at his wife, her presence grounding him in the reality of the moment. His fingers moved gently, tracing the contours of her scalp, feeling the softness of her hair. This simple act of touch was a rare comfort for him, a connection that soothed the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind.

“He has bastard children, you know?” he said abruptly, breaking the silence.

“Yes?” she replied softly, her eyes focused on her embroidery.

“He used to watch them fight.”

“Fight?” she echoed, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Silver-haired baseborn babes, thrown into fighting pits to satiate the peculiar needs of the likes of him,” Aemond continued, his tone hardening with disgust. “I’ve had to pull him back to the castle many times after his outings to these places. It is depraved. He… is depraved and a fool. He dishonors Helaena and their children, and then he goes on to make a mockery of his mistakes by watching them scratch and bite at each other, sometimes even until death.”

She then looked up at him, her fingers hovering over his knee in patterns he could not see, her embroidery forgotten. Her eyes searched his, a quiet intensity in her gaze.

“Do you have any baseborn children?” she asked, her voice calm but probing.

“I would not sully myself as such,” he responded sharply, a flicker of anger igniting in his chest.

“You used to frequent the whorehouse too. It would not be completely out of the question.”

Her words stung, and he thought of how he’d always made Sylvi take moon tea after their trysts, how careful he had been. “None of them are worthy of a child born of Valyrian seed… of dragonfire.”

“And I was?” She referred to her time as a mother in the past tense, and it made him bristle.

“You are my wife. Would you be so stupid as to keep yourself on level with a commonborn whore?”

“They used to warm your bed the same way I do.”

“It was never the same,” he snapped, his voice cold and final. A long silence followed, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air.

She then spoke again, her voice softer. “It’s good that you don’t have any illegitimate children. Say what you will about them, but they are simply babes. Born through no fault of their own. If anything, it is not the children that are illegitimate, but the fathers that seed them.”

If anything, it is not the children that are illegitimate, but the fathers that seed them. Her words echoed in his mind, striking a chord deep within him. He was taken aback by the weight of her statement, the truth that lay beneath her gentle rebuke.

“Are you calling the King illegitimate, wife?” he asked, his tone challenging.

“I will admit to no such thing,” she said, her voice steady and unwavering with a playful smile.

Minx.

She then stood, the movement breaking the tension that had settled between them. He watched her, waiting for her to help undress him for bed, but she stopped in front of him, her toes shuffling anxiously. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation that held her back.

“Out with it, wife,” he commanded, his voice softer now, a hint of concern creeping into his tone.

“I think I may be with child again. I am not sure, but my blood is late and… I simply feel it. It is too early. Anything could happen, but I did not want to keep it from you. Not now, not in a time of war when things are uncertain.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Aemond felt the world pause. He stared at her, the implications of her revelation sinking in slowly, like a ship slipping beneath the waves. He was not visibly overjoyed, but he hoped she saw his calmness in the way he let his hand rest on her now-flat belly, in the way his eye crinkled and his jaw slackened.

Aerys, Aerys, Aerys.

The name echoed in his mind, a reminder of their shared loss, a shadow that still haunted them. He shared her caution, so he tried to not get his hopes up until she carried the child to term, birthed it, and then watched it grow. His heart thudded in his chest.

“Good,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Mirrī zaldrīzes syt issa naejot gaomagon paktot ondoso.” A little dragon for me to do right by.

He let his hand linger on her belly. His mind wandered to the possibilities, the future they could have. A child, their child, born from both their strengths and their shared grief. He wanted to prove that he could be a better father, a better husband.

He wanted her to think better of him. It was a fragile thing, this warmth they had built – delicate and easily shattered, but it was there.

A few days later, she kept her eyes glued to him as he began his trip to Harrenhal. She only turned briefly to assess all that was happening around her as the troops readied themselves, and he wondered about how much of this was new to her; how much of the world she’d actually seen.

He then remembered Aerys, and that she’d spent most of their marriage in pain, heartache and horror.

Perhaps she’d seen enough.

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON POST NOTIFS FOR @randomdragonfics for fic updates!

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borathae · 1 year ago

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“They’ve seen the centuries come and go, watched empires rise and fall and witnessed the creation of society as it is today. And now you have fallen into their arms, showing them once again that change never stops.”

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut, Hurt and Comfort, Vampire!AU, Magic!AU, Polyamory!AU

“You change universities after moving towns. Your new university is an old, ancient building with secret tunnels and whispered ghost stories. There are two fraternities, which for some reason always seem to be in a quarrel. Alpha consisting of Kim Taehyung, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin and Min Yoongi. Handsome, porcelain skinned men, who act as if they are out of another century and for some reason everyone on campus seems to be scared of. And Sanguis consisting of Jeon Jungkook, Kim Seokjin and Jung Hoseok. Men with skin just as pale and their faces just as beautiful, who always wear sunglasses when it is light outside and who never seem to open their curtains. And for some peculiar reason you always find yourself in the middle of them….”

Pairing: OT7 x f.Reader with main Taehyung x f.Reader & Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Mystery, Fantasy, Romance, Smut, University!AU, Vampire!AU

《 To Book One 》

“When your endless game of hide and seek with Namjoon sends your little group all over Europe, you have to fight more than just vengeful witches and bloodthirsty demons. Different morals, beliefs and mindsets bring just as much struggle to your bond as your enemies. And soon you have to accept that the world you decided to live in is darker than you initially prepared for.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader, Taehyung x f.Reader & Jungkook x f.Reader + more as the story progresses

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut, Vampire!AU, Magic!AU

《 To Book Two 》

“You and your lovers visit The Plains, a magical realm created for the souls of witches and warlocks and home of your dear grandmother. She welcomes you with raspberry pie and tea. You come with many stories to tell and eager hands to help on her cottage. Golden sunlight, blue moonshine and green forests await you alongside early morning snuggles and late night kisses with your lovers.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader, Jungkook x f.Reader, Taehyung x f.Reader, Yoongi x Jungkook, Taehyung x Jungkook, platonic Yoongi x Taehyung

Genre: Magic!AU, Vampire!AU, Polyamory!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff, Romance, Smut, this is a spin-off meant to be read after the Duology

《 To the Spin-Off 》

#01 - What You Deserve [YG x JK]

#02 - The Piano Teacher [YG x OC]

#03 - Only For You ([YG x OC]

#04 - Mellifluous [TH x OC]

#05 - Safe Hands [YG x OC]

#06 - Rache [TH x JK]

#07 - Captured [YG x OC]

#08 - Illecebra [TH x OC]

#09 - How I Love You [YG x OC]

#10 - Stormy Nights [YG x OC]

#11 - Of Simpler Times [TH x JM]

#12 - Best Seat [YG x OC]

#13 - Deep [JK]

#14 - Painted Blue [TH x OC]

#15 - Drunk on You [YG x OC]

#16 - I Want Your Love Forever [YG x OC]

#17 - Between Friends [YG x HS]

#18 - Bed Head [JK x OC]

#19 - Don’t Tease Please [JK x OC]

#20 - Fade into You [YG x OC]

#21 - Rope Bunny [YG x OC]

#22 - Lavender Warmth [YG x OC]

#23 - The Scholar, The Princess and the Master [YG x OC x JK]

#24 - Picnics [YG x OC x JK]

#25 - Where Love Is [YG x OC]

#26 - Wake Up Call [YG x OC]

#27 - Devotion [TH x OC]

#28 - Bewitched [YG x OC]

#29 - wanna see myself inside you [JK x OC]

#30 - Princess Treatment [YG x OC]

#31 - Guilty Tears [TH x OC]

#32 - Moonlight & Campsites [YG x OC]

#33 - ILY [YG x OC]

#34 - Morning Hours [JK x OC]

#35 - Silly Fights [YG x OC]

#36 - Carefree [YG & TH]

#37 - Cozy Times [YG x OC]

#38 - Drive You Fucking Crazy [TH x OC]

#39 - FWB [HS x OC]

#40 - A Good Life [YG x OC]

#41 - Impatient [JK x TH]

#42 - Love Wins All [TH x OC]

#43 - Cozy [YG x OC]

#44 - Listen In [HS x JK x TH]

#45 - moonlight [TH x OC]

#46 - Stardust [ TH x JK]

#47 - Protective [TH x JK]

#48 - Babybun [YG x OC x JK]

#49 - Just Relax [YG x HS]

#50 - Tenderness [JM & OC]

#51 - Creamer [YG x TH]

#52 - Shut You Up [JK x OC]

#53 - Double is Best [YG x OC x HS]

#54 - Fuck Yourself [JK x OC]

#55 - Used [TH x OC]

#56 - Grateful [YG x OC x JK]

#57 - Good Doll [TH x JK]

#58 - Prove It [YG x OC]

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gonzo-rella · 6 months ago

Text

Together in the Shadows | Eloise Bridgerton

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

NOTE: I prefer to write the reader as gender neutral, but as Bridgerton is set in a very gendered time, that poses a challenge. The reader in this is implied to be, societally, a woman; they are alone with Eloise without worrying about scandal, so this implies that the reader is perceived as a woman. However, I've deliberately been as vague as possible about the reader character to make them as close to gender neutral as possible and haven't explicitly referred to them as being a woman so that some nonbinary and trans folks like myself can feel comfortable reading this fic.

Relationship(s): Eloise Bridgerton x fem-coded/possibly gn!reader (romantic)

Summary: Your sister's last-minute ball is disastrous, but at least it allows you to spend some time alone with Eloise.

Warnings: Nothing beyond kissing. (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 0.8k

(A/N: I'm so in love with Eloise Bridgerton. I want to be in a secret situationship with her, so here's my attempt at exploring that. Also, I haven't actually written a lot of fics that include kissing, so I'm glad I got some practise in writing something I normally don't write. A lot of my original projects are romcoms (including a Regency-inspired duology and a zombie apocalypse story) so it'd help me out a great deal if you let me know what you think of how I did writing the romance in this!)

“Is it not a bit chilly to be out here, Miss Bridgerton?” A grin tugged at Eloise’s lips. She stopped dead in her tracks and peered over her shoulder, not quite looking at you. For a moment, she listened to your footsteps as you paced towards her, though the rustling of grass under your shoes was barely audible over the piercing noise of the string quartet that carried itself through the windows and doors. She scrunched up her nose at the unfortunate sound.

“Perhaps. But, I am afraid I may spiral into a state of madness should I stand in that room for a second longer. I can, however, withstand this cold and my mama’s scolding of me for my absence.”

You wore a mocking frown as you finally reached her side. You were both illuminated by the golden light that shone through the windows and the pale glow of the moon. She turned her head to look at you. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. She was naturally beautiful, but seeing her in this lighting… she looked ethereal. It took you a moment to compose yourself enough to form coherent thought and speech. You weren’t sure that she had noticed the momentary falter.

“In my dear sister’s defence, she poured her whole soul into planning this spectacular event this afternoon.”

Eloise snorted.

“It certainly is a spectacle. I shudder to think what Lady Whistledown will write about it.”

You chuckled and linked arms with her. Briefly averting your gaze, you looked through the window at the attendees who were pretending to enjoy themselves or whispering to each other, presumably uttering some cruel things about this awful ball. Meanwhile, Eloise’s eyes flickered down to where the pair of you made contact, then back up to your face. The skin of your arm brushed against hers, and the gentle friction generated a light tingling sensation that flooded her whole body. She almost couldn’t keep herself upright, and she tightened her grip on your arm to steady herself. Despite the cold night air, her cheeks burned. With her free hand, she reached up to feel the warming flesh of her face. Heat seeped through the fabric of her gloves to her fingertips. The second you returned your attention to her, she quickly lowered her arm, embarrassed.

“However scathing it may be, I assure you that my sister will be delighted to have even been acknowledged,” you said. You paused before continuing. “Given how dreadful everything is in there, I shouldn’t think our absence will be noticed. Would you like to wander the grounds so we do not freeze to death?”

A breathy laugh escaped her lips.

“Of course. Might we wander far enough that we can escape that cacophony? Somewhere that will afford us some… privacy, perhaps?”

You grinned back at her.

“Certainly, Miss Bridgerton. I know the perfect place for us to enjoy one another’s company.”

Stealing a final glance behind you, you led her to a secluded part of the vast garden, where you would both be hidden by grand hedges. You let go of her arm and turned to face her.

“Is this to your liking?”

A smirk tugged at her lips.

“Anywhere that you are is to my liking.”

“That is so very sweet, I can almost forgive how nauseatingly trite it is.”

She rested her hand on her chest in mock-offence.

“Oh, how you wound me.”

Of course, she can’t have been that wounded, given her grin.

“Would you feel better if I offered you a kiss?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“And, that is not trite?”

You shrugged innocently, unable to suppress a smile.

“I could not think of a more creative way to ask if I could kiss you. I know how you value originality.”

Without hesitation, Eloise placed her hands on your cheeks, and brought your face close to hers. Her breath fanned your skin. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched her gaze flicker to your lips.

“Being direct would have done,” she muttered. “After all, I have been waiting all night for this.”

“Then, why wait a second longer?”

Eloise let out a low chuckle, then closed the gap between you entirely. The kiss was gentle at first, but within seconds her hunger for you became clear. One hand moved to the back of your head to bring you in closer. The other remained planted firmly on the side of your face, her gloved thumb grazing your cheekbone. The motion was so light that you gasped quietly into the kiss, to Eloise’s delight. Her lips moved against yours with fervour, as though she was determined to take in and savour as much of your taste as possible. You rested your palms on her shoulders, and as your hand drifted up her neck you could feel her racing pulse. Then, your fingers became entangled in her hair. You tugged on it softly, and a quiet hum escaped her lips.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, but she only managed to get her face an inch away from yours. She laughed quietly, while you couldn’t help but grin.

“Was that to your liking, Miss Bridgerton?”

“You are always to my liking.”

#eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #x reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral!reader

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princessbrunette · 9 months ago

Note

thinking ab their pretty little gf w a not so stellar home life comin back to the chateau in tears, tryin to explain what happened but she's simply just a blubbering mess. the duology of jayj who's ready to give your old man a taste of his medicine vs daddy!john bee who's a little more levelheaded n thinking rationally. saying smth like 'just wanna forget' would have those two jumping to your aid - 🍓

₊˚⊹♡𐙚♡𓆪ֶָ֢

“yup, i’m gonna kill him. murder him in cold blood.”

“you are not going to kill her dad, jj.”

whilst the blonde paces, developing a routine of yanking his cap off his head, running a hand through matted tresses before placing it back on— john b, the more level headed of the two kneels by your side, a gentle hand on your back.

you’d been crying, infact — you cried all the way to the chateau after an explosive spat with your terrifying father. it just didn’t feel fair, how can some people have the privilege of feeling totally safe and welcomed in their own home, by their own family — but you had to suffer? you felt in despair, just wanting everything happening outside of the chateau to stop.

“dude i’m tired of this asshole actin’ like — like he can just mess her around and scare her, look at her john b she’s scared!” jj rages, trying to bring his voice into a whisper-yell despite you being right there, stopping his pacing to direct his anger at the brunette by your side.

“i know, but right now you just need to calm it down. i doubt she wants you to go all john wick on her dad. sit down.” your face is in your hands as you weep, so you miss the way john b’s eyes widen in warning to jj, a silent message for him to quit acting out. the blonde licks his lips, shaking his head feeling like he was totally justified, but he does as he says regardless, lowering himself to sit at your other side.

“how ya holding up, princess?” he finally speaks, scratching the back of your head like a puppy. you remove your clammy hands from your face, staring down at them once they hang in your lap.

“s’just not fair.” you rasp, and you feel john b nodding at your side. you daren’t look at him, his large concerned puppy dog eyes sure to set off your waterworks once again so you look at jj instead, almost looking for solidarity. if anyone understood your home life situation, it was him.

his brows are all creased up sorrowfully and he presses his lips together, thumbing the freshest tear that dares to race down your cheek. you feel john b rest his chin on your shoulder, wanting you to feel his presence even when you didn’t face him.

“what can we do?” his warm voice rumbles right in your ear.

at first, you don’t know — and that look of hopelessness in your eyes almost cracks jj’s heart in two. he knew from experience how shitty it felt— but seeing it from the third person perspective was almost worse. he would take a million beatings from his dad if it meant no one was to ever lay a hand or throw a venomous word in your direction. “anything, babydoll.” he reiterates.

as fucked up as it is, having two male figures at your side— two who you’d like to think held a comfortable amount of authority over you, a small slither of the hole that was left in your heart from your daddy issues was filled with a warm honey-like feeling. maybe your emotions were all fucked up and out of whack, or maybe you just really appreciated the comfort — because you felt that warmth spread lower at the way they coddled you.

“i just wanna forget. wanna forget it all happened.” you whisper, and at first they don’t get it. well, they do— but not in the way you mean. john b’s hand creeps up to massage at the back of your neck, trying to relax you as he nods, frowning as he tries to piece together what he can do. always the fixer.

“okay, we can do that. what… specifically do you—”

“i need you.” you turn to look at him now, faces close, breath mingling. “i need you both to… make me forget. just don’t wanna think.” your whisper holds a tinge of an oncoming mewl to it and their faces melt in understanding.

“oh, baby.” john b coo’s, catching on and you feel yourself physically already starting to melt at the tone.

“that mean what i think it means?” jj’s breath is at your neck, fingers sliding up your arm to the strap of your tank top. slowly, carefully.

“please jus’ make me feel better.” you slur like the effects of a drug are finally kicking in, the two boys seeming to close in on you more by the minute.

“alright baby. daddies gonna help, okay? gonna make it feel better.” john b cups your cheek and you wring weakly at his wrist, pulling his palm to your wet mouth where you press kisses to the warm coarse skin, a silent plea to follow through.

jj’s mouth follows his touch next, a kiss on the junction between your neck and shoulder, wisps of blonde hair sticking out the front of his cap tickling your cheekbone. “i should’a known that’s what you were after, you want that head all empty don’t you mama?”

like that, you’re putty in their hands.

₊˚⊹♡𐙚♡𓆪ֶָ֢

#🍓 anon #jj x reader x john b

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a-heart-of-kyber · 3 months ago

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Me: Once again, a modern media corporation has wounded me by ending a story poorly. Time to rewatch The Mummy Duology.

Someone: Trilogy. The Mummy Trilogy.

Me:

Me: *whispers* Duology.

#the mummy #the mummy 1999 #the mummy returns

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 4 months ago

Text

織姫

cw. f!reader (afab), canon divergent, manga spoilers, established relationship, dissociation, canon-typical violence, non-linear storytelling

pairing. makima x reader

notes. part of the man is a blazing star universe so i would give the two previous fics a read before diving into this one as it is key to understanding everything here. in a way, orihime 「織姫」 is a love letter to what was originally a duology so i hope old readers enjoy spotting the references! i had a lot of fun experimenting with detailing, when not to use it and even when only relying on only dialogue to carry a scene and i hope the payoff works in my favor.

Dawn is a time of day you appreciate more when you don’t have work.

While you ordinarily complained how the hours in those days vanished before you could enjoy them, dawn has always been the exception. Your early mornings have always moved slower compared to the rest. It’s a slow, quiet whisper you value fully, especially now as you enjoy the sound of the waves as you walk your assorted mix of pets on the beach. You’re sure the two of you look like quite the pair with your seven dogs on their leashes and one of your two cats in a leashed harness.

Makima is a woman bathed in the light of dawn.

You release a sigh of satisfaction, watching your girlfriend go ahead of you as your dogs stretch their legs.

It’s in how the morning rays dapple her form in near perfect circles. In the hues of her pale carmine hair that cascades across her bare skin. It’s even in the gold of her eyes, much like the yellow sun that peeks through the horizon.

It’s strange to think that this time two years ago, Makima had been a colleague you couldn’t stand to be around. Now you’ve willingly allowed a string of fate the exact shade as her hair to bind you both in the most irrevocable of ways.

“I won’t use my power on you, in exchange, we have to stay together forever. We’ll eat a lot together, sleep together, and live a happy life together.”

The contract of a lifetime ー marriage in its own right.

Gone are the days of patrols, weapons and putting your life on the line to ensure the safety of the general populace.

How peculiar this entire journey has been.

You will never pretend your reasons for joining the Bureau were pure of heart; you’d never dreamed of glory or protecting others.

For Makima, you’d gladly put your entire being on the line.

It goes against the nature of the Control Devil to have equal relationships.

Makima has one with you.

Moral ambiguities be damned. I believe in you. It’s a vow you know you will take to your grave as you watch your lover pause, wondering what has caught her excitable dogs’ eyes. Bagheera’s crooked tail tip twitches in interest, bounding forward with clumsy footsteps and you chuckle as you increase your pace so the cat can see it too. Tora, on the other hand, is comfortable in her backpack carrier. This is how mornings are done in your family. “What’s got the troublesome octet so excited?”

“They’ve found a crab,” her voice is amused and mellifluous. Crab sounds like a wonderful idea for dinner and you’re sure she has the same idea when you hear dulcet giggles slip from her person. Like a child, Makima turns to face you with her lips stretched into a delighted smile.

It’s then that carmine suddenly becomes jet and there’s a mole underneath her left eye that wasn’t there before.

Ah.

“[First], I want crab for dinner!” Nayuta beams brightly.

“Damn you have expensive taste,” you tease in spite of your stupor. Right. Those memories aren’t mine.

The dogs you walk remain but all but two of five of them are different from the seven you could have sworn were with you just a moment ago. Bagheera isn’t with you either, succumbing to his health issues years ago when you were still a child. All that remains of the cats you adopted is Tora, an old lady you left at home to snore on the couch with the Power's new kitten.

“Have ‘em,” Himeno told you shortly after you moved in with her in the quiet town of Shonai. “They were yours anyway. Oh, but Meowy’s always been Power’s.”

The ringed eyes are the only part of Nayuta that is the same as the woman from your memories. The eyes and the braid you know she'll twist her hair into later.

You wish the image of that woman would disappear.

Thankfully Nayuta is seemingly unaware of your dilemma. “I’ll get some in a few checks,” you promise and you receive an impish grin in return. You smile instinctively, your earlier troubles assuaged.

It’s a magic only Nayuta possesses.

The magic is disturbed when one of the dogs yelps in pain and Nayuta guffaws at the display of a small crab latched onto its nose.

You wonder if you had grown up surrounded by humans if you would find her reaction unsettling. As one raised among devils and fiends, however, Nayuta’s reaction is only standard even as she yanks the crab away with ease and tosses it into a returning wave. “That’ll teach you not to play with crabs,” Nayuta laughter subsides into chuckles as she pets the pup’s head.

You love the dawn.

How the wind runs its invisible fingers through Nayuta's hair much like a musician strumming the strings of a harp.

How the light of the sun crests Nayuta's head much like a halo although you're sure the god of such beings will likely you spurn you for the comparison. How ironic that a devil is the closest comparison you have to the opposing pole.

When it’s like this, it’s easy to pretend you and Nayuta are the last ones on earth on this beach.

There are no devil hunters, no other humans and there are no other devils either.

You digress that the truth of your reality is fine, however.

You work 6 out of 7 days in a week at a local convenience store all the while Nayuta pursues a degree through online courses at Tohoku University. Himeno goes to the pub once or twice every other week to indulge in the non-alcoholic beverages her sister allows her to drink. Even Power somehow manages a steady job helping Ichika sell the vegetables she grows in the garden. A well-placed hat and even a Fiend can blend in to some extent.

Work is limited for a Fiend in hiding from the government.

Everything is limited when it’s the Control Devil remaining out of the government’s sight.

“Do you ever wish you could actually go on campus?”

“Not particularly.”

Nayuta’s never really been a people person though, so you suppose it truly doesn’t matter to her whether she can physically attend Tohoku or not. So you subsequently deduce that she likely won’t care that she’ll be limited to working remotely for the rest of her life either.

Nayuta fingers dug into the back of your shirt, body tense. Her abilities required she believe one was lesser than her for her to order them, that was impossible when you were both scared out of your wits cornered with nowhere to go.

The woman kept an eye on you both, weapon drawn in one hand, phone in the other. “I found the C-”

Unwittingly, your mind drifts back to the red-haired woman as you watch the loose strands of Nayuta’s hair dance in the wind. Makima.

You don’t know much about the previous incarnation of the Control Devil save for what tidbits you allowed Himeno and Kishibe to tell you. Himeno did her best to sugarcoat it but blunt as Kishibe was, you know for certain that Makima wasn’t the kindest individual.

“ー kept her on a tight leash when she was alive,” the drunkard raised his flask to his lips for the tenth time in the three minutes. Every fiber of your being burns with a hatred for a man that isn’t wholly your own at the comment. “But even with that leash, she was a ticking time bomb. So keep this one on a leash that’s even tighter. Otherwise, she’ll turn out like Makima again.”

Makima is Makima, Nayuta is Nayuta.

ー is ー, you’re you.

“Hey, Nayuta, pick a country,” you call for the one you love. The one you love. The proof is when she turns and Nayuta is all that remains. You don't hate Makima. You don’t think it’s possible to hate any incarnation of the Control Devil. But Makima is who ー loved and their sun had long since fallen. “One that doesn’t have a devil hunting association in it.”

“Seychelles,” Nayuta doesn’t miss a beat, grinning the devilish grin you adore all the while. “We still need to have our honeymoon.”

A dirty sheet turned into a veil rests on jet black hair while you recited your on-the-fly vows.

“Yeah,” you chuff as you rest your hands in your pocket. “I owe you one, huh?”

A honeymoon and the whole wedding too.

ー

“What’s this new job of yours again?”

“I got a gig cashiering the next town over,” you pinch the green collar of your uniform as a physical display of your employment.

Himeno’s one eye closes as she hums thoughtfully into her mug, “what about your job at the konbini?” Her smile is as plastered as wet cement.

“It doesn’t pay as much,” you shrug. It isn’t the first time Himeno has made some sort of stir about your sudden change in employment, it likely won’t be the last. “If I’m gonna get paid to kiss ass all day, I at least wanna get paid more than chump change.”

“You make chump change as a cashier no matter where you work,” you choose to ignore Himeno’s comment. When her sister’s sharp stare of disapproval lands on the former devil hunter, you know the conversation will be dropped for now. Thanks, Ichika.

Ichika smiles kindly, always a touch too gentle and understanding. It’s easy to appreciate the woman’s soft-hearted nature. “Well, I for one, am glad you have a pay raise even if it’s somewhere else,” the dark-haired woman tells you. “We both are,” her soft blue eyes dare her sister to disagree with her sentiments. Himeno is smart enough not to voice against them. Gentle as Ichika is, Himeno will always crumble at the threat of her anger. “What time will you be home? We should eat something special to celebrate!”

“Crab sound good this weekend?” At your suggestion, Nayuta perks with interest for the first time since breakfast began. You bump your knees together lightly. With what you’ll be making now, you can afford to buy her crab every night. “I can pick some up before I head back after my last shift of the week.”

On the other side of the table, Power is just as interested in the suggestion. “Crab,” the horned woman inquires with a fiendish grin. “Finally something worthy of my taste buds! Servant,” the Blood Fiend’s strawberry-colored locks whip around in her excitement. It’s only barely doused by the unamused look Himeno shoots in her direction. Barely. “Human,” an improvement. “Make a crab dish for us!”

Ichika takes Power’s demands in stride, “I think crab would be a nice treat. Don’t you?”

Matching blue gazes share a quiet conversation before Himeno relents with a tired smile, “I guess crab isn’t that bad an idea.”

Power guffaws with prideful glee as Nayuta’s expression twists into impish satisfaction. Her few-weeks-old dream of crab will finally be fulfilled. A peaceful glow washes over you as you take in the sight of her drinking miso soup from a finely polished bowl.

Himeno’s house is a far cry from the abandoned building you both once called home.

The wooden floor is clean, not dirtied from even filthier shoes and haphazardly drawn images made with sharp rocks used as chalk. In this house, you have three meals a day. The limit to what you can take is no longer reduced to only what you’re able to carry.

It’s a life you always dreamed you’d one day share.

Although admittedly you never accounted for the additional humanoid bodies living in it.

“Well, I gotta get goin’,” you slurp the last of your black tea before wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “See you guys later,” you stack your dishes neatly atop one another, waving off Ichika’s attempt to take them from you. “See you later,” you tell Nayuta warmly, pressing your lips against hers for only a moment to spare yourself from feeling one of Power’s dirty napkins hitting your shoulder. “Have a good day at school.”

“Call me for lunch,” to the untrained ear, it’s a demand. To one as experienced as yourself in the language of Nayuta, it’s a request.

It’s an uncannily peaceful morning for a household of humans, fiends and devils. One that religious zealots would lose their minds over.

On an ordinary morning you yearn for the comfort of your and Nayuta’s bed and letting the hours roll by as you embark on your quest for work. This time, your stomach twists with discomfort as you hit the freeway.

It’s nearly an ordinary morning.

As you promptly pass the exit that actually would have led to the town next door, you know the last chance for ‘ordinary’ has sailed. The nearly three hours long drive it takes to get to Sendai is long enough for you to stew in your guilt. You park inconspicuously near the woodsy outskirts of the city, thumbs resting on the steering wheel.

It’s too late to turn back now, you remind yourself. I’m doing this for us.

Two adult passports.

Visas.

Housing.

Food.

Permanent Residency.

You’d never be able to save for it all with the chump change you’d been making at the local konbini. Nor would Nayuta ever be able to live a free life under the restrictions placed on you by those who took you in. There is no major country in the world Nayuta can be free in.

Nayuta had been a stranger, once upon a time. A stranger who never existed in your conscience and whose life you never perceived.

Then your eyes met and you experienced the birth of a universe.

You’ll gladly put your entire being on the line.

“Do you want to protect Nayuta?” Your grip tightens for a moment longer before finally reaching for the duffle bag you hid underneath the passenger seat.

“Well yeah, obviously.”

“Then follow two rules. Stay away from major cities and don’t join the Public Safety Devil Hunters.”

You've technically broken only one of Kishibe’s rules.

ー

Your parents used to take the first day of school very seriously.

It was always a momentous time when you went up a grade level. Photos were snapped constantly and after the first day ended successfully, there’d always be some sort of celebratory dinner. When you saw Ichika tearfully take in yours and Nayuta’s uniforms, you can tell things in this household were going to go the same way.

“The two of you are starting to become young women,” she smiled sappily, polaroid camera already in hand. “It feels like it was only yesterday you two came here and now you’re already going to school! You’re both so beautiful!”

Nayuta certainly was, you wanted to say. Her chin-length black hair now stretched to the upper middle of her back, framing her gold-colored eyes perfectly. But that would only make Ichika gush further about how you both were equally gorgeous like a proud mother.

You’d have thought you and Nayuta were infants when you were brought to this house with how Ichika coo’d and aww’d. Except the two of you were already thirteen when you’d come to the Nagano household and a year later, the school term had been going on for a few months. It had been unclear if you’d be starting high school or being held back. Donned in the dark brown uniform of Higashi Middle School, you knew the answer.

Even Power had on a uniform, refusing to be left out of the celebrations.

“That’s right, our little women,” Himeno laughed, holding an energy drink like it was a beer can. “Smile for the camera!”

You were able to turn the corners of your lips into a smile but, if anything, Nayuta’s scowl only deepened.

“Nayuta,” Himeno sighed in frustration. “I know you’re upset that you and [First] are in different classes but we’ve been through this. It’ll be good for you. Ichika,” she looked to her sister for support, blue eyes pleading. “back me up on this.”

Nagano Younger placed the camera down with an empathetic smile, “don’t you want to make friends?”

Ringed yellow eyes practically glowed as Nayuta sharply looked at the woman, “what do we need friends for? All [First] needs is me.”

The Nagano sisters shared a look that was a mixture of concern and exasperation. The primary debate of the weekend had finally reared its ugly head just before you were due to leave. Before either of them could say anything to placate their youngest ward, however, Power's manic laughter filled the air. When she had her fill of amusement, she rubbed the bottom of her nose as her laughs faded into chuckles. “The Great Power was once this immature,” Once? “Nayuta!” She points a sharp nail in the direction of the only other non-human in the house. “Stop behaving like a child! You’re reflecting poorly on my teachings!”

“Bark like a dog.”

Power dropped on all fours and barked the moment the demand left Nayuta’s mouth. The actual dogs in the house went into an excited frenzy, barking alongside with her.

“What did I tell you about taking your powers out on people because you’re upset,” all hints of playfulness left Himeno’s body in favor of displeasure. “Nayuta,” she placed her energy drink on the table at the young devil’s silence. Ichika sighed quietly, placing her camera down before she quietly turned to the kitchen.

“The two of you need to learn how to interact with people. Outside of the house,” the former devil hunter took a glance at the barking fiend. When she sighed, you knew Himeno likely thought that even the interactions within the house needed some work. “Now hurry up and turn Power back.” Nayuta directed her gaze to the nearest window instead. “Nayuta, I’m not asking.”

“Just wait a moment,” Ichika’s lark-like voice rang from where she went about her business. Hurriedly, she arrived with two bowls of ice cream in hand. With her sharp sense of smell, it captured Nayuta’s attention immediately and she held out her hands expectantly. “Don’t you have something you need to do first, young lady?”

Nayuta blinked, seemingly confused as she followed her gaze to where Power crawled on the floor. In the blink of an eye, the barking stopped. “Thank you,” Ichika nodded in satisfaction before she finally handed you both a bowl each, winking at you knowingly.

Power returned to her feet, cheeks hot with anger but whatever she was going to say, she stopped in her tracks the moment you held the bowl of ice cream Ichika gave you directly under her nose. It only took a beat before the Blood Fiend grinned, lifting the bowl as if it's her newest kill. “Gahahaha! I suppose I can accept your humble offerings,” you snorted quietly at the display. If anyone was the child in this house, it was her.

Himeno threaded her fingers through gray and navy blue hair with a whiny sigh, “everyone in this house wants me to age, Ichika. And we can’t just use ice cream to bribe her into behaving! Why does she get ice cream if I don’t get to keep beer!”

“Because your doctor said to either quit or be placed on a liver transplant list so you’d have a head start,” Himeno withered under her sister’s less-than-amused glare. “And I hope you savor that energy drink. Remember what we agreed on - one can per month.”

“And it’s always the smallest size possible,” Himeno grumbled, looking much like a child herself. If you hadn’t known who the older sister was, you would have assumed otherwise. “And low in sugar so it tastes absolutely disgusting.”

Ichika ignored the jab, knowing her sister would drink the disgusting low-sugar drink regardless. “Nayuta,” she began thoughtfully. “I know how important it was for you that you and [First] be in the same class. But there are going to be times when you have to interact with other people and we want you to be able to navigate those times with ease. There are going to be more opportunities for you both to be in the same class, we just want you to be okay with times where you aren’t.” When Ichika looked to you for assistance, Nayuta’s golden gaze turned to you as well.

We can socialize and be in the same class at the same time, can’t we? Truthfully, you hadn’t been thrilled with the class assignments either. It had been you against the world before you met Nayuta when you were left alone on the streets of Beijing. Not knowing what would happen to you with your parents gone, school didn’t seem all too important. You think you might have liked school, you truthfully can’t remember. You even had friends, good friends. You couldn’t seem to remember their faces either. Too much had happened to hold onto those memories.

The last time you’d been in school, you were seven.

It took a fair bit of home study for you and Nayuta to be ready for even middle school. If you had to go to school again, you wanted it to be by each other’s side. The school administration had different thoughts, it seemed. But underneath Ichika’s hopeful eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to spurn her goodwill. You liked Ichika, she was kind. “If we’re in different classes, we can go on dates for lunch. And I can walk you to class each day, like in the movies.”

It’s only when she heard those words that Nayuta looked even remotely enthused about your separation.

“See?” Ichika’s smile widened in her appreciation.

“Alright,” Nayuta leaned against you, not entirely pleased but no longer entirely upset.

It was a solid victory as far as Ichika was concerned.

The rest of the morning went smoothly. Nayuta and Power indulged in their ice cream and when they were finished, Ichika indulged in getting her celebratory photo. Power held her peace sign while yours and Nayuta’s arms were linked tightly. Lunches packed and promises of an extravagant dinner made, the two of you finally left home hand in hand.

ー

“I know damn well that a Fish Devil costs more than that,” you scowl at your employer. “I didn’t drive over two hours to Sendai for you to stiff me on the price. I’ll take this to Yamaguchi if I have to.” That’s the problem with these underground devil hunting jobs. If someone wants to short change you, they will short change you. It’s been five months since you’ve begun your dealings with Nishida and the oaf never ceases trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

“Come on now, [Last],” the slimy businessman raises his hands as if placating a child. He looks more like a Pimp Named Slickback with his crinkled purple suit than someone who works in devil hunting. You suppose one working under the table can’t complain. “We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

“Tell me that when we’ve known each other for a decade,” you point your gloved finger against the desk two, three, four times. Each thudding strongly against the tabletop rattling the bloody axe you’ve placed on it. “550,000 yen. I don’t want even a decimal less.”

Nishida’s lips curl in dismay, “have I ever told you that you’re a real bitch to work with?”

You’ll continue to be one until you’ve gathered all you could, “acknowledgement from the queen of bitches is a real honor. I want my check.”

He rolls his eyes and calls you a few more choice swears under his breath, but he finally complies in writing a check with the correct amount. If you had been anyone else, perhaps Nishida could have paid you the 230,000 yen without issue. Perhaps you’d have even considered that a steal. Your training under Kishibe and Himeno taught you more about pricing devils than you were prepared to admit.

What are the ethics to killing devils when you are dating one?

You decide to follow the devil code of ethics. Kill or be killed, it’s that simple.

It’s never been a question if Nayuta would spurn you for such acts if she were to ever learn of them. It’s the fact you know Nayuta would follow you to Sendai in a heartbeat.

“I found the C-”

You will never bring those unfinished words to reality.

Carefully you remove the gloves on your hands to even more carefully extract your wallet from the ziplock bag you keep it in, placing your check within its pockets. Then you tuck it all away once more before donning a clean pair of gloves instead.

“Ugh, I’m getting hot just looking at you,” Nishida groans, eying you as if you were equal parts insane and excessive. You wonder if he’ll ever get used to the lengths you go to make sure no trace of blood and the smells of other devils touch your person. You don’t even put your axe in the car, it hasn’t been there since it had been a new purchase. No, you keep the rusting thing right here in Nishida’s crappy building in Sendai’s slums.

Trying to hide something from Nayuta’s nose is like trying to rob a bank blindfolded. “I told you already, I don’t want the blood getting on me. Killing devils is gross,” you wave the man off. Five months you’ve been doing this and you haven’t slipped up yet. Your ritual is the same each time ー before you start hunting, you dress in what is practically a glorified hazmat suit. Once work is done, you take it all off with gloves covering your hands and dump it in the trash.”

“It just seems like a lot of hassle,” Nishida scratches the back of his head, nonplussed. “If this ever gets in the way of your job, don’t come crying to me.”

“This coming from the man who doesn’t do the hunting himself is crazy,” you click your tongue in unsurprised annoyance. If it means keeping your proclivities a secret from the house, you’ll wear the hazmats again and again. “I’m not coming in tomorrow, I have a date with my girlfriend. Something you know nothing about. Well, you did. Until about a month ago, right?”

The look on Nishida’s face almost makes you feel better about his attempt to scam you. Almost. “Just go home before I decide to take my offers of employment elsewhere!”

You chortle with pleasure as you finally exit his dusty office.

When you arrive home, the wind must have blown your scent through the door or a cracked window because you walk into Makima’s arms the moment you pass through the door. “Welcome home, [First],” Makima greets you adoringly, red tresses brushing against your jaw. Her arms are as warm as her voice, wrapped around you as loose as one called the Control Devil will allow.

It’s instinctive, how quickly you return the embrace. “That professor finally off your ass?” Strange. Since when has Makima been a student?

Nayuta pulls away from you slightly, just enough to look you in the eye as you converse. Nayuta is the student, you remember. Business management is what she studies. “I don’t know why he-” Nayuta blinks as she takes all of your visuals in. “[First], what’s wrong?”

Your smile falters, “it’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Tired of the memories that don’t belong to you. “Management just really loves working their best employee.” You’re happy tonight is Himeno and Ichika’s pub night where they never drink alcohol but do engage in the card games with the locals. Himeno’s been trying to catch in the midst of a lie you’re sure no one can detect.

“Want me to talk to them then?” Nayuta is too quick to offer her services. I’m earning more than enough now. “I’ll get you a manager’s salary too.”

“Nah,” you shake your head. “I just want it to be tomorrow for our date already.” You’ll be dying silk scarves in town and then you’ll head to a restaurant. If it weren’t for the restrictive life forced upon you by the world you live in, maybe the two of you would live somewhere more exciting. Somewhere with more than enough novelties for you to gawk at in awe.

Nayuta snorts at your dramatic lament, “you’re so cheesy.”

“You’re the cheesy one,” you blow a raspberry against the juncture between her jaw and neck and Nayuta squeals immediately.

“Gahahaha!” Nayuta ducks away and you giggle in return. She’s always been a bit ticklish, you’re simply the one lucky enough to do so without repercussions.

“I know ways to make tomorrow come much faster,” Power’s snark cuts through your flirting like a dull knife. The Blood Fiend rarely ever sits still unless it is mealtime or she is watching something thrilling enough. The evening news normally is usually not something that makes Power lay down in the middle of the living room floor on a throw pillow yet here she is. "Being stricken with blunt force guarantees many hours to pass you unknowingly.'

You raise an eyebrow at Power’s unwarranted attitude, “what’s got you in such a shitty mood?”

“They mentioned the Chainsaw Devil on the news earlier,” Nayuta recounts as if telling you the weather report. She looks over her shoulder at where Power lays coolly. “It’s the anniversary of when the Bomb and Chainsaw Devils showed up in Tokyo.” Right, I forgot. They only showed up once however many years ago and still the news would cover it like it could happen again at any moment. You secretly believe Hayakawa Power hopes for the same. You never met Hayakawa Denji, you only heard the stories. He sounded like an even bigger handful than Power.

Power is all that remains from everyone who once claimed the Hayakawa name as their own.

“Don’t mention that name in front of me!” Power snarls without looking in your direction. She doesn’t move to change the channel regardless.

“Pitiful,” Nayuta comments but her grip around you tightens in spite of it as she rests her ear against your chest.

Pitiful.

You open one too many bags of popcorn while Nayuta puts on one of the Inazuma Eleven DVDs Power got on her birthday last year. The five dogs excitedly run around the house to the sound of Power obnoxiously singing "Stand up! Stand up! We love football!" Tora is content to rest on your lap and Meowy the Second takes off with her second popcorn kernel.

To wait this long for someone who ran away and never looked back is pitiful.

A Power who isn’t living up to her proudly chosen name is even more so.

You breathe in the scent of Nayuta’s shampoo as she rests her head on your shoulder. It really is too damn pitiful.

ー

“You ever wonder why there are devils but no angels?”

One of Nayuta’s classmates’ words piqued your interest from the other side of the room. Nayuta’s eyes followed yours in vague interest at the students piled in the corner. The only one you personally recognized was Yamada Moe, your class’ president. True to your word, you were on a date for lunch.

As much of a date it could be at school, anyway.

Everyday the lunch hour reared its delicious head, you’d make your way to Nayuta’s class to eat with her. “I mean, think about it. If devils are physical manifestations of the things we fear, why are there no physical manifestations of the things we love? Like, there are plenty of people who love snakes. So why’s there no Snake Angel?”

“A Chicken Angel would be pretty damn powerful then,” a different girl, likely the class clown, chirped. “But would angels be biblically accurate?” Her eyebrows move mischievously at her suggestions.

“Don’t say that,” Moe covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled. Her deep dark brown hair, the color of charred wood, is pulled back into a ponytail and her green eyes sparkled at the thought. “I’d love to see a Hamster Angel then.”

“Or even a Mermaid Angel! That would be so pretty!”

“Mermaids aren’t real, Rika.”

“Neither are zombies but there’s still a Zombie Devil,” ‘Rika’ sputtered in her defense, cheeks pink. “Everyone’s afraid of zombies and everyone loves mermaids, so both would exist by that logic!”

You considered their words with a silent hum. Himeno said she met an Angel Devil once, I think. I wonder how strong he is.

“ー and Makima had promised me to protect him if anything ever came out about him but, well,” Himeno trailed off before vaguely gesturing towards you. You remembered the discomfort of it even as the woman brushed it off with a warm palm placed on your head. “It’s fine though. Kishibe’s given me no updates concerning him and in our business, that’s a good thing. That twerp is doing just fine.”

If an Angel Devil is the manifestation of humanity’s fear of angels, you wondered what a Devil Angel would be like.

“Rika, Tomoko,” Nayuta placed her chopsticks atop her empty lunch box before resting her cheek on her hand. “Give me your desserts,” she yawned. Beneath the table, her legs twined with yours.

“Sure thing, Nayuta,” Rika beamed, holding up a pudding cup enthusiastically.

Tomoko nodded, looking relieved, “my mom packed me too many things anyway.”

Moe glowered in your direction.

It was almost reminiscent of the times you were both street urchins and Nayuta used her powers to ensure you’d be able to eat that day. The only difference is, as Tomoko and Rika walk the moderate distance to your half of the room, that you no longer are that desperate to eat. Nayuta smiled when she saw, among their treats, was an anpan roll with roasted black sesame seeds. Sweets were the secret to this young girl’s heart, all hints of disinterest washed away. Cute. “It’s one of your favorites, [First],” enthusiastically she opened the packaging before raising it to your lips. “Does it taste good?”

You relished the mixture of bread, sesame and adzuki beans on your tongue, “yeah, this is pretty nice.” You looked over at the unsuspecting girls who are too happy to help. Too happy and unaware of the reality of the situation. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” Rika brushed off your gratitude with a dispassionate wave of her hand. “What kind of angels would you guys be excited to see? Mermaid Angels would be pretty cool, right?”

You shrugged, not wanting to reveal your inherent bias, “I can’t really imagine what an angel would be like. We’ve never seen one.”

“I just think if we had angels, they would be the ones fighting devils,” Tomoko sighed wistfully, light years away from where you were gathered in class 3-C. “Love is the strongest thing in the world, right?”

“The power of love is cheesy,” Nayuta scoffed.

The three of you ー Tomoko, Rika and yourself ー shared a look of varying degrees of disbelief.

“Since you find it so cheesy, maybe you can finally stop blocking the halls when you makeout and cuddle in the hallway,” Moe rolled her eyes from where she still sat, nose scrunched in equal measures of disgust. Her eyes held your own with a look of annoyance and you couldn’t hold back a snort.

“We are pretty annoying, huh,” you snickered, winking at how Nayuta was still holding the pastry near your lips. Laughter of agreement followed your admission from those sprinkled across the room save for two individuals. If Nayuta had been someone else, perhaps she would have withered under the scathing eyes of class 3-A’s president. Because she wasn't someone else, though, she met the glare with her own. “Even the Love Devil would hate us,” you bit into the roll once again, stealing Nayuta’s attention.

“The Love Devil is probably ugly anyway,” Nayuta replied with a petulant smirk.

Lunch continued without further hiccups, much to your relief. The desserts were eaten and the desks were back in place and it was time for you to head back to class. Nayuta still wasn’t entirely pleased at your class assignments, but she got better about it the following months. The ‘dates’ and walks had kept her placated.

“Thanks for that, [First],” Himeno sighed gratefully when Nayuta was in the bath after your celebratory dinner. “When are kids supposed to stop having temper tantrums? We really don’t need her having one at school. You have to be her anchor.”

You’d have done that even if Himeno didn’t want it. “I’ll pick you up after class,” you told Nayuta unnecessarily but you knew she liked the reassurance. You’d always come back for her even if there was distance standing in the way of that.

“You can make out with Nagano later,” Moe scoffed as she walked past you to room 3-A.

Nayuta glared over your shoulder at the brunette, “she’s ugly.”

“I do gotta get to class though,” you sighed heavily, throwing an arm over Nayuta's shoulder. She returned the gesture with both arms thrown around you. “My adoring fans in 3-A await me.”

“You don’t need your adoring fans when you have me,” Nayuta hugged you tighter and you don’t find yourself disagreeing.

You tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “that’s pretty true. Those guys mean nothing. You’re my number one.” Gold eyes looked at you like you were a dream before you had to turn around.

“Why do you even like her?” Moe scoffed as you caught up lazily. “She’s awful.”

“She’s cute,” your lips curled at the waves of irritation directed at you further.

Moe’s expression contorted into one of disgust at your answer, storming ahead of you. “People like you disgust me. You’re bullies.” We still sit next to each other so you’re not really doing anything, you know. Knowing it would be pointless telling the girl that, you looked over your shoulder to wave at Nayuta one last time before ducking into class.

“At least pretend to pay attention,” a quiet whisper from your right caught your attention. You shrugged, unbothered. You’ve withstood more terrifying things. Whatever you failed to do, that only seemed to upset the class president even further. “Follow along with the text before the teacher calls on you.”

“I forgot my textbook,” you whispered back, directing your eyes forward.

“You didn’t think to ask someone to look at theirs?” Moe asked incredulously.

You thumbed in the direction of the empty desk to your left. Kinomiya wasn’t there to mooch off of that day. “And it isn’t like you like me, or anything. I’ll just get the notes from someone else.”

“Unlike you, I’m a good person,” Moe muttered, raising her desk just enough that it wouldn’t make a sound as she pressed it against yours. “I’d have shared if you asked.”

“There are no good or bad people, just good or bad actions,” you countered her belief with one of your own. There aren’t even any devils that are purely bad. They only become bad to you because they killed someone you care about. Or because they destroyed something you considered precious. But if there was a devil that killed other devils and rescued people, you’d say they were good.

This philosophy could be applied even to angels.

Angels would only be considered good if they did help humanity fight against devils. If there were angels in an unseen place known as Heaven, they definitely didn’t feel called to fight against the apparent wicked. They didn’t feel called to defend the apparent helpless humans of Earth. And by that definition, that would make them bad creatures. Angels would be bad to you. “And if you have to say you’re a good person, you’re probably not as good as you think you are.” Moe gasped, brow furrowed in her offense as you leaned closer to read the page. “Thanks.”

She couldn’t have made it more apparent how much she hated you with how quickly she separated her desk from yours at the end of the day. You shrugged, not particularly bothered by the reaction.

Some people never meshed with each other and that was that.

Moe hated you and you were indifferent to her existence.

You initially believed Nayuta’s thoughts were the same as yours until she started wiping your arm as if it were filthy after school.

“You stink,” Nayuta’s nose scrunched in obvious displeasure, rubbing your arm as if she could scrub the smell of Yamada Moe away. Even now you were in awe of how strong her sense of smell was; Moe hadn’t even been wearing perfume. “Why do you smell like her?” If she meant to be intimidating in her glare, she failed before she could even try. Her furrowed brow was more cute than nerve racking.

“I forgot my textbook so we had to share,” you recalled the glares and looks of dismay. “She was not happy about it. I think Bags was lying on it so I didn’t see it when we were leaving.” You’d simply remember to check your book bag more thoroughly tomorrow morning. When you were a sizable distance from campus, you recalled the earlier discussion from lunch. “What did you think about all that angel talk at lunch today?”

“That humans are dumb,” as if realizing how that sounded, Nayuta pressed against you as you walked down the path apologetically. “99% of them.”

“You can say it, a lot of humans are dumb,” hands still woven together, you side step away just long enough to playfully tug Nayuta against. Power’s characteristic ‘gahahaha’s slip from Nayuta’s lips again, you aren’t sure when she started unconsciously mimicking her. It’s cute though. “Angels are just angels, even if they did exist. And it wouldn’t be like there’s a guarantee they’d want to just help humans either.”

“That’s because humans are arrogant,” Nayuta didn’t hold back her criticism with her concerns of offending you assuaged. “And they want to control the nature of everything. Fish swim, plants photosynthesize. Hurting is fine for devils.”

You chuckled at her choice of words, “I’d be the Pride Devil.” You took ownership of the inherent arrogance you possessed as a human of this good year.

“You’d be the [First] Devil,” Nayuta argued head tossed back joyously at the thought, giggling all the while.

“I don’t think enough people hate me for that to happen,” you chortled as you swung your hands back and forth. “Class Prez might, though. Maybe I should watch out. What if a [First] Devil does show up, am I gonna be replaced?”

Nayuta snorted affectionately, gold eyes bright like the sun, “you’re so dumb.”

A peaceful silence fell over you both and you released a satisfied breath. You wanted moments like this to last forever. “One day,” you looked at the orange-red sky above. “I’m gonna get old. At least, if I don’t die before then. But whatever ends up happening, we’re gonna be different,” you promised before Nayuta could protest what you’d begun to announce. “We’re not like them.”

ー and Makima’s time was too short; you’d heard that enough times since living with the Naganos.

That wasn’t going to be you and Nayuta.

“We’re not gonna be like them,” you promised, squeezing her hand tightly. “We’re gonna live forever.”

ー　

When was it when the image of Makima began to haunt you like a ghost?

You remember now, it had been in October of your first and last year of middle school when Nayuta finally started braiding her hair. You’d been fine that morning up until she came to the kitchen and you dropped the jar of pickled radishes, quietly sobbing until you caught a fever.

“Do you hate my hair being like this?” Nayuta asked in the quiet of the room you shared. It’s large and spacious, fit for three people. You never understood why the third bed in the room was kept when Nayuta never slept in any bed that wasn’t your own. The dogs and cats got a kick out of it, at the very least. So did Power who was shuffling about in the kitchen, banging pots and pans.

“I think it’s pretty. You’re pretty no matter how you do your hair.”

“I found a picture of the old me in Himeno’s room. The old us. She had her hair like this in all of Himeno’s memories too.”

“You used your powers on Himeno?”

“When she took a nap the other day. I wanted,” Nayuta trailed off, arms wrapped around her knees and eyes downcast. You were too hot to cuddle but she sat on the floor by your side anyway. “I wanted to know what the old me was like. Himeno didn’t like her very much. She liked the old you better. She liked that Aki person more though.”

Power’s Aki, you recalled from the photos in a photo album Ichika made for Power’s birthday. “Himeno likes you though. I told you before, we’re not ー and Makima. It doesn’t matter if she didn’t like her.” Maybe Himeno had a thing against redheads.

“She thinks it sometimes. I can tell.”

I know.

“The old man said I was selfish when he met us.”

“I like that you’re selfish. We both get to be selfish at this point. Do you know how long we were in that dump?” You shared a laugh at the memory of the dump in question. The mattress was old as sin, rock hard and the blankets you owned couldn’t keep crickets out let alone the cold. “I miss robbing that one guy with the dolphin apron. He made the best dumplings. Wish we could have found the secret formula so we could still make them.”

“Humans can be dumb but the food is really good,” Nayuta’s lips turned upright.

You shift a bit so you can lay on your side, facing her more clearly, “do you remember what it was like in Hell?”

Nayuta shook her head, braid dancing to the motion. “Only little bits and pieces, but it’s blurry,” she disclosed, words soft. “I only remember wanting to leave soon.”

“When I was a kid, I always thought I was missing something,” you hold out your hand and Nayuta’s fingers slip into your own. You never knew another hand could be this warm, not even when your parents were alive. You don’t think you’d truly been warm until you met the girl who changed everything. You wanted to hold onto this life; hold it for as long as you could. You disavowed that there’d be a day you’d stop being you and Nayuta stopped being Nayuta and the new versions of you would run into the dawn hand in hand. You and Nayuta would live forever. “I’m really happy that I found you.”

Any sentimentality in the room was immediately blown away by the sound of Power kicking open the door.

“We have a doorknob, Power,” you groaned. Then you caught a whiff of the smell of broth, chicken and vegetables and raised yourself into a sitting position. Taking note of your realization, the strawberry-haired fiend puffed out her chest proudly as she presented the tray to you. The bowl was filled to the brim with soup, sloshing over the lip as she stepped forward and the crackers were worse for wear because of it. “You cooked?”

“Homemade! Straight from the can!” Power placed the tray on your lap, hands resting on her hips. “You humans are fragile creatures, so I decided to grant you my assistance.”

You had to purse your lips together to prevent yourself from laughing. “You know what, thanks, Power,” you let the fiend have her moment. Her homemade straight-from-the-can soup smelled pretty damn good.

ー

“Ichika, are you dating anyone?”

“What brought that on so suddenly?”

You shrug from where you sit at the kitchen table. “Because you never go anywhere unless it’s the farmer’s market,” you point out deftly. Work and home, that’s all either Nagano sister seems to have time for, save for the occasional pub night. No one in this house has much of a social life when you ponder it for more than two seconds. “We were kids before but it’s not like you don’t have a life now.”

“You’re all still kids to me,” Ichika’s laugh is light and playful, like she’s daring you to protest otherwise.

“Power might be,” you lean back in your chair with a quiet snort. “She’s always been a handful.”

It’s rare for the house to be this quiet between the dogs and Power. The former are on a walk with Nayuta and the latter tagged along with Himeno to the market. Power has a child-like nature you doubt will ever fade. If something happens to Ichika and Himeno, what’s going to happen to Power?

“I recall all three of you being handfuls,” Ichika continues washing away at a plate with a laugh. “I’m not sure how you remember it but you and Nayuta had your moments too.” You remember your last first day of middle school and how Nayuta turned Power into a dog. You can recall many instances of Power falling prey to Nayuta’s power, truthfully. Himeno hated it. “Well, you had the least amount of tantrums, so I suppose I can give you that.”

You snort, lips curling in amusement, “name one tantrum I had.”

“I distinctly recall the time you were upset Himeno ate your leftovers.”

“That was different,” you cross your arms resolutely. “I counted everything I had left and put the numbers on the box!” If Power has a child-like nature, Himeno is a permanent child at heart. “I told her if she wanted something, to let me know. But she didn’t! She just wanted to mooch off my plate!” How many times has she put me through this? She hasn’t changed since I quit working at the Bureau.

“Himeno, I’m getting something to eat. What do you want?”

“It’s okay, I’m not hungry.”

“Himeno,” you eyed the woman with your lips pressed together and eyes narrowed. “I’m getting something to eat. What. Do you want?”

“Nothing, ー, geez! I’m not even hungry!”

“Liar, because I know damn well the moment I get back you’re going to want whatever I’m having! You know what, at this point, get your ass up. We’re leaving.”

“Wow,” Himeno held a hand against her chest, mockingly crushed. “This is how little you trust your best friend? I thought we had something special.”

“I trust you as much as I trust Nanaka not to poison me the first chance she gets,” you’d only been working for Japan’s Public Safety Devil Hunters for a month and the brunette still hated you. Apparently the transgressions of being assigned the partner of her beloved Makima was too heavy a crime. “I think I saw a new Italian place open up by the convenience store ran by that Brazilian couple I told you about.”

“Are you alright, dear?” You rub your forehead as if the motion will chase away ー’s memories with a vengeance.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I never worked at the Bureau, you remind yourself. And I don’t want to. I’m no hero. That was ー’s desire. You only desire that which is most simple. “But you never answered my question. We’re not kids anymore.”

Ichika sets aside her wet rubber gloves on the drying rack, wiping the remnants of moisture onto her apron. “You don’t have to worry about me, [First]. I’ve never been the social butterfly, my sister’s always been the brave one.” You wonder what memories Ichika recalls as she takes a seat in her usual spot across the table. “That’s why she became a devil hunter. But even when we were in school, she got along with everybody.”

“You said you were in the tea ceremony club, right?”

She perks up in pleasant surprise, “that’s right! I’m surprised you remember!” The summer before you started high school, Ichika pulled out their old yearbooks from when they were students. “It feels like just yesterday both of you were in high school.”

“It basically was just yesterday.” It hadn’t been long at all since graduation and your classmates flocked out of Shonai to various major cities across the country. Everyone but the two of you. “High school was… better than middle school.”

“That it was,” you know from the slight frown on Ichika’s face she is remembering exactly how much of a mess your time at Higashi Middle School had been. So much so you transferred to Kitahoro Middle halfway through attendance. “It was hard for the two of you.”

ー

“[Last]?” A voice that twinkles like a bell calls for you. “[Full name] is that you?”

It’s a little past lunch that Saturday afternoon and the day is sleepy for both humans and devils. You hadn’t seen so much as even a trace of devil activity, deciding to have an early lunch after tossing your weapon of choice underneath a dumpster in a back alley.

You turn around at the sound of your name, fearful it is Himeno who has found you.

Thankfully, this person is Himeno’s opposite in every way.

Their eyes are green instead of blue and their hair is a dark brown instead of navy.

I know this person.

“Oh, Class Prez,” you blink in realization. Yamada Moe, in the flesh. “It’s been a while.”

ー

On a school day like any other it announced that Kiritani Tomoko had been killed by a devil. Rare as that was in a small town like Shonai, everyone had been shaken up.

“How ironic,” you heard the whispers from the adults around you. “It was the Rooster Devil. How ironic when her family raises chickens. Even here in Shonai, devils are everywhere.”

Adults who in the same breath greet Power and Nayuta with warmth whenever they are seen walking down the street.

Hypocrites.

Tomoko’s death is unfortunate but you won’t pretend it was something that impacted you personally. To the president of 3-A, Yamada Moe, it was an unforgivable blow. You didn’t see her during lunch in 3-C, nor did she come back from lunch despite leaving her bookbag and pen on her desk.

“Rika’s not here, either,” Nayuta told you when you pointed out the empty desk.

You aren’t saddened by the death of Kiritani Tomoko but you know of a death you couldn’t recover from.

So you don’t fight it when your teacher tells you to find where Moe has slipped away to and you don’t drag her back from the ponytail when you find her crying on the rooftop either. “Hey,” you closed the door behind you.

“Just go away,” Moe shuddered, holding herself tighter. “Why are you even here?”

“Hori-sensei wanted me to come find you.”

Moe raises her head with hot anger, eyes red and weary, “like you suddenly care about being a good student.”

“I told you before, didn’t I?” You plopped on the ground in spite of Moe’s protests, hands resting on your lap. The autumn wind is comforting against your skin and the rolling clouds are fluffy. An unsuspecting day to learn someone from school died. “I don’t believe in good or bad people. People just do good or bad things. But I get it,” you shrugged lackadaisically. “Nayuta does a lot of bad things. It isn’t like I’m a saint either, we’ve done plenty of bad. If that makes us bad people to you, that’s fine. But I get what it’s like to lose people too.

“My parents were good ones. But some asshole hit them with their car when I was seven and I was stuck on my own until I was thirteen,” what would have happened to you next if you had left things to the authorities around you? You’re unsure. At seven years old, running away seemed like the best option at the time. No princes would be coming to save you so you became your own prince. “Devils. Cops. Figuring out what to eat. The other people out on the streets could be the worst too. I got into a lot of fights back then.” All to lie in a building the government had yet to demolish. “I thought the world ended. Or at least my place in it had. If I never met Nayuta, I’m not sure how much longer I could have kept going like that.”

Spotting movement to your left, you looked to Moe and your eyes caught one another.

Red as her eyes were, they were wide at your confession with her mouth slightly ajar. “It’s corny but when she’s here, I feel like I can do anything.” Survive on the streets for months or even fight devil hunters that were planning to kill you before you could blink. “So she gets to do awful things. Nayuta can do the most awful things in the world. She’s perfect.” She’d been perfect the moment you met her. “So I can’t say much about being sad about Tomoko, because I didn’t know her like that. But I know how it feels to lose someone and I know what it’s like to be terrified it’ll happen again. So for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Sorry,” Moe murmured. "Thank you."

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, you’re the one upset.”

...

“Aren’t you supposed to make me go back to class?”

“I’ll just tell Teach I got lost or something,” you yawned. “It’s none of his business.”

“You’re actually a good person, aren’t you?” Moe sniffled, resting her forehead against her knees. “You just pretend to be mean.”

“Good people don’t exist,” you sang, watching the clouds roll by. “Now mean, that I can be.”

“Now you’re being stubborn,” Moe muttered under her breath, sniffing again. “You’re good. It’s just being with Nagano Nayuta makes you act like a jerk.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to like her,” you close your eyes with a light smile. “The less people realizing all her positive sides, the more Nayuta there is for me.”

“I don’t know how you stomach being around her,” you shrugged. “She’s like poison. The two of you together doesn’t feel right. She doesn’t feel right.

You open one eye, “what do you mean?”

“It’s just a feeling I get,” Moe explained vaguely, twisting her hands together anxiously.

“Nayuta, don’t use your powers at school for a while.”

“Why not?”

“I found the C-” “Yamada thinks there’s something off about you and everyone else is still on edge about that last devil attack. So it’ll be better to lay low until everything calms down.”

“Who’s that?”

“My class’ president. You know her, you think she’s ugly.”

“... Do you like her?”

“She’s alright, I guess. She’s just a classmate.”

“What about me?”

“You’re everything.”

Nayuta leapt onto your back in her satisfaction, legs wrapped tightly around your waist. “I’ll leave the humans at school alone then.”

“Don’t use them no matter what, alright? We can just get extra snacks on the way home from school or something.”

“I won’t.”

ー

“You cut your hair, it looks good!”

“Thanks,” Moe plays with a lock of curly hair, boyishly short. It suits her rather nicely. You look freer. “It’s surprising seeing you here. What are you…?” She glances quickly at the hazmat-style onesie you’ve dressed yourself in, plastic visor raised above your head.

“Got a janitorial job and I’m taking no chances,” you lean against the cold bench lazily. “I never mocked a janitor before but I damn sure am never going to now. Those guys are the unsung heroes of our society.”

“Janitori-” Moe snorts in her shock, looking like you’ve grown two heads. “I always figured you’d become a philosophy teacher considering how you were back in middle school”

“Nayuta’s signed up for classes but I’m taking a couple years off to save,” what you plan on majoring in when the time comes is unknown even to you. Perhaps Moe is onto something with philosophy. “We can’t mooch off our benefactors forever.” What’s going to happen to Power if anything happens to Himeno and Ichika, you find yourself pondering once again. A third passport shouldn’t be that hard to forge. Kishibe got me and Nayuta into the country without any problem, didn’t he?

“Oh, where is she going?”

“She’s at Tohoku too,” you nod at the Tohoku University tote bag resting on Moe's hip. “She’s doing everything virtually. Business Management major.”

There’s little surprise on Moe’s part when she hears that, “Business Management sounds like something that suits her.”

“She is pretty bossy, I can give you that,” you huff with an airy sigh. Management is something Nayuta will definitely thrive in. “She’s a damn good student though. What about you? What have you been up to? Majoring in law?”

“Philosophy, actually!” She laughs at how your eyebrows raise. “Surprising?”

“A little,” you nod and Moe rolls her eyes in playful exasperation. “But with all the arguments we had, philosophy or law honestly made the most sense. So I wasn’t that far off.”

“Those weren’t arguments, those were debates,” Moe corrects you needlessly, arms behind her back. It’s almost like all the tension left her when she cut her hair.

“You’ve mellowed out, Prez,” you whistle, impressed.

A younger Moe would have asked what you meant with a furrowed brow. The Moe of the present day accepts your words with a hearty laugh. “I was a bit high strung back then,” she lets out a nostalgic sigh. “Maybe more than a bit,” she admits sheepishly. “But middle school really feels so long ago. I guess I changed without noticing.”

“Sorry about middle school,” your lips curl into a grimace. “The stuff with Nayuta I mean.”

Moe’s eyebrows knit together with an empathetic curl of her lips, “it’s okay, I get it now. You were under a lot of stress back then.”

“How’s Rika doing?” You vaguely remember that girl who Nayuta would pawn snacks off of. “She going to Tohoku too?”

“Oh,” Moe shuffles nervously.

“What, did she drop out or something?”

“No, um, she never went to university,” Moe fiddles with a bracelet on her left wrist.

You raise an eyebrow at the odd behavior, “is she… dead?”

“No!” Moe answers quickly and you cock your head to the side, shrugging your shoulders. Okay then what is she then? “It’s just that she… became a devil hunter after we graduated.”

“Okay,” Good luck then, Rika. If you’re in Tokyo maybe Kishibe’ll be the one in charge of your training. As much as you hate the man, everything he’s taught you has kept you alive so far. You see green staring at you. “What?”

“I’m just surprised that you took that so well,” Moe breathes in disbelief. “Considering everything with Nayuta, I was afraid to bring devil hunters up in front of you.”

Your blood runs cold. “What do you mean ‘considering everything with Nayuta’?”

“Did-” Moe blinks once before she covers her mouth in horror. “Did you not know? I’m- I’m so sorry-”

“I found the C-”

“How did you know Nayuta wasn’t human? When did you figure it out?”

“When… that time back in middle school. She didn’t look human to me and when you went to her I just thought… in that moment Nayuta being a devil is why you were always so protective of her,” Moe’s head looks around the alley you’ve brought her too cautiously. It’s deep, deep within the darkest crevices of Sendai. “Where are we? Why are we here?”

You look at Moe and then the dumpster beside you, “I have to tell you the truth about something.” Your thumb brushes against your middle and index fingers for a moment. “I’m not really a janitor. I’ve been killing devils for the past seven months now. It’s underground work though.” You tell Moe this news as one might tell their friend they decided to plant tulips in their garden, reaching for where you slid your axe underneath the grimy trash heap.

“Devils?”

“Yeah.”

Moe looks at your rusty blade, caked in the blood from those you’ve killed thus far. “... But Nayuta,” she is unable to bring herself to say the rest.

You laugh, leaning against the wall for half a second before deciding you can’t stand the feel of it against your back. Nor do you wish to feel the eyes of Moe upon you. “Yeah, it’s sick isn’t it? She’s a devil but I’ve been out here for the past seven months killing ‘em. But Nayuta,” black hair and red rings fill your memories. “she means everything to me; I was alone for years until I met her. I have never cared that she was a devil. She was perfect, she’s still perfect. If anything ever happened to her, it would feel like the entire world was ending. I used to be a cashier, you know, but try making enough money to sneak a devil out of the country at your local 7-11,” you laugh humorously. “And I know you’ve never liked Nayuta but for me, Nayuta is everything. So please… please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, [First]!” A foot steps towards you, voice full of emotion. “I didn’t like Nayuta before but I get it now! There are good devils out there and I’m going to prove it. That’s why I’m studying philosophy! If humans and devils can understand each other, we wouldn’t have to kill each other anymore!”

“She means everything to me,” your fingers dig into your palms as you repeat yourself weakly. She’s the best thing you knew you needed in a world that had nearly beaten you down for good. The one you would find repeatedly no matter the time and distance that separated you. “What am I doing? Killing devils for money like this when I know…” your shoulders sag. “But I can’t do anything else for her. I can’t earn money fast enough otherwise and I don’t have time to wait. I’m sure… this makes me a bad person, doesn’t it?”

“You are not a bad person,” Moe’s hand is warm on your back even through the layers you wear to keep yourself from being bloodied. “It’s not you that’s wrong, it’s the world itself. If enough people just realized that, things would be better.” A world where humanity and devils lived together in harmony? It seems like an impossible dream; perhaps it is one not within reach. Not within the lifetime you currently possess. And that’s okay, I’ll make my own happiness even with that fact. “You’re just trying to do what you can for the one you love in a shitty situation. Nayuta would understand that. So… so don’t beat yourself up about this. I never told anyone about Nayuta and I’m never going to.”

There was nothing familiar about her black hair, nor the mole under her left eye. You were sure you couldn’t say you’d ever met anyone with golden eyes with red rings in them either. There was no reason to feel like your senses had been set ablaze and the universe shifted.

You didn’t know this girl.

This girl was a stranger.

You knew this and yet you still fell to your knees as warm tears flooded your eyes without your permission.

You breathe.

“By the way,” you yawned, as it dawned on you that you never once asked for your new companion’s name. “what’s your name?”

When there was no immediate response, you thought the girl fell asleep. “Nayuta,” you finally heard the feathery light reply. Nayuta pressed herself closely to your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

“I’m [First],” you squeezed.

Nayuta squeezed back.

You breathe.

“I didn’t, [First], please believe me! Don’t leave me!”

You slide down your visor.

“We can get married for real when we grow up,” you vowed once more as you clumsily led each other in your dance.

Nayuta’s smile was saccharin, “promise?”

“Promise.”

And you breathe.

“Hey, Nayuta, pick a country. One that doesn’t have a devil hunting association in it.”

“Seychelles,” Nayuta didn’t miss a beat, grinning the devilish grin you loved all the while. “We still need to have our honeymoon.”

The back of your fist strikes Moe’s throat before she has time to react.

“Don’t worry at all, Prez,” you kick the woman to the ground, grip on your axe tightening as you sit atop her. “I know you won’t tell anyone.” You wonder what those forest green eyes see when they look up at you, eyes wide as she gasps for air. You hold her jaw in place, gloved fingers digging into her skin.

“Stop-” her words come quiet, hoarse. “I won’t tell! I really won’t tell!”

She won’t say anything. No. She might. She hasn’t snitched in all these years. She could change her mind. Cut off her tongue. Her fingers too. And the toes. All of it needs to go.

“I could cut off your tongue,” you feel her breath hitch from she freezes under your touch. You feel the beat of a pulse, pounding like a drum. “but you could still use your fingers. I could cut your fingers and you could use your toes. I could cut off everything and you’d still probably find a way to get out a message with the stumps too.” Tears swell in Moe’s eyes and you barely feel her fists beating into your shoulder. I’m glad I hit her in the throat, you finally take note of her barely audible, ragged whispers. “You can say you won’t talk until you’re blue in the face but there is nothing that can stop you from ever changing your mind. I’m sorry. I really did like you.”

See? I became a bad person to you just now, didn’t I?

The weight of your axe is heavy as it follows the push of gravity guiding your hand into soft flesh below. There’s a quick breath, a gurgle, that slips from Moe’s lips and you raise your axe again.

Red droplets strike your visor and you raise your axe again.

Muscle and sinew decorate the dirty earth around you and you raise your axe again.

Again and again even when what you strike is hard rock instead of flesh until you raise your axe a final time, and you hear metal clink that isn’t your own.

Your neck cracks from the force you whip your neck and the devil flinches when your eyes meet, not daring to press its raised hand to the ground. When you look closely, you see a twisted green soda can wobbling underneath it. Your shoulders steadily heave from your fatigue, neither of you moving a centimeter. You can’t hold back a tired laugh from the absurdity, resting a hand on a knee as you push yourself up. “Sorry,” you titter, neither of you blinking as you step to the side. “You’re hungry, aren’t you,” you gesture to the body, still warm. “It’s okay. Eat it.”

The devil’s mouth trembles, eyes flittering between you and the still lumps on the ground. It takes a step back.

You blink, letting your hand hang loosely against your leg. “What are you waiting for? I said eat it.”

As if coming back to life, the devil on all fours takes one step forward - then another - until it rushes past you to begin its feast. You raise your visor when the devil turns its head, jowls soaked in blood, eyes narrow. It eats stiffly, eying you and the axe in your hand. You smile reassuringly, eyes soft.

The Rat Devil should be about ¥600,000 right?

ー

Nayuta squeals when you lift her feet off the ground as you laugh maniacally, arms safely tucked underneath her back and legs.

An evening walk on the beach is just what you need after a trying day at work. The moon is full and the evening Shonai air is sweet unlike the stink of the city, heavy with exhaust and blood. Thanks for not being a bitch this time, Nishida. The Rat Devil cost as much as you estimated it would, if not a bit higher.

The life you lead isn’t perfect but it has its moments.

“We’re going to fall!” Nayuta shrieks but her grin is wide and shining under the moonlight. She’s almost like a siren, you think, as the waves accompany her voice. The sand squishes underneath your toes, kicking up the waves as you spin and spin. One day when you carry her like this, she’ll be in a beautiful dress and veil just like you talked about when you were kids.

“Relax,” you tilt your head back, tasting the ocean spray on your lips. “I’m never gonna drop you!”

ー

“[First],” Himeno calls in a sing-song voice as you walk out the door. “Wait for me, kiddo! I need you to give me a ride!”

Your hand grips the car handle as you tilt your head back with a loud groan, “Himeno, I’m going to work.” The sun hasn’t risen yet nor have the morning birds begun singing their songs. Eight months you have been able to successfully stave off this conversation.

Eight months.

You hope to make it nine.

“Wow,” Himeno jeers, undeterred and you know your stomach will be heavy with dread if you’re unable to shake her off your tail. Eight months you’ve been able to successfully avoid this conversation with Himeno and you don’t plan to break your record. “Someone gets a job and the moment she starts moving up in the world she forgets about all the people she met along the way.”

“Yep,” you click your tongue. “I'm one of those people. So it looks like you’ll have to wait until someone else decides to be your chauffeur. I’ll call Sebastian to retrieve you later.”

“So they’re paying enough at 7-11’s for you to afford Sebastian’s rates?” Himeno whistles, impressed and awed as she rests a large stack of ¥10,000 on top of the car. “Can you recommend me a position? If I’d known that, I’d have left Himeji’s ages ago.”

Blue stares into [color].

Wordlessly, you sit in the car and Himeno follows suit, quiet as you pull out of the driveway and far from the coziness of home. She waits nearly ten minutes to the hour before she opens her lips, a smile in her voice that is frigid. “You have the look of a killer now,” your eyes flit to your reflection in the rearview mirror. “I wonder how many things you had to kill to get eyes like that.”

“What’s the issue with killing,” you mutter, eyes on the empty road. How she found the money is of little consequence. She has it and that’s all that matters. “Why did you make me learn how to kill them if you didn’t want me to do it?”

“Those skills were for protecting yourself,” you scoff at her answer. What’s self-defense to her will never accommodate your ambitions. “Not going out of your way to get yourself killed. As long as you’re living under my roof-”

“Oh don’t worry, we won’t be living there for much longer,” you cut off your benefactor.

“We?”

“We!” The car comes to an abrupt halt as your glares turn on one another. “You and Ichika aren’t going to be here protecting us forever! You think Power actually has the ability to live on her own in a world of humans? You’re not going to live forever!”

“And you think you are?!” Himeno laughs at the ludicrous presumption.

“I’m going to figure things out by then!”

Three adult passports.

(I’ll need the forgeries too.)

Visa.

Housing.

Food.

Permanent Residency.

(Can’t believe I forgot about ticket costs. Where do I go for illegally flying devils out of the country, huh? And the pets. What do I do to bring-)

“[First]-”

“And I don’t need your help to do that! And I don’t need to be under your roof either, I’ll move out! I have enough!”

“ー stop!”

“I’M NOT ー!” Himeno balks as you scream, slamming your hand against the driver’s window. The glass cracks but it does not shatter. “ ー isn’t coming back and the one you’re stuck with now is me! And I know you hate that and you have to be reminded that your best friend died every time you look at me but I am not her! I’m never going to be her!” Those memories would never be yours. Makima was never going to be yours. Makima is Makima, Nayuta is Nayuta. The difference is night and day. “I’m not like her! I hate her! I hate,” your voice cracks and you rest your head on the steering wheel, squeezing the handle tightly. “I hate it. I hate that you only want to see her. You never want to see me.”

“When Kishibe brought you both to me, I wanted to take you in immediately. And I have to be honest, a good portion of it was because of who you used to be. But I know you, [First],” a hand rests on your back, warm, but you’re too tired to brush it away. “You’re brave and kind and you look out for the people you care about even if it means you have to take the brunt force of everything. Nayuta has no idea about this and it’s because you want to keep her safe.”

“I don’t want her to come to the city and be discovered again,” “I’ve found the Control Devil.” The five words you fear hearing the most. “A life where Nayuta can be free. That’s all I want.”

“I see you, [First]. I see you and I see Nayuta and I’m very proud of who you’ve become and the people you’ll grow into for as long as I get to see it. I just haven’t been doing a good job showing that and for that, I’m so sorry,” her voice is cloyingly thick and in spite of yourself, your eyes feel hot. “Even if I could go back and stop ー from dying, I wouldn’t. I would never give up having you in my life, not even for her. You, Power, Nayuta. All three of you are precious to me, younger sisters I’ve always wanted.”

“You already had a younger sister, idiot,” you wipe your nose against your sleeve, disregarding your disgust for the trail of snot it leaves on the fabric. “Does Ichika mean nothing to you?”

“More younger sisters,” Himeno laughs wetly. “The four of you give me a life that’s worth living. I love it when Power plays her anime at the loudest volume possible. I can even look back on Nayuta and Power’s fights with a smile, isn’t that funny? At the time those situations weren’t funny but that’s how sisters are, I guess. And you always thought you could be slick hiding that you could be as much of a brat as the rest of us. Well, except for maybe Ichika. You should have seen her when she was four.”

You laugh despite yourself, “Ichika was probably the most well-behaved four year old on the planet. You probably made your parents want to send you back to the hospital.”

Himeno chortles, “only half the time.”

A pleasant silence falls over the vehicle.

“I think it’s time to call Grandpa Kishibe and finally move from this place. The house is getting too small,” Himeno leans back in her seat and stares at the leather ceiling. “The geezer should foot the bill for everything, he never even sent me child support.”

“Nayuta wants to go to Seychelles,” you follow Himeno's example, resting against your seat. It's dawn now, you note the fingers of the sun peeking behind the clouds and painting the sky hues of rose, indigo and vermillion.

You love the dawn.

“I know a place even better than that,” it’s supposed to be a wink but with the eyepatch, who can tell. “Remember that Angel Devil I told you about? The place he lives is pretty damn snazzy and warm all-year round. A place where even devils can live freely.”

ー

You barely had time to dry your hands on your skirt when Rika burst through the bathroom door, chest heaving. “[First], come quick,” the girl’s eyes were wide with fear. “Moe and Nayuta got into a fight!”

You bolted through the door, shoving Rika to the side.

Class 3-C was a mess by the time you arrived and calling what likely happened was a disservice to what you were welcomed to. Desks were skewed to the side as if a tornado had blown through it, food strewn across the floor. No one noticed your presence, not when Moe sat on the floor holding her jaw, battered and nose dripping with blood and Nayuta’s short form towered over her with silent menace.

“Nayuta, stop,” you stand between the devil and the human foolish enough to invoke her wrath.

“Why?” Gold eyes glowed harshly.

“You’ll kill her.”

“Why do you care if she dies? You said she didn’t mean anything to you. So I don’t understand,” Nayuta appeared to stand perfectly still but you could hear the tremor in her voice. From rage or from wanting to cry, you didn’t know. “Why are you protecting this girl? I’m all you need. Aren’t I?” Taking a half-step forward, Nayuta gripped your arms as if they were her lifeline. “Aren’t I?”

One year ago, not long after you turned thirteen, a blazing star sought refuge in your chest.

The birth of the universe.

Within that birth, you willingly took a devil’s hand and ran across the playground of the divine welcoming all damnation.

You’d do it for as long as she wanted you.

“From now and forever, we are going to stay together. We’ll eat a lot together, sleep together and live a happy life together,” you hold Nayuta to your chest, closer than what is possible between devils and man. “More than anyone in the world, you’re the only person I need. And I’ll never want anyone else either,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against her silky hair. “I told you before, didn’t I? We’re not like them. You and me are gonna live forever.”

“You want to be with me?”

“I want to be with you.”

“You’ll stay with only me?”

“I’m always gonna stay with only you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Let’s go home, okay?” When you felt the weak nod of your beloved, you wrapped Nayuta’s legs around your waist. Your initial steps were shaky, pacing backwards for a few seconds before you caught your balance.

“I love you, [First],” Nayuta’s arms trembled around your shoulders and you hear the telltale signs of hiccuping.

“I love you too,” you held her closer if it was possible.

Warm droplets fall against your neck.

ー

Nayuta looks beautiful in her white dress, veil trailing delicately along the white sand.

translation notes.

織姫「orihime」 - weaver princess

“If I became the monster to everyone but us and made sure we got home again, who would care if we’re unjust?”

#look she's writing #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #makima x reader #makima #nayuta #csm fic #makima fic

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book--brackets · 4 months ago

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The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine (2001)

Twelve-year-old Addie admires her older sister Meryl, who aspires to rid the kingdom of Bamarre of gryphons, specters, and ogres. Addie, on the other hand, is fearful even of spiders and depends on Meryl for courage and protection. Waving her sword Bloodbiter, the older girl declaims in the garden from the heroic epic of Drualt to a thrilled audience of Addie, their governess, and the young sorcerer Rhys.

But when Meryl falls ill with the dreaded Gray Death, Addie must gather her courage and set off alone on a quest to find the cure and save her beloved sister. Addie takes the seven-league boots and magic spyglass left to her by her mother and the enchanted tablecloth and cloak given to her by Rhys - along with a shy declaration of his love. She prevails in encounters with tricky specters (spiders too) and outwits a wickedly personable dragon in adventures touched with romance and a bittersweet ending.

Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams (1988-1992)

A war fueled by the powers of dark sorcery is about to engulf the peaceful land of Osten Ard—for Prester John, the High King, lies dying. And with his death, the Storm King, the undead ruler of the elf-like Sithi, seizes the chance to regain his lost realm through a pact with the newly ascended king. Knowing the consequences of this bargain, the king’s younger brother joins with a small, scattered group of scholars, the League of the Scroll, to confront the true danger threatening Osten Ard.

Simon, a kitchen boy from the royal castle unknowingly apprenticed to a member of this League, will be sent on a quest that offers the only hope of salvation, a deadly riddle concerning long-lost swords of power. Compelled by fate and perilous magics, he must leave the only home he’s ever known and face enemies more terrifying than Osten Ard has ever seen, even as the land itself begins to die.

Starbound by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner (2013-2015)

It's a night like any other on board the Icarus. Then, catastrophe strikes: the massive luxury spaceliner is yanked out of hyperspace and plummets into the nearest planet. Lilac LaRoux and Tarver Merendsen survive. And they seem to be alone.

Lilac is the daughter of the richest man in the universe. Tarver comes from nothing, a young war hero who learned long ago that girls like Lilac are more trouble than they're worth. But with only each other to rely on, Lilac and Tarver must work together, making a tortuous journey across the eerie, deserted terrain to seek help.

Then, against all odds, Lilac and Tarver find a strange blessing in the tragedy that has thrown them into each other's arms. Without the hope of a future together in their own world, they begin to wonder-would they be better off staying here forever?

Everything changes when they uncover the truth behind the chilling whispers that haunt their every step. Lilac and Tarver may find a way off this planet. But they won't be the same people who landed on it.

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy (2004-2024)

Meet the great Skulduggery Pleasant: wise-cracking detective, powerful magician, master of dirty tricks and burglary (in the name of the greater good, of course). Oh yeah. And dead.

Then there's his sidekick, Stephanie. She's… well, she's a twelve-year-old girl. With a pair like this on the case, evil had better watch out…

Stephanie's uncle Gordon is a writer of horror fiction. But when he dies and leaves her his estate, Stephanie learns that while he may have written horror, it certainly wasn't fiction. Pursued by evil forces intent on recovering a mysterious key, Stephanie finds help from an unusual source – the wisecracking skeleton of a dead wizard.

When all hell breaks loose, it's lucky for Skulduggery that he's already dead. Though he's about to discover that being a skeleton doesn't stop you from being tortured, if the torturer is determined enough. And if there's anything Skulduggery hates, it's torture… Will evil win the day? Will Stephanie and Skulduggery stop bickering long enough to stop it? One thing's for sure: evil won't know what's hit it.

Fairest by Gail Carson Levine (2006)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to be pretty . . .

Aza's singing is the fairest in all the land, and the most unusual. She can throw her voice so it seems to come from anywhere. But singing is only one of the two qualities prized in the Kingdom of Ayortha. Aza doesn't possess the other: beauty. Not even close. She's hidden in the shadows in her parents' inn, but when she becomes lady-in-waiting to the new queen, she has to step into the light--especially when the queen demands a dangerous favor. A magic mirror, a charming prince, a jealous queen, palace intrigue, and an injured king twine into a maze that Aza must penetrate to save herself and her beloved kingdom.

Trickster's Duology by Tamora Pierce (2003-2004)

Alianne is the teenage daughter of the famed Alanna, the first lady knight in Tortall. Young Aly follows in the quieter footsteps of her father, however, delighting in the art of spying. When she is captured and sold as a slave to an exiled royal family in the faraway Copper Islands, it is this skill that makes a difference in a world filled with political intrigue, murderous conspiracy, and warring gods. This is the first of two books featuring Alianne.

Monstress by Marjorie M. Liu (2015-present)

Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers.

Lockwood & Co by Jonathan Stroud (2013-2017)

When the dead come back to haunt the living, Lockwood & Co. step in . . .

For more than fifty years, the country has been affected by a horrifying epidemic of ghosts. A number of Psychic Investigations Agencies have sprung up to destroy the dangerous apparitions.

Lucy Carlyle, a talented young agent, arrives in London hoping for a notable career. Instead she finds herself joining the smallest, most ramshackle agency in the city, run by the charismatic Anthony Lockwood. When one of their cases goes horribly wrong, Lockwood & Co. have one last chance of redemption. Unfortunately this involves spending the night in one of the most haunted houses in England, and trying to escape alive.

Protector of the Small by Tamora Pierce (1999-2002)

Keladry of Mindelan is the first girl who dares to take advantage of a new rule in Tortall—one that allows females to train for knighthood. After years in the Yamani Islands, she knows that women can be warriors, and now that she’s returned home, Kel is determined to achieve her goal. She believes she is ready for the traditional hazing and grueling schedule of a page. But standing in Kel’s way is Lord Wyldon. The training master is dead set against girls becoming knights. He says she must pass a one-year trial that no male page has ever had to endure. It’s just one more way to separate Kel from her fellow trainees. But she is not to be underestimated. She will fight to succeed, even when the test is unfair.

Falling Kingdoms by Morgan Rhodes (2012-2018)

Princess Cleo of Mytica confronts violence for the first time in her life when a shocking murder sets her kingdom on a path to collapse. Once a privileged royal, Cleo must now summon the strength to survive in this new world and fight for her rightful place as Queen.

The King of Limeros's son, Magnus, must plan each footstep with shrewd, sharp guile if he is to earn his powerful father's trust, while his sister, Lucia, discovers a terrifying secret about her heritage that will change everything.

Rebellious Jonas lashes out against the forces of oppression that have kept his country cruelly impoverished--and finds himself the leader of a people's revolution centuries in the making.

Witches, if found, are put to death, and Watchers, immortal beings who take the shape of hawks to visit the human world, have been almost entirely forgotten. A vicious power struggle quickly escalates to war, and these four young people collide against each other and the rise of elementia, the magic that can topple kingdoms and crown a ruler in the same day.

#best fantasy book #poll #the two princesses of bamarre #memory sorrow and thorn #starbound #skulduggery pleasant #fairest #trickster's duology #monstress #lockwood & co #protector of the small #falling kingdoms

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crumbledcastle28 · 2 years ago

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Joel Miller: Lies in the Dark

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Summary: Joel realizes two things 1). He's an absolute dick 2). You love him anyway.

Excerpt: "Y/N," he whispered, with enough southern drawl to make you realize how much you had missed that baritone. It warmed you, slithering up your spine so fast it made you dizzy. "How...how do I fix this?"

You looked up at him, at his dark eyes and tanned skin, and said, "return the favor."

It wasn't even five seconds before he had you over his shoulder, down to your living room, and tossed onto the couch. You bounced as you landed, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

Warnings: SMUTTT, oral fem!receiving, Joel eats, reader gets a bit insecure for a second, angst, fear of relationships, kissing, the l word, pretty much just fluffy smut.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: This is technically a part two to Talking Body, but if you would like to read this on its own, you absolutely can do so. Thank you for all the love and requests for a part two. It means a lot to me.

A/N 2: I was also inspired by this song by tove lo for this part, and talking body also by tove lo for the first part of this duology as well :)

p.s. I know absolutely nothing about guns, so if you don't actually have to cock (?) a shot gun, just ignore that detail haha.

Pedro Masterlist

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Joel knew he should not have grinned when the bodies hit the iced-over hill, nor should he have widened that grin when the all-too-familiar sound of the crunch of an infected's skull under his boot echoed across the canyon.

But he needed this. He needed to ruin something, mutilate it, end it.

And yet, even with a dozen bodies in his wake as he road back home, he still could not get the look on your face out of his head, out of his dreams.

Thinking causing more damage would gut you out of him, he brought his horse back to the Jackson stables, gave her an apple and a back rub, and immediately headed home to his axe. He set up his wood accurately, and with one swing, he brought the axe down, cleaving the stump in two.

I've got you, just relax.

Not enough. He brought down his axe over another.

I want to touch you, Joel. More of you.

And another.

All of you.

And another.

I don't want anything from you.

He stripped off his jacket, and chopped another.

I know what you are, Joel. I know who you are.

His shirt went next, leaving him bare, not caring about the single-digit temperature. He chopped another, grunting as he did.

That's why I'm on my knees.

He practically shouted as he chopped another, his knees wobbling, his swing slightly off.

Hi handsome.

He missed his target with another shout, and let the axe slip out of his hands, thoroughly chucking it across the yard. He breathed heavily, his breaths coming out in grunts. He shut his eyes, unable to look down at his hands without feeling the skin on your face, or the softness of your hair between his fingers.

"Keep the whiskey," he whispered to himself, his voice dripping in anger. "Keep the fuckin' whiskey."

That's what he had said to you. The woman who had wiped his tears and stared his mistakes straight on, never once faulting. That's what he had said to you after you let him come down your throat, giving him what had to have been one of the best nights in his life.

"Keep the whiskey," he whispered again, and let his knees finally give out, kneeling in the snow in only his jeans.

What had he done?

~*~

Every night for a week, you waited for him as you always had, and every night, you had gotten your heart punctured by his knife.

He wasn't coming back, you knew it as you watched him leave your house with the taste of him still on your tongue, but you still waited. Beer on your coffee table, blankets on your couch, hope in your heart.

Nothing.

You sighed and took a sip of your beer, internally beating yourself to a pulp. You didn't use to be like this, a proponent of second chances, a forgiving soul. You would clutch onto the ways people hurt you and seer them into your scull, never forgetting the exact ways they made you sting.

But with Joel, things had been different, because he was the exact same way. A distrustful, angry, haunted man, who just wanted someone to talk to without the risk of them holding anything over his head. Without needing anything from him. And that's exactly what you needed too. You thought you just needed each other, not anything from each other, and that's why you were still waiting for him.

You thought he needed you, even if he didn't want you, and some fucked up piece of an unaddressed wound inside of you thought that was enough.

You thought he needed you.

You stood from your seat as you checked your watch, realizing how late it had gotten, and finished off your drink. You stretched as you stood, promising yourself that this was the last night of this pathetic moping. It had been seven days since you had heard even a scuff of his boots, and even if he did need you, he obviously didn't need you as much as you thought.

You deserve better than this, you told yourself, even if you didn't believe it.

You wiped your now watering eyes as you walked to your kitchen to throw out the empty bottle, your mind roaring with insults and abuses towards your very core, and let the bottle fall on top of the dozen others.

You thought he needed you.

You headed back to your living room to fold up your blankets, unable to touch the beer you had left for him, when a crunch of snow came through your window.

You barely noticed it, until another matched it, and another, and another. They were rushed, frantic, like the body attached to them was sprinting.

Your own body froze. If an infected had made it this far into Jackson, you were fucked. Everyone was fucked.

Your body went on autopilot, ignoring the tears now dripping down the center of your throat. You grabbed the shotgun by your front door and cocked it, preparing yourself.

If there was one now, more would be on the way.

The steps slowed down as they reached your door, and pants loud enough to breech through the wood hit your ears. Your stance stayed strong.

Until the two-one-one knock echoed, your throat lodged, and your hands began to shake.

"It's open," you said, cursing your crackling voice, but still aiming your gun.

If this was who you thought it was, maybe opening fire would hurt less.

The hinges of the doorframe squeaked; the wood creaked as the door slowly opened, and those same brown eyes you had been falling asleep to met your own.

Another tear dripped down your cheek, and as his eyes widened at the weapon in your hand, his hands went above his head.

But your gazes remained locked.

After a few beats of him catching his breath, you lowered your gun, letting your arms fall slack in defeat. His hands remained above his head as you let it fall to the floor.

His knife had officially ripped you open.

"Y/N," he finally whispered, his hands still above his head, your eyes still leaking.

"What?" you responded harshly.

He swallowed, lowered his arms, and sucked in a shaky breath before saying, "I'm such a dick."

A few beats of silence passed before you fully processed what he had said; the tone in which he said it, the glowing emotions in his eyes, his hands previously up in surrender, his panting breaths from his sprint over to you, and the disheveled look of him.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

Joel Miller was fucking scared.

"Yeah, Joel," you said as you laughed, more tears leaking from your eyes, "you are a dick."

He smiled, almost in disbelief, but still managed to smile big enough to show his teeth.

Maybe you were weak, maybe you were stupid, maybe you deserved for him to leave you again, because he hurt you. He hurt you for seven days straight, practically gutted you from the inside out and left your organs on a clothesline to dry...

... but you forgave him anyway. Right in that moment. Because he knew he was wrong, and he ran to you in the middle of the night to show that to you.

And above all, you forgave him because you were scared too.

You could tell he was catching on to your train of thought as he stepped in the door and shut it, locking it behind him. You swallowed as he turned to you, smelling a mix of frost and smoke emulating off of him, and he took one step closer to you.

"Y/N," he whispered, with enough southern drawl to make you realize how much you had missed that baritone. It warmed you, slithering up your spine so fast it made you dizzy. "How...how do I fix this?"

You looked up at him, at his dark eyes and tanned skin, and said, "return the favor."

It wasn't even five seconds before he had you over his shoulder, down to your living room, and tossed onto the couch. You bounced as you landed, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

He quickly laid down on his back, filing up the remainder of the couch, and sighed contently. He made himself comfortable before laying his head down flat on the cushions and patting his shoulders.

"Take a seat," he said cockily, and your mouth fell open.

"You're -" you began, suddenly unable to speak, "you're serious?"

"So fuckin' serious," he replied, "you don't think I just had dreams of you pleasin' me, do ya darlin'?"

Maybe you were the one dreaming.

Before you had the chance to wake up, you quickly stood and started unzipping your jeans, dispensing them to the floor. Your socks and underwear quickly followed. Joel admired you as you did so, resting his hands behind his head.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"It ain't even funny."

You pulled off your left sock, leaving you completely bare from the waist down, and walked to him. You threw your right leg over his waist and sat on his crotch, making him grown.

"No shoes on the furniture," you said, pushing his feet of the grey cushions, "watch your boots, Miller."

"You're right," he said breathlessly, obviously trying to hide how affected he was by the feeling of your warmth on his buldge, "now come 'ere."

You took in a shaky breath as you crawled up his body, the realization of what was about to happen slowly beginning to hit you. You made it halfway up when he halted you, holding your face in his hands.

"We can stop," he said, "now, ten minutes from now, never. You're in control, just let me know."

You nodded, his irises revealing only honestly, and you swallowed. "I'm ready."

He grinned and sat back, ready for you too.

You finished your climb and held onto both the armrest and the back of the couch, hovering over his mouth. His hot breaths on your pulsing core nearly made you whine and your thighs shake, but you remained firm.

"Joel, are you sure you want to -"

He didn't hesitate to pull you down, put your entire body weight on his mouth, and kiss and lick you like it was his final night alive.

It may as well have been yours with how quickly you began to unravel.

He kept his hands on your thighs as he gorged, keeping you so close to him you had no choice but to feel every taste bud on his tongue, puff of breath, and follicle of his scruff scrape upon you in the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

It was nirvana, Zion, Elysium, whatever fucking afterlife you wanted to believe in, all of it was between your thighs.

He started slow, kissing and licking, but soon found your hole, and kissed you there, then nudged your clit, and kissed you there, then around your thighs, squeezing your ass, and over and over and over again he would repeat the process.

You couldn't help the mewling noises coming from your mouth, and the sweat dripping down your back.

You were on fire.

Through the roaring in your head, you could make out that Joel eventually started saying words, maybe even sentences. You could only make out fragments.

"I'm - sorry - scared - you - fuck - taste - heaven - dreamed - scared - so scared -"

"I know Joel," you groaned, beginning to rock forward into his tongue, riding it. "I know you were, it's - shit - it's okay."

"No," he replied, and you tugged him back into your core by his hair, still rubbing down, caring his tongue into you. "Gonna - never gonna leave - leave again."

You smiled, sweat plastered across your upper lip, hair frizzing, eyes blown wide, "okay."

And he somehow ate you out harder.

It was becoming too much - his tongue around your hole, his nose against your clit, his fucking fingers squeezing down on your thighs, the noises of it all. You finally gathered enough strength to tilt your head down, only to be met with the sight that undid you.

Joel's face plastered with you - only you - and his eyes firmly locked on your face, while his tongue and mouth swirled around the most intimate part of you.

And it was with that last look that you couldn't help it - you came, hard, gripping onto his hair so tight it had to have hurt him.

But he took it anyway, and never slowed down.

You may have come again. You didn't know. All you knew was that he was relentless, a man starved, and through your whines and cries, you finally mustered up the words, "That's good. I'm done."

He could have gone longer, much longer, and maybe one night he would, but not tonight. He simply licked you clean and kissed your core goodbye, it was so sensitive you flinched and groaned one last time, and lifted you back down to sit on his waist.

You expected him to pull away, sit you on the couch, maybe offer to get you a drink, but he didn't.

His mouth wasn't done yet.

He set you down comfortably before attaching his still soaked mouth and facial hair to your pulse point, and your eyes shut immediately, tears of pleasure finally making their escape.

"Joel," you whined, "that - feels really good."

He hummed and sucked harder, likely leaving a hickey or two, but you only pulled him closer. He smelled of sweat and cinnamon, his warmth and his weight wrapped around you immersing you in nothing but comfort.

His mouth on your neck was bliss, but the feeling of him surrounding you was euphoria. He had comforted you with his words plenty of times, but having it from his body was almost impossible to bare. Something that had been uncontrollable and unpredictable in you finally settled, and you let it.

You wondered if it was your love for him.

After making his way to the other side of your neck, Joel began to move his fingers underneath your shirt. Not enough to meet anymore skin than just underneath your belly button, but enough to give you chills.

You knew what he wanted.

"Go ahead," you whispered, pulling his head away from your collarbone, "but only if I see you too."

With one look at him you could see that his mouth was red and swollen, his hair was frizzed, and his eyes were even darker than the last time you had seen him this way. You weren't even sure he understood what you said he looked so drunk off your body, but he nodded eventually. You ran your thumb across his cheek.

It's just me, the motion said, don't be afraid.

You didn't think it worked, but he removed his shirt anyway, and you removed your own.

You were met with a body of scars and moles, scabs and skin, and countless stories. You recalled them all from previous nights of talking- the scar across his chest from the first infected he killed, a scab forming on the right side of his torso from last week's new horse that bucked him off, and a bruise on his forearm. It was a dark shade of purple, meaning it was new.

You traced it, "what's this from?"

His eyes stayed glued to your torso. "I gotta - gotta bit carried away splittin' wood earlier."

You looked into his eyes and giggled, "Is that the yell I heard?"

He scoffed, still scanning your body with his eyes, "Probably."

You continued to laugh and brought your finger up his forearm to his bicep, rubbing your fingers over the pronounced muscle, and continued over his collarbone. You then brought your hand over the expanse of his chest, enjoying how your hand spread as wide as it could go was still no match for the expanse of it, before tracing down his stomach, finally able to feel the soft happy trail you had been drooling over in your sleep. His abdomen tightened as you felt all the way down, and all the way back up.

Your eyes were so soaked with him that you hadn't even noticed his hands beginning to run down your own body, suddenly making you sweat. His fingers went up your back and over your shoulders, his calloused palms against your soft skin sending shivers down your spine, before delicately running them over your breasts, treating them like they were prone to pop.

"You can touch me," you said sweetly, and he felt you up faster, thoroughly, and completely. He had to have touched every inch of you, and you let him.

After a few moments of memorizing his skin and internally recalling the stories each speck of it told, you looked back up at him, only to find a different look on his face. One of longing, yet present.

Like he wanted more from you, right now.

He brought his right hand behind your neck and his left up to your cheek to frame your face. Your eyes shut and your vocal cords hummed at the feeling of his hands, having done so much damage, sliding over the skin of your neck and face like that of a priceless jewel.

Your eyes fluttered back open to find his mouth inching closer to yours, enough for his breath to fan over your lips. His eyebrows were raised in question, waiting for you to pull away or stop him, but you only smiled, and pulled him the rest of the way into the kiss.

You remembered how you felt when he begged you with his eyes for this seven days ago, and now, with his lips meeting your own, you wondered why you ever had a shred of doubt in the first place, because if you thought Joel could give head well, it was nothing compared to the way he kissed.

He moved you with his mouth, painting and sketching upon you with his tongue like an artist with their brush. He didn't start slow, he moved with a fever, tilting your head back slightly to gain as much access as he could, maintaining his grip on your face the entire time. It was indescribable how much you were saying to each other through glides over tongues and bites on lips. The darkness surrounding you held no more lies, no more fear. Only this, only you.

You nipped at his lip a little harder after one particularly good stroke of his tongue inside your mouth, causing him to pull away from you and smile before bringing you back in for more, and you knew that image of him so rawfully joyful would never leave you.

You kissed and felt each other for some time, so long the street lights of Jackson had long since gone out, and with one last firm kiss to your lips, Joel pulled away, a trail of split connecting the two of you. It was symbolic, you thought, of how little your bodies wanted to separate. It was like your lips were holding on, not wanting it to end either.

You both smiled at the feeling.

He set his forehead against yours with a satisfied sigh and ran his palms up and down your back, causing you to hum once more. He pressed kisses around your lips and cheeks, ending on your hairline.

You'd have to ask him about his symptoms of oral fixation later.

He pressed his forehead against your own once more and breathed deeply, basking in the silence. You basked in it as well, closing your eyes. You were tempted to let yourself fall into slumber in his arms when his gruff voice suddenly filled the air.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I think I love you."

Your eyes immediately opened, connecting with his, and you noticed the tears beginning to dribble down into his beard. Your eyes instantly filled at the sight of his own filled ones, and you wiped them away with your thumb, feeling no fear as you replied.

"I think I love you too."

Maybe you did need each other after all.

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