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just-some-random-blogger · 29 days ago

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Tormented Spirit | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (cunnilingus, piv, choking, degradation, slight sadism), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: again the high valyrian is internet translated so lol. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. might make another poll for next chapter stay tuned. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

Taking you to the hidden stream was simultaneously the best and worst decision Erryk's ever made in his life. The look of you was holy. His intense focus on your form was to ensure your safety, but, by the gods, it felt sinful to behold your dark hair and light fabric ebbing in the water.

He had hoped a swim would lift your spirits, just as flower picking did, but he did not know it would draw such a tempest out of you. It was as though you were reborn. You plunged into the water and shed all your inhibitions. Your voice became brighter, as did your eyes. You were flooded with more than a dozen memories of you and your twin swimming in the river near your home in Oldtown, and you recounted all of them so excitedly to Erryk.

"Oh!' you exclaim, flipping in the water to get to your feet. You point to something behind your ward, making him turn around. In that split second, you hold in your laughter and grab something from the mossy rocks. Innocently, you say, "that reminds me of something."

Erryk turns back to you, brows knit in confusion. When you you make your way towards him, he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze. The shift you were swimming in was stuck flush on your body, leaving little to his imagination. He was glad to have the foresight to bring you a change of clothes and a towel, and, my, was the pattern on the said towel so very interesting.

"What is a frogs favorite game?" you ask so suddenly.

Erryk turns to you, brows furrowing, "pardon?"

"Tell me the frogs' favorite game, ser," you repeat as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Frogs favored game?" he repeats slowly, realizing now that your expression was mockingly innocent. He hums, "I cannot say I-"

"HOPSCOTCH!"

A frog comes leaping into Erryk's face, nearly causing him to topple as he dodges it. He's so flabbergasted by the turn of events, he calls out your name in offence. He is doubly offended by your laughter. His eyes go wide as you hunch forward, leaning on your knees.

"Villain," your ward mutters, scoffing far too many times.

You can barely catch your breath. You fan your face, "frog-ive me."

Erryk's face only contorts further.

"I could not-" you gasp for air, "could not help it."

In truth, if it was any other who did such a childish thing, he'd have shoved them in the water. Alas, you appeared only more beauteous as you made him a fool.

"Forgive me," you repeat in more serious manner, "Gwayne used to scare me this way often. I wished only to know how it felt, and now..." you giggle, "I can't say I blame my brother for constantly pulling tricks on me."

He huffs and shakes his head, "well. I'm glad to have pleased you, my ever-so-kind princess."

You offer him a guilty smile, "apologies."

Erryk shakes his head, "no. Truly. I am glad to see you in such a state."

You fidget with your fingers as a shiver runs down your spine.

He is quick to unravel your towel. He places it on your shoulders, "perhaps we should go back. The sunset is nigh."

You nod, taking your change of clothes from him next.

He turns around offering you your privacy. It takes a while, but you manage to dress yourself. Once you had your shoes on, you dry your hair with your towel and take his arm, "would you please lace up my dress?"

He nods, avoiding your gaze as he feels his face burn. He quickly laces you up then you return to the Keep.

You both had been laughing, up until you made it past the castle gates, promptly being silenced by the loud shout, "PRINCESS!"

Arryk runs over, charging for his brother. Their steel plates collide as Arryk yanks his twin, "where in gods name did you take her?"

Erryk furrows his brows, "we visited a stream-"

"The Keep is in disarray!" Arryk grits his teeth, hissing under his breath, "everyone's looking for her. Everyone."

You watch the twins huddle close and bicker. As it escalates, you try try to come between them, "Arryk. I was the one who asked him to take me outside the keep."

Arryk does not hear you at first, dead set on arguing with his twin. When you repeat your words the second time however, he turns to you, face softening a fraction. He knits his brows turning back to this brother, whispering something that makes Erryk turn to you with wide eyes, "fuck."

"Why?" you look at them in concern, "what it is?"

Arryk opens his mouth, but Erryk grabs his arm and says, "wait."

"There's no other way to say it," Arryk snaps, ripping his arm out his grip.

"Say what?" you knit your brows.

Arryk turns back to you, then lowers his gaze, "the queen... the queen has passed."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. Your hand immediately covers your mouth. The three of you do not speak for a prolonged moment.

You feel your stomach roll, "w-what happened?"

"She could not deliver the babe herself. The maesters... had to intervene."

Intervene? You could not possibly understand what that could mean, and you find that you do not want to. You shake your head, "and her babe? Is- is her babe well at least?"

Arryk clenches his jaw, "she sired a prince named Baelon... he apparently grows weaker by the hour."

You feel bile rise up your throat.

"Your father and your siblings have been looking for you since news broke."

You shake your head, and gather your skirts.

"As has the prince."

Your face twitches at the thought. You do not delay and make your way inside the Keep.

As you tread the halls, you think about what the queen told you just mere hours ago. There is a sharp twinge in your belly as simultaneously remember how Aemma told you to go cheer for Daemon at the tourney and realize you will never hear a word from her ever again. The thought washes over you like water on the beach, sobering but thankfully not overwhelming.

You hadn't realized you had your head bowed until you hear your name called. You still as you look up, the twins halt behind you.

Otto marches over, brows and jaw tight as ever, "where in gods name have you been?"

You straighten your back as he stops before you, "I-"

"Your wards are double," he turns to the kingsguards, "and doubly useless, it seems."

"Father," you step into his line of sight, "do relieve your rage on them."

Your father turns back to you, expression softening a fraction at your referral. You had not called him father since your argument in the maester's office. He looks at you— takes a good look at you and your sad eyes, your knit brows, your frowning lips. Your hair was darker than it was normally, and as he reaches out for it, he found it was, in fact, damp, "where have you been?"

"I..." you gulp and take a deep breath, "went swimming."

He releases your hair, tilting his head, "with whom? Gwayne has gone."

You pull your head back, "G-Gwayne's gone?"

"The tourney is over. The road is long. He has no reason to stay," Otto says.

Your brows tighten as you shake your head, "he... he didn't... wait for me?"

Otto watches your lips quiver. He watches your nose twitch. When your chest begins to visibly rise and fall, he shakes his head, "what did I tell you?"

You stare blankly at him.

He takes your hands, "what is it I always tell you?"

You clench your jaw and huff through your nostrils, "do not waste your tears on things you cannot change."

Otto rubs your knuckles as he shakes his head again. He gives the Cargyll brothers a look before walking off with you. They make sure to keep their distance before following after.

You turn to your father as he links your arm into his. You are certain, with how he cannot look at you, that he means to tell you something grave. You look front and mimic his demeanor— distant, cold. You are his daughter, face and temperance.

"You enjoyed your swim at least?" he starts, "you are calm?"

You gulp, mentally preparing yourself for what will surely come next. Your voice still falters though, "ye-s."

Otto nods, still not turning to you, "many has occurred since your marriage to Daemon. You admitted you did not consummate your marriage on your wedding night and I was deeply concerned you would fail your duties in producing heirs, especially if your husband was not interested in you."

Your jaw clenches.

"But with the apparent... change of heart your husband has shown, you should know I've had the maesters closely monitor your state."

You knit your brows at that, "you mean my affliction?"

He speaks your name slowly before continuing, "as of yesterday, they have confirmed to me that you are with child."

You whip your head to him and pull away.

Otto does not look at you with the same sense of urgency.

"W-what?"

He sees the fear on your features. He offers a solemn expression and takes your cheeks when your eyes water, "this is good. You should delight, not tremble."

You try to speak but nothing coherent comes out.

"The Queen is dead. Go to your husband and comfort him with this news."

Your mouth goes dry and your father wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. He your name softly. Your sad face looks the exact same it did when his wife died. My baby is having a baby. He frowns and pulls away.

You try to take his hand, but he slips away.

"See her off," the Hand instructs your wards.

Erryk is quick to go to your side, whereas Arryk stares at the back of Otto's head, his lips curling as he did.

"Princess," Erryk says, cautiously reaching your arm.

You turn to him with wide eyes before scratching your tears away, "I-"

"Perhaps you should sit down first."

You pull away from him before he can touch you. The action makes Erryk pull back, an unsavory sensation spreading in his mouth and belly.

"I want to- I—" you take a breath, "I need to find-" you shake your head and begin speeding down the hall.

You were nearly about to break into a sprint, and your wards had to jog up to your side to keep up with you. You don't really know where you're going, but you're getting there, fast.

"Princess, please, slow down," one says.

You can feel your breath and your pulse in your ears.

"Princess."

You find yourself in the halls near one of the gate of the keep. The only reason why you stop is because you hear the voice of your twin. Your breath catches as you lurch towards the window. Gwayne was laughing with one of the guards, already on his horse. Your brows furrow, he couldn't possibly be well enough to be riding on horseback.

You realize quickly this is your last opportunity to go be with your brother, to pull him into an embrace, to worry on him, to tell him your worries, to kiss him goodbye. You know you have to act now and swiftly, but you cannot seem to move.

Your mind is heavy as you think about how your brother is set to leave regardless of your desire to keep close; he said it himself, his place can never be at your side. Though he is the only person who've ever relied on, you know now— you rub your belly, that can no longer be the case. There is only one person you can rely on now... yourself.

It is painful to pull away from the window, but you do, clenching your hands into fists before walking away.

You don't really walk away however, because then, you're frozen in place at the sight of your husband standing a few paces away from you, "Daemon."

He stares at you wordlessly.

You walk towards him, careful as you drag your feet.

He tilts his head and clenches his jaw, "he's leaving any moment now."

You nod, "I know."

"Go to him," he says softly.

"I-"

"Go to him!" he snaps.

You stiffen at his expression. You were adept with anger but he did not look angry. You stop in your tracks, trying to make sense of his restless figure.

Daemon watches you fidget with your fingers.

"If it is your command, I shall obey."

He chuckles dryly, pacing around his spot. He wipes his mouth then charges over, stopping just in front of you. He scoffs when you do not flinch, in disbelief of your constitution. His nostrils flare, "you know my feelings towards your twin."

You slowly shrug, "then you'll be glad to know I came looking for you."

Daemon does not move.

"You know how I feel about my brother..." you mutter, "but..." you lower your gaze, "I'm coming to terms with the fact I can no longer rely on him... it will be better this way."

It takes a moment, but Daemon chuckles. When you look up and his smirk fades. Your beady eyes make it hard to find satisfaction. "So, you will not go to him?" he asks.

You stare.

"You do not want to go to him?"

Your lips part.

He raises his brows.

"I... I do."

Anger rises up his belly, but as if on cue, the sound of horses and carriages moving is heard. You clench your jaw and lower you gaze to prevent yourself from looking back at the window. The prince cannot seem to win, for he should be pleased you did not see your brother off, and yet your sadness leaves sour jealousy in his mouth— he was your husband.

The Cargyll twins look upon you both, appalled by the cruelty of the prince to keep you here as Gwayne leaves for good. Erryk in particular feels restless, unable to stop shifting and fidgeting with his scabbard.

"Shall... shall we go?" you mutter, slowly looking up.

Daemon watches you place a hand on his bicep. He responds only by following you after giving your wards a dismissive look.

The brothers turn to each other, each as unwilling as the other to leave you, but they do anyway.

Daemon is acutely aware of the warmth of your cheek against his arm as you tread down the halls. When, you arrive at your marriage chambers, Daemon opens the door and you notice the bandage wrapped around his hand. He struggles because of this. Once you're inside, you take his arm, eyes trained on his injury, "what happened to your hand?"

Daemon's eyes are fixed on the line between your brows.

"Did you break it?" you turn to him with furrowed eyes.

He pulls away slowly. He wants to know what you'd do next.

"Did you wrap it yourself? It's badly done."

He faintly snorts, "it's on my right hand."

"I'll do it for you," you say, walking towards the vanity.

Daemon follows, watching you procure scissors and vials and other things. You turn to him, motioning to the chair. He sits down, gaze fixed upon you as you take his arm again.

Your eyes are focused on undoing his wrap, "tell me if it hurts,"

His are fixed on your focused expression, "you should sit down."

"I'm fine."

"I want you to sit down," he uses his other hand to grab your wrist.

You stop and turn to him. You turn to the chair across the room but Daemon prevents you from doing so and simply spreads legs, pulling you between his thighs. Quickly, you are sat on his lap and tense look at him. He offers you his injured hand again as his other goes around you, clinging to your hip. He pulls you in, leaning his head against yours to say, "it's a cut, by the way."

You furrow your brows at his admission. You allow yourself a moment to relax before continuing your task. You find it is, in fact, a cut, deep and ugly, "did your lance splinter very badly?"

"No."

You furrow your brows deeper as you turn to him,

"This is glass."

"Glass?" you brow raise, "how did you hurt your hand with glass?"

Daemon licks his lips as he looks at yours. He shrugs, "I broke a bottle."

You pull your head back, "on accident?"

"On purpose," he tilts his head.

You huff and start cleaning his wound, "was the violence in the tourney insufficient?"

He chuckles through his nostrils, "I did not fucking win."

You smear balm on his wound. You do not reply.

It makes him clench his jaw, "and you..."

"..."

"You were not there."

You do not tear your gaze from his injury.

He grumbles, "did you even hear me?"

You lift your gaze then raise brow at him, "you did not want me there. Do you not recall how you cursed at me?"

Your gall makes anger rise up his throat.

You continue wrapping up his hand.

"Well, you were being a bitch," he snaps.

"Why?"

His brows furrow.

"Why was I being a bitch?"

"..."

You spare him a quick glace.

He pulls his head back, "... what?"

"Did I not do my duty?" you turn to him, face blank, "I followed you, congratulated you, inquired of your injuries. I submitted to your desires. Where did I err?" You ask in earnest, "what do you want from me?"

His face contorts. Now that he was faced with such an opportunity, he finds himself unable to speak. What did he want from you?

You wait for him to reply. You prepare yourself for preposterous requirements but you are met only his silence. In that moment, you remember he was just a man. Many a man enjoyed making women suffer. You gulp, thinking about your father.

Perhaps your father was lying. Perhaps he wants you to believe you are with child to get even. After all, Daemon never... finished in you. How then could you be with child?

You secure the binding on his hand, "it is finished."

Daemon does not bother looking at his hand.

"How do you feel?"

He feels a strong urge to shake you... to pull you close.

"My deepest sympathies for the death of your cousin."

He freezes. Right. The queen was dead. He lowers his gaze.

You frown and reach for his cheek. You second guess however and bring your palm to his shoulder instead, "I am here for you, my prince."

His eyes meet yours.

"I am here to care and comfort you."

He leans back, taken by the thought.

You drink in his demeanor, the softness in his eyes, the tension that falls of his shoulders. You release a breath, "if that is what you desire, speak plainly, and do not repel me. Do not ask me to leave if, in fact, you want me to stay."

His throat tightens. He feels like he is ensnared in a bear trap. He rips at his collar, "I... I have other injuries." He pushes you off and paces around as he undoes his top. It is a struggle for him, but he cannot stop or stay still, "cuts and bruises."

You watch as he fidgets and slowly walk over.

"I don't-"

"Daemon."

He stills.

You come in front of him and undo his top yourself. You drop it mindlessly, and once he is bare, he feels conscious under your scrutiny for some reason. You brush your fingers on his ribs, making goosebumps form on his skin. He can't say that that has ever happened to him before. You notice and rub his arms, eyes locked on his torso.

He feels himself getting hard.

"Did you tend to these yourself as well?" you brush over a cut on his hip.

Oh. You were still examining him. He only hums in response.

You frown, "did no maester come to your tent?"

"I..." he starts.

You circle around him, inspecting for other injuries.

"...wanted you to come to my tent."

You come to his side. He finds the frown on your face. You take a moment before saying, "you tended to your wounds well at least."

"I want you."

You nod, "I will tend to you—"

Daemon takes your nape, lowering his head to kiss your lips. It takes a moment for you to relax, and his belly burns at the sound you make when you do. Your hands come to his sides and your nails graze faintly into his flesh.

He pushes you back until your laid on the bed beneath him. His kisses trail down your skin as he works to get you naked. He kisses your shoulder, then your sternum. He makes sure to lick your breast and leave a mark on your rib before peppering kisses down your belly.

Your breath grows heavy when he lingers by your womb, sucking kisses on your skin. Your throat tightens think of your father's words again. It makes you tense, and Daemon feels it. Of course, he doesn't know about your conversation with Otto, and thinks your tension comes from your self-consciousness.

You lift your head, pulling a pillow beneath it, and look down at your husband. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his silver hair, "Daemon."

He hums, nipping your flesh in response.

You try to sit up, "D-Daemon, I-"

He shushes you, pushing down on your hip bone. He looks up at you, muttering something in High Valyrian.

"Please, Daemon, wait-"

"Be still," he says, violet eyes hooded, "do I not take care of you?"

Your breath hitches as he sinks down.

"Do you not enjoy my mouth?"

"I- that's not-"

"Do you or do you not?"

"I... I do—"

You are not able to speak after he buries his face between your thighs. You are reduced to breathy cries and a twisting spine. Daemon, though he continues to hold you down, relishes every second of it and feasts more ardently. He sighs, securing your thighs on his shoulders, nudging his face deeper into you, his nose brushing against your pearl.

He relishes how quickly your wetness builds, and soon, he feels your arousal dribbling down his chin. He moans, nails biting crescent moons into your skin. Your belly rises and falls in sync with the crescendo of your mewls. At this point, both your hands are tangled into his hair, and your pulling and scratching only further inspires his tongue.

You call out his name, screwing your eyes shut as you throw your head back and arch your body. Quickly, your belly tightens and you sequentially dig your heels into his shoulder blades. He squeezes your thighs enough to make them bruise, and yet the pain is what pushes you into orgasm, garnering a lewd and loud sound from your mouth.

Daemon hums, lifting his face just enough to see yours as he brings you to peak. He moans at your expression, grinding his hips into the cushion, desperate for friction.

Your body trembles, unable to settle as his burning mouth persists on your molten mound. You begin to squeak and he catches the moment you open your eyes to look at him all teary. It drives him mad. With a deep inhale, he pulls away, wiping his chin before he undoes his breeches.

You relax and catch your breath, hands dropping to your sides.

Daemon watches you, your trembling legs glistening with the pleasure he's drawn out. He can feel himself throbbing in his pants. You watch as he hastily frees himself. Though your head was hazy and your body was tried, your belly burned at sight of the sticky liquid dripping down your husband's neck.

"Fuck, Daemon," you reach for his belly. You trace his defined muscles with your finger tips. He snatches your hands when he finally pushes his pants down.

You squeak when he pushes you to your side, one hand on your shoulder, another hiking your leg up by the knee. You whine as he folds you into the sheets just before sliding his hardened cock in your wet cunt.

He hisses, leaning down to your neck. His words are hot against your skin, but you understand nothing.

Whatever tenderness he had before was gone, now he was just fucking you like a rabid animal. Daemon could not help himself, he loved how supple and pliable you were, and twists you into a form that keeps you prone. When the bed begins to creak because of his thrusts, he holds you down where your neck and collarbone meet. He puts enough pressure to restrict your breathing, but not enough to choke out your pretty noises.

At some point, he decides your leg is getting in the way and pushes you flat on your chest. He then gathers you by the hip, hiking you up enough to fuck you nicely from behind.

His thrusts are more intense now. You scream into the cushion as you find your elbows. Before you can prop yourself up though, he's pinning you down by the shoulder, saying something in High Valyrian again.

"D-Daemon," you whine, left cheek smushed against your pillow. You could feel your next climax building quickly.

He responds by rubbing your clit, drawing tears and another scream out of you because of your sensitivity.

You feel yourself helplessly clenching and unclenching around him, absolutely boneless under his vigorous intrusion. You could feel your knees slipping but Daemon's grip on you would not see you move from your position. Your toes curl. Saliva drips out your open mouth.

"Māzigon va, riña," he snorts, "sepār mirrī angotan tolī." Come on, girl. Just a little bit more."

You do not understand, so you only whine out, "Daemon."

Daemon growls and rubs one side of your ass, "you're doing so good for me."

He spanks you, but that's not what makes your eyes open.

"Milk my cock with your tight cunny, come slut."

You begin to grit your teeth.

"I want to see my seed dripping down your thighs," he groans, mind unable to focus on anything but the hot, wet slapping of your skin.

It's unsurprising that you come first, as Daemon always assures you do to underscore his control and dominance over you. He yelps out a sharp fuck, nearly coming in your cunt because of how your body seizes up around him. Your orgasm overwhelming, yet your eyes water for more than this reason. His words make you aware your husband sees you nothing more as a vessel for pleasure, and your pleasure is regretfully cut short because of how sharply he pulls out, his load spraying on your already dripping labia and pubic hair.

He strokes himself a few times, feeling his cock twitch in his hand as he watches your mixed come trickle down your legs. He sighs, "fuck," then scoops the cream in two fingers, plunging it in and out your still spasming cunt.

You squeal when he finger fucks you, body unable to remain upright. You are grateful he loses interest rather quickly and crumble into the bed as he stands.

You watch him walk over to the drawer, where he then pours himself some wine. You gulp, remembering your dream from last night. It sobers you out your high. You clench your jaw and roll over to clean yourself up. You head to your vanity and wipe yourself down, grabbing your robe was you do.

Daemon, whose thirst was now quenched, turns back to you with a towel. He is confused to see you standing. He watches you flip your hair behind you, pulling it out of your robe, which you then secure around yourself. He knits his brows as he walks over, "what are you doing?"

You turn to him, sitting on the vanity chair, "getting ready for bed."

Daemon stares, and you take his prolonged silence as an indication to proceed with your nightly routine.

The prince squeezes the damp towel in his hand as he watches you brush your hair. You catch his stillness from the mirror and turn back to him, "oh."

You drop your brush and take the towel from him, "I'll help you clean up."

Normally, he enjoyed this, but right now, he can't. He is offended when you begin to pick up his clothes, so much that he scoffs, "the fuck are you doing?"

You halt midway picking up his trousers. You stand and turn to the closet, "ah. Did you want new clothes?"

He pulls his head back, no longer offended, but hurt, "you want me to leave?"

You are caught off guard by his question. You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious. You could not identify his expression, so you did not know if you tell him the truth. You would not survive being berated after confessing you wanted to sleep with him. You dodge the answer altogether, "weren't you leaving anyway?"

Daemon's cheeks tense. He huffs, stepping forward, yanking his clothes out of your hands, "no."

You are bewildered by his actions, for to you, his actions are sudden. You are petrified in fear, which is why you instinctively begin to apologize, "f-forgive me, I-I-"

His nostrils flare and his jaw sets.

"I-" you motion with a hand, "- you always leave."

His clenches his jaw, "do you want me to leave?"

"I—" your throat tightens and soon you can no longer look at him. You want to beg him to stay, but you recall how you did that with your father, and your mother, and your brother— begging does not make people stay. You whisper, "I... I'm terrified."

When you lift your gaze, Daemon shirks and decided to dress. He gulps as he pulls his trousers up, turning back to you. He clenches his fist before reaching out for you.

Your heart races as he takes your hand.

"You've served me well. If you are terrified... I'll leave you."

You whimper when he pulls away, holding him tighter than he did before your hands part. Your lips quiver. He knits his brows. You shake your head, "I- I... I do not want you to go."

He is taken off guard by how you suddenly embrace him.

"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."

He turned to stone. He cannot seem to move at all but your arms are determined to stay around him. You begin to weep against his skin and he can feel your breath grow ragged. Only then does he manage to return your affection.

He brushes your dark hair away from your face and cradles you against him.

"Daemon."

He leans into you, enough to be able to brush his cheek against yours, "kesan umbagon." I will stay.

You sniffle then sigh. After a while, you ask, "what does that mean?"

"I will stay."

You sigh again, pulling away to look at him. You offer him a sad smile, "thank you."

He frowns, wiping your tears.

When you go back to bed, you offer him space in case you've made him uncomfortable. He stares at you, awaiting your embrace. You are mere inches apart but it feels like yards and yards.

"Good night, husband," you say before turning over.

He chuckles dryly, staring at your dark hair. He turns to the ceiling, "good night."

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littlejuicebox · 1 year ago

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LittleJuicebox Masterlist

Click here for my AO3 account. (Converting is a WiP).

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please DM me and I can send you the google doc link. I have decided to keep tag lists for each individual series so you only get tagged in the ones you want.

My personal favorites are denoted by a +.

GN reader is denoted by a * otherwise assume Fem reader/OC.

Titles colored red are smut or other mature themes, 18+ only.

AstarionxWren Series:

This is a canon-adjacent passion project which focuses on Astarion and Wren, a ranger half-elf with her own backstory. She is based off my first Tav. Do you like angsty slow burns where two broken people find one another and learn to love again? Then this one is for you.

Chapter 1 / Chasing birds to get high (PG) + Chapter 2 / Between comfort and chaos (PG) Chapter 3 / Sunshine and midnight rain (PG13) + Chapter 4 / Protect the flames (M/Gore) Chapter 5 / Blue and silver bonded (PG13) Chapter 6 / Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat (PG13) Chapter 7 / Give peace a chance (M/Smut) + Chapter 8 / Dancing in a burning room (M/Gore) Chapter 9 / Lavender haze (PG-PG13?) Chapter 10 / I want to hold your hand (PG13)

Midnight Chimes Series:

Your parents own a tavern in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was somewhat of a regular when you worked at the bar in your younger years. You don’t exactly trust him. Now you’re an apothecary owner based in Waterdeep, and when the two of you crash on the beach, you aren’t exactly thrilled to see him there, too. But things aren’t always what they seem.

1 / The Prologue +

2 / Three years

3 / Luck +

4/ Ringleader

Midwinter Carol Series:

Eirianwen and Astarion were in love before the Ascension ritual changed his behavior toward her. She refused to become a spawn, and they went their separate ways. The story starts when they run into one another fifteen years later; Eirianwen returned to the city to deliver some news to the pale elf. Meanwhile, the Ascendant had a night time visitor that convinced him to change his ways, and he believes his ex-lover might be the key. Will he be able to change after fifteen years of living life as a debauched degenerate?

1 / The Prologue +

2 / The Barrier

3 / The Carriage

4 / The Auction +

5/ The Repeat

6/ The Affliction

7/ The Interrogation

8/ The Scheme

9/ The Snake

AstarionxReader One Shots and Mini-Stories:

Mini-Stories are grouped together in order and denoted by a “Part X” in sequential order after the title. These are in general "timeline" order and follow my (admittedly self-indulgent) headcanon for Spawn Astarion x Tav but can definitely be read as OneShots. All stories are AstarionxReader, some allusions to reader having spellcaster ability but otherwise no real description apart from being female in about 3/4 of the fics.

Act 1-2:

The little things.

Before someone steals your queen

Act 3:

Drunken nights*+

The nail salon

You'll stay still, won't you, little love? +

Post-BG3:

Mermaid whiskey+

Baking Cookies*

Astarion talks in his sleep Part 1*+

My Sun, My Moon Part 2+

Glowing in the Underdark+

Reflections on one year of marriage

Highharvestide Part 1

Highharvestide Part 2

Handmade+

Dadstarion:

The wish spell worked.+

Daddy?

Little bump.

Labor and joy

Skin to skin.

Milk.+

Little lockpick.

Beach babies.+

A growing brood.

Puppy love.

Stuck.

Pre-BG3 / Random / Ascended Astarion OneShots

Midnight chimes / The Original One Shot

Pre-BG3. You’ve known Astarion for years… or at least, you’ve known of him. You think he’s a rake, but one night he changes your mind. The series "Midnight Chimes" started based off this "prologue."

A Midwinter Carol / The Original One Shot

“A Christmas Carol” but Ascended Astarion is Scrooge. He sees you after your break up 15 years ago, and then has an unexpected nighttime visitor showing him past, present, and future. Will he be convinced to change his ways? The series "Midwinter Carol" started based off this "prologue."

Naughty or Nice?

You’re Ascended Astarion’s little toy in the middle of a party. TLDR; he’s tease and a BDSM dom.

Dancing on my own

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tranceinnumerabletabs · 7 days ago

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When Johnny Comes Back pt 6

Howdy. I didn't want there to be long wait. It's a shorter read.

BUT the chapter after this should have a big event! May take a while. But it'll be longer than usual. Is that fine with y'all?

btw the 'fanfiction' featured here is just the 'Wife at First Sight' series from @readwritealldayallnight ,and the names are....obstructed to avoid universe confusion.

and of course @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl tagged

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5.

It was a quiet night. You lay in the living, Simon on your chest purring, reading fanfiction on tumblr about a large masked military man with an accent from a video game known for having the worst and most vile lobby with people that always know which slur to call you somehow. You’ve been reading more recently due to a lapse in internet quality. But since you only need to load it once and you can spend hours reading it’s gotten very convenient.

The fanfictions sure know how to make canon war criminals seem like perfect knights in shining tactical armor.

You wish there were people like him in your world but alas, they exist within the works of passion. It was late but you were still reading a work from someone who seemed to readwritealldayandnight, wow the Y/N here was dense! Couldn’t be you. (A wild thought considering your previous behavior but go off)

“The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met in his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for”

You read while Simon seemed to read with you, strangely interested in human technology.

“ “Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing G%•$!’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!” ”

You giggle, trying to keep your attention on the fic and not the missing spot next to you, but the universe just had to remind you somehow

“”Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” $•%# said, seeing <£^~% approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand”

that sounded just like….like….like

Your mood drops back down, that sounded just like Johnny….. you sigh…looking down…shutting the phone and hugging Simon. Trying to stop the thought of your precious roommate dying. You take deep breaths and try to think of nicer things. Like how you’ll show him the fanfic and how much it sounds like him when Johnny comes back

Part7

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spacelatinoluvr · 2 months ago

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blood runs thicker than water (5/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.5k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: violence rating: 18+, !MDNI!

THE BLADE OF A WOLF

Alarra hadn't touched her sword in weeks. When she arrived at Dragonstone, she swore off carrying it and it laid untouched in a cabinet for one moon. Her sword remained in that cabinet even in King's Landing. It had been sitting for days since she’d arrived. She didn't figure she'd need it. Even as much as she wished to have it by her side, the dagger at her thigh would suffice for the time being.

Alarra entered the training grounds, peeking behind the walls of the castle to watch the one-eyed prince and his dog train. She did this multiple times each day. Wishing it were her sweeping the men off of their feet onto their arses.

But that would never happen.

“Looks like we have a new onlooker, my prince.” Ser Criston Cole rang, loud enough so that Alarra could hear from whichever wall she was hiding. Aemond turned and saw a head of red hair behind a pillar.

“I wouldn't mind a new opponent,” Aemond started stalking towards Alarra.

“You, Ser, are predictable.” He muttered, and he felt the offended gaze of the knight on the back of his head.

“Alarra the Fierce.” Alarra jumped, turning to face the prince. She bowed out of respect, feeling slightly embarrassed, her cheeks becoming red and warm.

“Prince Aemond,” Aemond inspected her with his eye, and Alarra felt like a bird in a bear’s trap.

“I was just watching. In Winterfell, I used to train with my brother with a proper sword I-” Alarra stopped herself, realizing she was talking too much for the prince’s interest. “I apologize. I overstep-”

“Do you own a sword?”

“Yes.”

“Is it with you?”

“In my room-”

“Fetch it.” Was she a dog? Some hound to fetch something for the prince? Alarra’s eyebrow rose, but she decided to not argue with the prince. She had already done that enough with his brother. Alarra arrived in her room to grab her sword, the sword of pure Valyrian steel. Alarra’s hand wrapped around the hilt tightly, and a small smile appeared on her face. It was nice to hold it again, to feel the coolness of its composure and its weight beneath her fingers. Alarra felt slightly embarrassed walking through the halls with a sword at her hip. Why was she so embarrassed? Alarra the Fierce does not get embarrassed. Alarra does not get flustered over a boy. Alarra lifted her head as she entered the training grounds, and both Aemond and Ser Criston Cole turned to her.

She was Alarra the Fierce.

“I have fetched my sword,” Alarra said as she joined Aemond and the knight where they were standing, men beginning to circle them as they awaited. “Am I to be your squire? Fetch you wine and water. Fetch you your sword. Perhaps feed grapes into your mouth?”

“No. Show me your skills.” Aemond said and Ser Criston Cole whipped his head so fast at the prince Alarra thought his head might have fallen off of his body.

“What?” The knight said, his eyes thinning onto Alarra. “She is a woman-” The men around them started to laugh.

“I am Alarra the Fierce. Would you like me to show you?” They stopped laughing. Ser Criston Cole was stunned for a moment, before a condescending grin grew upon his face.

“Gladly.” He said his hand pointing towards the training area, motioning for Alarra to go first. Alarra stared at him as she passed, barely grazing her shoulder over his wishing she bumped into him. He grabbed a shield and Alarra looked back at him, smirking.

“You need a piece of wood to protect you?” Ser Criston looked down at the shield before throwing it on the ground and waltzed over to her a smug look on his face to find Alarra who was already in stance, her sword unsheathed in her hand. Oh, how she wished to wipe that smirk off of his face.

“Pure Valyrian steel…” He muttered looking at her sword then unsheathing his own sword, it glimmering in the sunlight. Aemond was watching them from afar, silently rooting for the Stark girl to put Ser Criston Cole’s dignity in the dirt. Someone had to. “Fighting in a dress? Isn't that…difficult?” The knight scanned Alarra’s frame, wearing a dark blue dress, quivering an eyebrow.

“Maybe for a man like yourself.” She responded cooly, her sword now at eyes width. Alarra then lunged widely, her sword pointed at the man and Ser Criston Cole quickly lifted his sword, catching hers. He huffed letting out a small laugh.

“Not fair.”

“Nothing is fair, Ser.” Alarra swiped again this time quicker but the knight still caught her. She hadn't practiced in three moons. Anytime Alarra advanced, the knight kept stopping her, his sword always colliding with hers no matter how much she succeeded. He was skilled, and it seemed he was too cocky for his own good, like most men. His ego was something that would not be tarnished by a woman. Especially a young girl from the North.

Ser Criston Cole was slowly losing his confidence, and Alarra was gaining the upper-hand. His overbearing smile soon diminished, and he was scared of the girl he saw in front of him. She was no longer a princess but a fighter. She was fierce. And in that moment Ser Criston realized that the rumors were in fact not a lie but the truth. Alarra was fierce. And any man that faced her would soon regret it.

But then Alarra found an opening. Ser Criston Cole’s eyes widened, almost as if he knew what she was about to do before she did and Alarra sweeped the knight off of his feet onto his back, her sword pointed directly at his neck, his sword sitting above his head. There was a beat of silence, only the heavy breathing coming from Alarra being heard. Then the men around them started to clap, cheering for her.

For her.

Alarra smiled to herself, sheathing her sword as Ser Criston Cole sat on the ground, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Alarra.

“How did you do that? You managed to not only disarm me but land me on my-”

“Arse?” Alarra questioned, moving to stand in front of him. Ser Criston gave her a look of pure disbelief, and her confidence lingered in the air as the crowd's applause diminished. The knight was in awe for a moment before he became angry that she had embarrassed him.

“The men of the North are skilled but-”

“You forget yourself, Ser. The Wolf of the North has taught me everything I know. I am a man from the North.” A man with tits, she wanted to say that to him also, but she was still a guest. But her Northern honor would not hide from the South. Her pride would not cower. From the corner of her eye, Alarra saw Aemond push through the crowd, and men made way for the Targaryen prince. She still had a smile on her face and Aemond was now in front of her, a look of dignation on his face.

“I bet you won't do the same to me.” Aemond said, his sword unsheathed from his side and Alarra relished in his statement. Oh, how wrong the prince was.

“Would you prefer to meet the same fate as Ser Criston Cole or something much less humiliating for a royal?” Alarra took her own sword out and the crowd grew quiet once again. Ser Criston Cole was now standing, looking tense, his eyes narrowed on Alarra. She had upset the knight.

Aemond was the one who moved first, a grunt leaving his lips as he slashed at Alarra but she was light on her feet, able to miss the graze of his sword. Aemond huffed in annoyance, slashing again but her sword caught him.

Their swords clanged, echoing through the courtyard’s silence. Alarra felt the strength of Aemond’s strike reverberate down her arm, but she held her ground, smirking at him over the steel of their locked blades. Alarra tilted her head to the side, her hair falling over her face, and Aemond’s eye narrowed, his grip tightening on his hilt. He pressed forward, pushing Alarra back towards the crowd.

Alarra twisted her wrist breaking their lock that forced Aemond to stumble back a few steps. Aemond had slowly become more and more agitated the more Alarra had taunted him. Aemond lunged again, seeming more ruthless this time as his blade whistled over Alarra’s head. Every move he made, she already saw. She anticipated everything he did. And this infuriated the prince.

And then she fell, her sword on the ground and Aemond’s sword at her neck. Alarra’s shock was not hidden on her face, as she stared at the steel, her eyes wide. But, Alarra knew better than to let her guard down. She knew better than to yield just yet.

Alarra’s hand went under her dress and Aemond’s eyebrows furrowed as she pulled out her dagger, pushing his blade away from her face with it and the sword fell to the ground. Alarra stood, her blade at Aemond’s neck. Aemond and Alarra stared at each other, their heavy breathing synchronized. She had never been so close to the prince, so close to his face, her blade at his neck. One swipe and he would be choking on his own blood.

“Yield.” She said, lightly pressing her dagger against his throat. He stared at her, neither scared nor smug. Aemond was shocked. Ser Criston Cole was now in front of her, pushing her harshly away from the prince.

“He yields.” The knight said, glaring at her. Alarra lifted her dress to put her dagger back at her thigh, her sword soon following now sheathed at her hip. She watched as Ser Criston Cole was saying something to the prince but he wasn't paying attention because he was only looking at the wolf from the North that had just bested him.

Alarra turned, stomping away a few feet from the crowd and Ser Criston Cole when Aemond had trailed behind her, shoving past the knight and the crowd.

“You are insufferable.” He was right behind her now and she turned fast, her hair almost hitting his face.

“Am I?” Alarra took a step forward, her face nearing Aemond’s steel gaze.

“You are a dirty dog.” Aemond spat, his eye scanning her face.

“Mhm…” Alarra smiled, her eyes never looking away from Aemond’s. “And yet, this dirty dog still handed you and your shit-wiper your arses.” She whispered, bumping into his shoulder as she walked past him. But, Aemond was quick and grabbed her wrist forcing her around to look at him again. His eye trailed over her face, no doubt staring at her scar. His eye always gravitated towards it, like it was haunting him. His hand stayed on her wrist, gripping it. Then suddenly, Aemond ripped his hand away, striding away from her back towards Ser Criston Cole who was watching their exchange closely.

“You bested two of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. That is something to be proud of.”

Alarra was laying on the ground in the grass somewhere outside the Red Keep and Rhaena was sitting beside her, trying to comfort her. They were on a hill, watching the water in front of them.

“I am not proud of it. Only embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed of what exactly?”

“That I let my ego get the best of me.” Rhaena laughed, looking back towards the water in front of them.

“And I’m embarrassed of many things but I do not dwell on it.” Rhaena said, beginning to stand, wiping her hands on her dress. Rhaena was basking in sunlight as she opened her hand out to Alarra. Alarra grunted, taking her outreaching palm to pull her up onto her feet. Alarra paused, looking at the water again.

“I never learned how to swim.” Alarra admitted, the wind blowing her hair and giving her a chill down her spine.

“I can teach you if you’d like.”

“I fear I’d only drown the both of us.”

Alarra and Rhaena had just entered the Red Keep again, finding the three Velaryon boys playing in a grass courtyard. They were laughing maniacally, the musings of their voices heard from the depths of the castle. The older prince was chasing the younger two, and he caught up to them pushing them to the ground with him. Alarra laughed as she watched them interact, starting to miss her own brother.

“My brother and I used to play like that. When we were children.” Alarra said, and she watched as they giggled rolling around in the dirt.

Just then, the three boys stood up quickly, seeming to react to something or someone. Alarra turned her head to find Ser Criston Cole approaching them furiously, a determined look on his face. Alarra was quick to make the decision to walk over to them, interrupting what the knight was telling them.

“-princes do not play.” The knight had just finished speaking when the disgusted look on his face grew even more when falling upon Alarra.

“Is something the matter?” She questioned, and he turned towards her his hand falling upon the hilt of his sword.

“Nothing is wrong. I am only telling these immature princes what royalty actually does-“

“What else are they to do? They are children-“

“Princes do not roll around in the dirt.” He said, taking a step towards her now. Alarra stood her ground, not to be intimidated by the knight.

“You do not reprimand them, Ser.” She said, her hands forming into fists at her side. Jacaerys intervened, standing between them.

“We will no longer play in the grass, Ser.” Jacaerys said, his eyes telling the knight to walk away. And he did. Alarra watched as Ser Criston Cole stalked away from them, seething as he did. Alarra watched as his shining armor shimmered through the halls. As if the knight had the honor to be wearing it. Alarra didn’t feel that he deserved it. He deserved his skin and bones beneath the dirt.

“If you shall play in the grass, you shall play in the grass.” Alarra muttered, still watching the retreating body of Ser Criston.

Nighttime came, and Alarra could not find peace in her bed. She twisted and turned unable to find rest beneath her linen sheets and feather pillows. The bed wasn’t the issue but her mind. She could not stop thinking about what she had done. She felt stupid. Stupid for allowing the knight and his prince to lead her into a trap.

When Alarra could not sleep, she found herself reading in the library. She did not care what she read, as long as it was something to keep her brain from running circles. She even did this in Winterfell. Her brother would find her fast asleep on a table, a book beneath her face. He would scold her for sleeping in that position telling her that when she was old and gray, her back would be her enemy.

When she first went to the library, a certain one-eyed prince had found her there but she had disappeared out the door before he could see her. After that, she never went to the library again at night. But tonight, she was desperate to find sleep.

Alarra opened the large doors of the library, and they creaked slowly as she did. She hoped that it wasn’t too loud, but the library was hidden from most of the chambers that lay within the Red Keep. It wasn’t the main library, but one of multiple. This library was small, about the size of a council room but it held many books Alarra found interesting. She had managed to steal a book about the beginnings of Valyrian steel, and wanted to return it after finishing.

Alarra quietly approached the shelf where she originally found the book, a lit candle in her hand as she did. The library was eerily quiet and her candle light was the only thing that she could visibly see. There were tall, narrow windows on the opposite side of the library, and the moon light filtered through the room, giving Alarra some other form of lighting. Alarra was browsing the books, her finger lightly tracing the spines when the door creaked open again. Alarra gasped quietly, ducking below the shelf. Another candle light shone through the room and Alarra quickly blew her own out.

“I can see you.” A voice said, and Alarra closed her eyes lightly in disappointment.

“I am sorry,” Alarra stood, playing with the ends of her night gown as she stared at the ground. She was encased in a dark blue robe her brother had gifted her. “I was only looking. I apologize if I am not allowed-“ Alarra looked up from the ground to see Aemond, his eyepatch gone and face illuminated solely with a single candle, her words getting caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to stare or get flushed but she just did. Now she understood.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, lowering his candle from his face. His hair was down, and he wore what looked to be his night time attire.

“I could not sleep. I know the hour is late but-“

“How did you find this place?” Alarra closed the robe around her body tighter.

“I wander when I cannot sleep.”

“You should not be here. I shall get a guard to escort you to your bed chambers-“ Aemond moved to the door but Alarra jumped towards him, throwing her hand out.

“No! Wait-“ Aemond stopped, turning back towards her. Her hand fell back at her side. “I just want one book and I’ll be on my way. Please.” She whispered the plea and Aemond seemed to pause, setting the candle down on a nearby table. Alarra couldn’t see him now, only his frame encased in black shadows visible.

Alarra assumed he could not see her at all, and she moved back towards the book shelf to where she was previously browsing. Then Alarra remembered she blew her candle out, and she blindly looked at books. She frowned, unable to see any books in front of her. She picked the first one in front of her, turning around but she jumped gasping. Aemond was now closer to her, the candle still sitting on the table, but she could see the outline of his body a few feet away from her.

Aemond picked back up the candle, and it slowly illuminated his arm up to his face, and Alarra watched him move towards her again, this time closer. The light made Alarra’s own shocked face visible and Aemond was looking at the book in her hand.

“History hen Valyrio.” He said, his eyes reaching hers and Alarra furrowed her eyebrows bringing the book to her eyesight. It was thick, and the only language on it was something she did not recognize. “I did not know the princess from the North spoke high Valyrian?” He jested, a small smirk on his lips. Alarra’s face got deep red and he leaned down to take the book from her hands. He was so close to her. Close enough to where she could smell the faint scent of soap and pine. She could even see his missing eye clearly. And she was mesmerized. It was a glowing purple, and Alarra quickly looked away when his eyes met hers. When he retracted the book from her hands slowly, she took a step away from him.

“I was just curious.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Aemond moved towards the table, sitting down at a chair, setting the candle and book next to him. Alarra stood there, watching him with a curious glance. What was he doing?

He opened the book, his fingers tracing over the pages lightly. Alarra watched him flip through the pages filled with history in a language she didn’t understand.

“Have I taken your tongue? Are you going to just stand there, zokla?” Alarra stiffened, and Aemond was still looking through the book, the soft rustle of paper as he turned pages interrupting the sanctuary of the library.

“I…” She started, her words in her throat once again.

“You?” He prompted, his voice low. The turning of pages promptly stopped, and Alarra watched as Aemond looked up from the book at her.

“I… know a little high Valyrian. My handmaiden speaks it.” Alarra confessed, moving towards the table.

“But enough to read it? I assume not.” Alarra huffed, feeling vulnerable. They were in a library together, speaking in a civil manner. Alone.

“I only know one word because my handmaiden says it a lot. Aek-” Aemond cut her bad pronunciation off, finishing the word.

“Aeksio. It means lord…where is your handmaiden from?”

“Essos…she was enslaved there and was sent here when she was young.” She said, sitting down at the chair in front of Aemond. Aemond stared at her for a moment, almost stunned that she had sat down, but he composed himself quickly and began scanning the pages of the book again. “What does the book say?” Alarra leaned over, to peek at the pages but Aemond slammed the book shut, standing with his candle in hand.

Alarra watched as he walked back over to the shelf, scanning the books with his candle before finding a particular book and bringing it back over to the table. This book was much larger than the one before, and had a wolf printed on the front of it. It was titled The Wolf in the North. Alarra sat up quickly, and Aemond opened the book skimming to find a particular page.

“Why is there a book about-“ Aemond shushed her and Alarra slouched back in her chair reluctantly. Then Aemond stopped turning pages, and flipped the book so it was facing Alarra. He pointed to a particular paragraph.

“Read it.” He muttered sternly, like a father scolding a child before leaning back in his chair. Alarra obeyed, reading the specific passage.

“The prophecy in which is forgotten by the Gods. A Wolf from the North will bleed into the South. Blood of a Wolf can start wars, but the blood of a Dragon will end the realm.When one dragon meets fate, a Wolf will seek refuge.” Alarra stopped reading, her eyebrows forming into a straight line.

“Continue.” Aemond said, his fingers pointing to the rest of the page.

“Packs are large but dragons are much larger. A Wolf from the North. A Dragon from the South. Wolves bite, and dragons take flight.” Alarra looked up at Aemond quickly. Helaena had said those words to her.

“What-“

“The rest of the book is about your heritage and family. But, why would a prophecy be in a book about the history of the North?” Aemond questioned, snatching the book back from Alarra, shutting it quickly. Alarra was quiet, not quite sure how to respond. But, Aemond was only questioning himself.

“Why did you choose to read that particular book?” Alarra asked, her eyes falling upon the book again before raising to meet Aemond’s gaze, his sapphire eye staring back at her.

“I’ve read every book in this library.” Alarra snorted, covering her mouth with her hand and Aemond’s face contorted into annoyance and anger. The library wasn’t too large, and there weren’t many books, maybe five shelves full, but Alarra still did not believe him. Aemond arched an eyebrow at Alarra’s skepticism.

“You are a woman who is a skilled swordsman. I am sure there are less shocking things in the realm.” Aemond echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly to form into a satisfied smirk. He had called her skilled. Alarra laughed, her hands falling on the table to grab the book from him again.

“I will be needing this to fall asleep. Thank you for the humor, my prince.” She stood, and he stood with her grabbing his candle.

“Your candle?” He questioned and Alarra moved towards the floor where her candle lay. She reached Aemond, and he touched his candle with hers letting her candle ignite, two flames now glowing in the dim of the library. They both stood in silence, both of their candles burning slowly. Aemond then nodded his head, before turning and leaving the library, his candle light now gone.

The night had gone cold when Alarra ventured to her chambers after her encounter with the prince. And sleep had found Alarra that night. Alarra had not been able to sleep properly in weeks since leaving Winterfell. But that night, Alarra snuggled closer into her sheets, and for the first time she slept peacefully.

The next morning, Alarra had been summoned to speak with Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra was in her chambers, tending to one of her white-headed children Alarra did not know the name of. Rhaneyra smiled as Alarra entered and she approached the princess, respectfully bowing.

“Please, sit.” She pointed to a chair with her free hand, still holding the babe in the other. She passed the babe to a handmaiden, before sitting across from Alarra. “How are you this morning?”

“I am well.” Rhaenyra crossed her hands on her lap, clearing her throat.

“Your brother has sent a letter for you, but that is not why I have asked for you.” Alarra perked up, her eyebrows instantly raising at the mention of her brother. Rhaenyra was skeptical at first, but she smiled at Alarra again, but this smile was more reassuring.

“What is it, my princess?”

“I wish for you to train my sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys,” Rhaenyra shook her head, eyes closed for a moment. “If you are up for it, of course. I had heard the rumors of your…skill. I will say, I doubted it at first but Jace had convinced me otherwise telling me of your bravery,” Rhaenyra reached across for Alarra’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “You remind me of when I was young. I see myself in you.” Alarra swallowed harshly, before she squeezed the princesses hand back. Alarra could never refuse the words of a princess. Of a future queen. Alarra knew her answer the moment Rhaenyra had asked her.

“I will train them. If the princes can keep up with a Northerner.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm so excited to dive into Alarra and Aemond’s relationship. While it is enemies to lovers, the beginning will not be as ‘enemy’ as the middle of the story. The worst is yet to come! They will start out as “friends” and then turn into enemies. So don't get disappointed just yet! I'm also very excited to see where Eyla’s character ends up because she is such a crucial character to the story and Alarra.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

#a song of ice and fire #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond fic #aemond smut #prince aemond #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen

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wangxianficfinder · 9 months ago

Text

Fic Finder

Apr 2nd

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1. hi there, can yall help me find a modern au fic where wwx was kicked out of the jiang household and he started to spend his nights within his school premesis? i remember lqr, lxc and nmj being the ones to find him one night. thank you for yalls hard work 💐

FOUND? Where is home? by SpicyRamen_10969 (M, 80k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Coming Out, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Supportive LQR, Good Sibling LXC, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, JC Being an Asshole, Possible Smut?)

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2. Do you know fiction where wei ying travelled back to past but lan zhan feeling also travel back.

FOUND? 💖 Come Back to Me by s6115 (M, 9k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, soulmates)

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3. Nsfw ask but this fic was one where wwx and lwj helps jc and lxc (jc was the one asking) how to have fun/ painless sex. They try multiple times but end up getting cockblocked or something of that sort @thatperson0-0

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4. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where during the Lotus Pier seige there is an array or something set up that protects it and results in a baby for WWX and LWJ that is about the same age as A-Yuan - they already know (can't remember how). As a result of that array, the baby, A-Yuan, and people involved can shift into animals. Thank you! @hpikachu2003

FOUND! 💖 Magical Marriage Ribbons Series by starandrea (Varies, 1m, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Accidental Marriage, Fluff, Happy Ending, Telepathic bond, Kink Negotiation, Family Drama, Magical Pregnancy, Dual Cultivation, Shapeshifters, Modern with Magic, Immortality, Yilling Wei Sect) has LWJ continuously struggling to vocalize nearly ANY of his sexual wants even well after wangxian get together

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5. looking for a fic that I thought I'd saved and hope i didn't dream it up... in this fic, I think wwx and lwj aren't tgt, but slept tgt? wwx finds out he is expecting, and instead of letting lwj know, he goes to the wens for refuge (I believe granny wen is mentioned in the description!) I don't know much else, other than it might be a modern au fic. thank you!

FOUND? Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, First Time, Getting Together, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Whump, Breeding Kink)

FOUND? The Winner Takes It All by YilingSani (M, 46k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, Old Friends, One Night Stands, No Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Forgiveness, Second Chances, Inspired by Mamma Mia! (Movies) Teen Pregnancy, Mpreg, mention of miscarriage, Birth Trauma, amniotic fluid embolism) although Granny Wen isn't in the list of characters but she features in the story?

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6. Hi i am searching for a particular fic but it seems to have disappeared on me so the storyline was that LWJ and WWX were married but WWX wasn't happy in the marriage and LWJ comes to know this by hearing it from some where that WWX said so when he had gone to a flower house/brothel and then LWJ calls upon WQ to confirm if what he heard was true which she does and so he makes a decision to go leave planning to head to Yilling or CR and when he was travelling he encounters XXC and SL but doesn't reveal his identity of being WWX's husband just says that he is a disciple of the Lan and the 3 of them work on this night hunt where out of 3 wishes one would be fulfilled, is a curse related to i think some sisters also JWY was the emperor and WWX's post was either a general crown prince or a marquis and after WWX comes to know about LWJ leaving asks LWJ's maids who go with LWJ whenever he visits CR if they know where has he gone— with him also going to CR in search for LWJ (unsure) and JWY in a scene tells WWX some thing along the lines of that it wasn't probably also LWJ's choice, was being pressured into the marriage or so. most likely was muti-chaptered don't remember much of it and was on ao3. Thank you. @1p1rose1

FOUND! 💖 Eat, Pray, Night Hunt by Itszero (G, 29k, wangxian, Arranged Marriage, Reconciliation, Getting Together, YLLZ WWX, Misunderstandings, Royalty, Historical Inaccuracy, Happy Ending, Fluff, Imperial AU, palace au, Dual POV, Fluff and Angst, Historical Fantasy, Xianxia but also court drama ya know?)

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7. Hi! I'm looking for a CQL!verse fic in which people can choose to tie a red string between them when they get married (sort of a soulmate au, but not really). When wei wuxian falls off the cliff to his death, lwj ties a string between them. when wwx comes back, the string is how lwj recognizes him. when the canon plot is over, lwj thinks he has to cut the string between them. i think this fic might have been deleted, though, but any help you can give would be welcome. thanks

FOUND! 💖 a trail of blood to find your way back home by blackelement7 (T, 19k, wangxian, JC & WWX, what if a soulmate string au, but without the soulmates aspect of it, a reflection on the nature of marriage, WWX is full of regrets, so is LWJ, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, JC & WWX Reconciliation, JC is trying his best but words are hard and his brother is stupid, Siblings, Canonical Character Death, but it's just WWX, accidental 3zun feels, WWX as the most unreliable of narrators)

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8. hi! thx so much for your work in the fandom. i'm looking for a fic where wwx is a sect leader and towards the end of the fic (I think) he's at a cultivation conference where someone tries to set fire to his rooms and he and lwj go into a qiankun box. i think at the very end wwx summons a phoenix born from the flames of his burned rooms. thx so much!

FOUND? A Phoenix Rising - An Untamed Story by AitchNKay (E, 130k, WangXian, The Untamed (TV) Ending, Angst, Porn With Plot, Anal Sex, jerking off, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, junior ducklings, Oral Sex, Post canon, Not everyone is gay, Family is everything, so many feelings, Introduction of New Characters, porn with feeling, Friendship, Healing, Suibian/Bichen/Chenqing/WangJi, 3 weddings and a funeral)

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9. hello, thanks for your work!

i was trying to search for this fic where wwx from post-canon travels back in time and is in around the yllz time, he keeps doting on lwj and yllz (past wwx) gets a bit jealous but doesn't know what to name it. he refuses to believe that he married lwj in the future and the future wwx gets mad at him and tells him not to hurt lwj. can't seem to find it anywhere.

FOUND? From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, wangxian, time travel, fluff, humor, love confessions, pining, happy ending, denial)

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10. Hi buddy, I have one request. If you have came across a wangxian fic where Wei Wuxian is reincarnated and came to Gusu with Lan Wanji ( I think LWJ is the chief cultivator here) and realised that LWJ was getting marriage proposals from around the (cultivation) World a lot. And he propose to conduct a competition to find the most suitable candidate from the available lot while being secretly heartbroken that he could not have LWJ. I'm not sure if it's ABO or not. A-yuan also has an important role in this fic. Plz help..... @grrumpywoof

FOUND? a morbid longing by sunandseas (E, 24k, WIP, WangXian, Mutual Pining Misunderstandings, Porn with Feelings, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega LWJ, Alpha WWX, Bottom LWJ, Possessive WWX, BAMF WWX, Protective WWX, Hurt LWJ, Dark WWX)

is that the one where the suitors have to steal a token from lwj, and lwj gives it to wwx, but wwx thinks it was just the gusu jade access pass and was really sad about someone winning the token?? 🤔 (based on the comic about the witch's cat?)

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11. Hii, I'm looking for a fic. It was about wwx wished that he does not exist in the life of people he love, because of what happens with jiang yanli, jin ling, jiang cheng and everyone he loves. So he live, but not with his parents, jc,lwj and so on. And there's one time his parents come to an inn and met wwx, they dont know who wwx is because they never have a kid. But wwx and his father, has a similar face, so when he look at wwx, he feel like wwx is his kid that he never have.. I hope that u know this fic is, because I have been trying to remember where and what fic it is but I cant. Thankyou for your hard work.

Pretty sure #11 is a twitter thread by cerbykerby but I don't have a twitter account any more and thus searching is hard

FOUND? For 11, this is the cerbykerby fic unrolled

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12. heyy admins! i'm looking for a fic where wei ying's parents turns out to be alive. from what i remember they somehow escaped the burial mounds after many years and they learned about wei ying from people then they made their way to the cloud recesses and they stayed there a bit. thanks in advance! <3

FOUND? The Long Winding Road Home by Admiranda (T, 13k, CSSR/WCZ, wangxian, flash forwards, Time Travel, Post canon, WWX's parents come to post canon mdzs, not for JC fans, fluffy family reunions, mocking LQR to his face, mocking JC to his face, wild rumors abound)

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13. Hello, I was wondering if you could help me find a fic. It was a pacific rim and atla fusion au where I think wwx was transferred to the station lwj was at. Then they were attacked and wangxian were either forced or called to go into a Jaeger together to attack the kaiju. @xo-minx

FOUND? The Weight of the World by KouriArashi (T, 67k, WangXian, XiYao, Pacific Rim Fusion, Robots, Monsters, robots fighting monsters, Family, Romance, Developing Relationship, Angst, (but not about the romances), Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Happy Ending)

FOUND? Thunder's Coming Over Me by phnelt (E, 38k, WIP, WangXian, Avatar & Benders Setting, Pacific Rim Fusion, temporary character death (wwx's), Angst with a Happy Ending, Action & Romance)

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14. Hello ! First of all, THANK YOU for your hard work on this blog and WangxianFicRecs, I really enjoy my time on both ! :) This is a first for me so I hope I'm asking properly (otherwise, please, excuse me^^'). I'm looking for a fic I think was on a list in FicRecs last month but I can't seem to find it back... I just skimmed through it at the time and thought that it was great and that I would come back to it later... except I forgot to bookmark it and had not luck searching my AO3 history so far :'(. It was a Wangxian AO3 fic and the only thing I remember clearly is a sentence where Wei Ying thinks about the way Lan Zhan smells and says that he decides LZ's scent smells like love.

Aaaaand I'm sorry because I know this isn't much, but if by any chance someone happened to know which fic it is and I could stop racking my brain, I would be super grateful for that ! :)

I wish you all a wonderful day/night !

I was #14 in the April 2nd FicFinder. I finally went through all of February posts and found again the fic I was looking for! It was in fact in your Crossdressing comp and it wasn't about LZ smelling like love but LZ's kiss tasting like love 😅.

Anyway, here's the fic : only the dead (have seen the end of war) by comforting_monachopsis.

Sorry to have bothered you and thanks again ! ❤️

FOUND? only the dead (have seen the end of war) by comforting_monachopsis (T, 42k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, temporary amnesia, BAMF WWX, sad LWJ, grief/mourning, loneliness, mild gore, secret identity, loss of identity, identity porn, angst, humor, crossdressing)

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15. Hi!! For next ficfinder, can you help me find this two fic?

A) a fic where Qin su is the one that resurrected Wei Wuxian and she give him a detail instruction. I remember a scene where Wei Wuxian try to seduce Jin Guangyao so that he can get out from Koi tower. If I'm not mistaken, Qin su and Lan Xichen is best friend and Xichen really sad and disappointed at himself for not realising his best friend is long dead. There are also part where wwx try to sunburn Qin su face so it become unrecognisable.

B) a fic where Lan Qiren is mistakenly drink wine in his teapot and he is doting to Wei Wuxian and told about marriage arrangement that has been sign by Cangse Sanren and Lan Wangji when they are a little kid.

Thank you and Have a nice day😘 @chibiizzy

15A)

FOUND! The Tales of Despereaux (CH 1-23) by stiltonbasket (T, 50k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, JC & WWX, JYL/JZX, JC/WQ, Canon DivergenceAdditional Warnings In Author's Note, major ships are listed but others might pop up!)

15B)

FOUND! 🔒 Who gave Lan-xiansheng alcohol?! by HeloSoph (Not Rated, 14k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, CSSR & LQR, CSSR/WCZ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, POV LQR, Drunk LQR, WWX is Loved, Jiāng Family Bashing, YZY Bashing, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Engaged WangXian, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Character Death, Self-Indulgent, Wedding Planning, Fluff and Humor, Married WangXian, Good Uncle LQR, CSSR & LQR Friendship)

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16. Hi I really need help but there’s this wangxian fic where basically lan zhan keeps complimenting Wei wuxian and wwx tells him he has to give him notice before doing it so lan zhan gives him a time frame or writes him a letter etc. and i cannot for the life of me find it please help me find it 😭😭😭 @vilethot

FOUND! Content Warning: Romance by Ariaste (M, 5k, WangXian, BDSM, Praise Kink, nonsexual kink, which turns into sexual kink, wwx's canonical fetishes, Kink Negotiation, basically my ongoing mission to demonstrate to fandom that Kink Can Be Unbearably Soft Actually)

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17. Hi! How are y'all doing? for the next fic finder, I'm looking for a modern au, no magic, where fem!wwx goes to live with lwj after she turns 18 and her main goal is to get together with lwj so she's very shameless to the point that lwj has to tell her that he'll have to set rules if she continues like that, and asks if she's aware that he's a man

anyone knows it? I'm scared that it was deleted. Thanks! I hope y'all have a wonderful day!

FOUND! tell me what's your motive by sweetlolixo (E, 7k, wangxian, F/M, Modern, Genderbending, Female WWX, Male LWJ, Penis In Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Breeding Kink, Masturbation, Size Difference, Stomach Bulge, JYL and LWJ best friends agenda, Older LWJ)

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18. Fic Finder: I'm looking for a fic where LWJ is cursed to his young child self. In Yiling, WWX sees a Lan boy with the forehead ribbon surrounded by people, and then he recognizes child LWJ. Child LWJ refuses to leave the nearby inn because he's waiting for his uncle and brother, who do not come. WWX waits with him and says he was a student of LQR, but LWJ doesn't believe him because his uncle did not teach when LWJ was young. Eventually WWX convinces LWJ to go to the burial mounds with him, and he writes a letter to LXC but he isn't sure if LWJ will recognize his brother as an adult.

Thanks in advance!

FOUND? I think this fic is the deleted "Staying close to you" by Venon. I couldn't find it on the wayback machine but I have a copy.

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19. Hi! I forgot to bookmark this time travel fic and the only thing i can remember is he came back during lan qiren’s class and he cried and suddenly fainted?? thank you!! @gideonmorningstar

FOUND? Wish Me Luck by Starlight1395 (Not Rated, 164k, WangXian, Fix It, Time Travel, Angst, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Slight fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of tears, cannon levels of blood/violence, Minor Character Death, secondary character death, Sibling Bonding, semi mild smut, mild Self-harm)

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20. hello!! i’m looking for a thread fic on twitter. lwj is feral alpha who’s been checked into a rehabilitation centre. i don’t remember exactly but there was yiling in the name. wwx is his assigned omega social worker who is the only one who can calm him down and the only one lwj listens to. i can’t remember all the details but I remember wwx giving lwj a rabbit and donkey soft toy. wwx would also play chess with him occasionally. lwj’s episode was triggered by his uncle’s discussion of getting him a mate. eventually lwj gets loose, wwx gets pregnant and gets in trouble for it even though there was some foul play. wen ning is also an alpha at the centre and wen qing visits him occasionally. thank you so much 💖 i never got to finish it and i really want to know how it ended!!

FOUND! come closer (i might not bite) by celerydragon (E, 4k, wangxian, WIP, A/B/O, Medical AU, Feral Behavior, Drama, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mpreg) is being posted to ao3 now / this the original twitter thread for the rest of the story. unfortunately the thread is broken in a few parts so i’m glad the writer is starting to move it to ao3

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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fictionallystable · 9 months ago

Text

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Relationship: Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader

Characters: Reader, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Author Has Played Call of Duty, Childhood Friends, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Civilian!Reader, Pre-Canon, Jealousy, Angst, Kissing, Mild Smut, Time Skips, Brother's Best Friend, Toxic Family Dynamics, Eventual Smut, Drama, Misunderstandings, Getting Together, Minor Age Gap

Words: 9,080| Chapters: 4/5

Authors: @orphancains & @collinnmckinley

Chapter 4: The Engagement Party

Chapter Summary: You're invited to Matty's engagement party and run into a familiar face—only for everything to seemingly fall apart.

A/N: agian we are extremely apologetic for the late update. life got hectic for both of us and hit us like a bus. and we were too exahsted from everything to even think about writing. but here we are!!! with a longer chapter to make it up to yall!! we really hope you enjoy this one c: only one chapter left to go ;) (likes and reblogs are appreciated <3)

the fic can also be found on AO3

tags will be updated!!

You felt nauseous at the thought of returning home for Matty’s engagement party. You’d been living out of town, happy with your job as an architect even if it meant you sometimes went months without seeing family. But you preferred it that way, with less judgment from your parents for choosing to postpone your own engagement yet again.

With your boyfriend Richard’s arm around your waist, you braced yourself for the booming cheers from your mother and father when they saw you. Immediately, they enveloped you in hugs and shook you with delight.

“[Y/N], oh, it’s so good to see you! We’ve missed you so much.”

“The drive must’ve been tiring, huh? How’s work been, Richard?”

“[Y/N], your figure looks great! And that skirt is gorgeous!”

Ah, yes. The skirt Richard picked out for me.

Your mother’s wrinkled, smiling eyes rubbed your back as you made your way to the living room for a drink, while Richard stayed in the hall with your father, enraptured in more dull small talk. The stiff smile you had kept carved on your face all this time suddenly melted into a real one when you saw Bear, your dog, laying on the ground.

You knelt down immediately to pet him, forgetting the drink your mom was getting you. You rubbed your hands through his long, brown fur as he wagged his tail back and forth. He panted excitedly, leaning up trying to lick your cheek. You laughed. “I’m glad you’re looking good, Bear,” you said to the dog. He had been staying comfortably with your mother for the past 6 months, enjoying her leftovers but far away from you. Every night, you wished you could cuddle up with the dog. But Richard insisted that no dogs be allowed in your apartment.

“ I can’t handle all the hair, especially with it sticking to my suits. And I doubt you’ll have the time to clean up after a German Shepherd’s furballs with your workload ,” you remembered he sourly sneered while he unpacked your boxes all those months ago.

“And Matty?” you asked your mom when she handed you a cup of soda and ice in a red plastic solo, while Bear rolled over on his back elatedly.

“He’s outside entertaining the guests with Elaine.” Your mom grinned. “Her parents seem to be very happy with our arrangement.”

You tried to smile, but a grimace cracked through instead. Ever since you graduated high school, your mother and father had insisted you get married quickly. Matty seemed to have no issue finding the right girl to propose to. You, on the other hand, well… you couldn’t see yourself with Richard. He was protective, he remembered your anniversaries, and he always made the time to take you on dates, to remember your favorite flowers, and always paraded you with pride at his own work parties. But the thought of saying “I do” to the man made your chest bubble with anxiety. And maybe even dread. Sometimes he was too protective, interrupted you too much, and sometimes took his sarcastic jokes too far to the point of cruelty. You were sensitive, ever since your adolescence. But… you could get used to it, right?

“Oh, that’s great news,” you muttered in reply to your mother.

Your mother leered at you from the corner of her eye. A mischievous but scrutinizing twinkle in her eyes. “Yes, it’s just a matter of time before you and Richard have your very own—”

“I should go say hi to Matty, yes?” You got up quickly and brushed the wrinkles from your skirt. “And of course, to my future sister-in-law…” you sputtered out as you scurried past your mother.

When you stepped out onto the back garden, you were hit once again with the warm, thick heat of the Texas night. You saw your brother from behind, with his arm around Elaine, whose long, pin-straight hung like a curtain from behind her, and a cold beer in his hand. You saw they were laughing while they chatted to an older man and woman you didn’t recognize, crinkled skin and silvery but pin-straight thin hair that Elaine had. From what you could guess, they must’ve been Elaine’s parents.

It was hard to hide your joy at seeing your brother. You sauntered up to your brother, wanting to catch up with him. Last time you’d seen him, he’d been arguing with your dad about the very idea of proposing to Elaine. He wanted to wait another couple of months, but your father insisted Elaine would start to get impatient and would find another husband, another arrangement. Your brother had stormed off that day, driven away in his car, uttering nothing more than a “Not now!” at you when you had asked if he was okay.

“Matty!” you called out to your brother from where you stood. Your smile couldn’t get any wider. Yes you spoke with your brother every week when work let you, but it's been a long while since you last saw your brother in person.

So when he heard your voice calling his name, he turned to see you standing there, at your parents backyard porch, waving to him excitedly, he couldn’t help but let out an airy laugh and immediately started to make his way to you. You did the same and both met in the middle as you scooped you in a hug lifting your feet off the ground. Oh how he missed his baby sister. Although all grown up.

Seeing how excitedly Matty basically ran towards you, it made Elaine chuckle and shake her head. She knew how strong the sibling bond you and your brother shared, and she found it extremely endearing and adorable in a way she can never experience, as she was the only child.

As Matty let you down on the ground again, Elaine made her way to greet you. When you saw her you couldn’t help but hug her too. You liked Elaine, she was like a sister you never had, and you couldn’t be happier for both of them.

“It’s so good to see you [Y/N]! We missed you so much” Elaine told you, her smile was bright and contagious. You couldn’t help but to mirror her excitement and feeling.

“It’s good to see you both too! I’m so sorry I couldn’t get earlier work got in the way, and we packed at the last minute-” you expressed how regretful you were about how late you arrived. You truly meant to arrive earlier, to help your brother and his wife-to-be with the arrangement of the party, but the universe had other plans for you.

Before you went on a tangent, Matty cut you off with his usual reassuring demeanor.

“Nonsense! You’re here and that's what matters.” Elaine nodded, as Matty’s hand came around her shoulder. They truly looked like a couple made for each other.

“Oh! Before you go or do anything, I gotta show you who’s here!” Matty said, his excitement meant trouble. For some reason you were worried.

“Oh there he is! Just the man I was looking for hah!” Matty was looking over your shoulder when he spoke.

As you turned around like any normal person would do to see who your brother was talking about, the air was knocked out of you immediately as your eyes landed on him.

“Phil…” you sputtered out, quiet enough for it to be a whisper.

Phillip Graves stood a few feet away from you, far enough to reach in a couple of steps. And that's what he did when your brother called him over. The Phillip Graves was standing in front of you now, except now he was older. His hair was still the light brown, almost blonde hair that had as a teen. His tan skin now was littered with a few scars, on accenting his cheek bone. You remembered he was tall, always athletic, as a kid from playing varsity football and soccer. But now, he had filled out muscles under his burgundy t-shirt and light-wash jeans. And he still towered over you just enough that you had to peer up to meet his blue eyes.

With a surprised, almost confused smile, he repeated your name back to you.

“Phillip... Phil…” you breathed out, still in disbelief. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Of course he’s gonna be here, silly! He’s my best friend, I couldn’t have a wedding without him being my best man can I?” you’re brother jokes. Before you could say anything to him, you heard a distant voice calling his name. He answers “coming!”, but not before bidding you both to have a good time and catch up.

He knows how much Phil meant to you, and he knows for sure for the past fifteen years how much you tried to forget him.

You watched as your brother and his fiancee in his arms went to tend to the other guests, before turning to Phillip, who’s smile grew into one of his beaming ones that you’d grown familiar with as a teen. “Hopefully seeing me ain’t a bad surprise.” He winks at you teasingly before smiling softly. He gestured to the plastic, white porch table nearby. “D’ya wanna sit?”

Tentatively, you took a seat across from him at the table. He looked around, almost looking bored, as he took a drink of his own beer bottle. But you knew Phil. He wasn’t disinterested. You could tell from the way he was bouncing his left leg in slight nervousness.

“So, how have you been [Y/N]? I heard you became a big shot architect in Seattle! Not gonna lie, I thought that you’d become a famous artist with her own exhibit all across the country.” Phillip genuinely sounded happy and surprised, leaning back in his chair, hands intertwining on his torso. A habit he picked up during his time away from home in the Marine Corps.

You smiled at him. He recognized that as the one your mother trained you to show new people. It only got sweeter—and prettier—as you grew older, he thought. It suited you even as you were no longer a little girl and now a beautiful, grown woman. Graves’ heart strings tugged, and for a split second, and only for that tiny moment, he was taken off guard.

“Yeah.” You paused but only for a second. “Things turned out differently. But I can't complain.” That sweet smile still plastered on your face. Phil couldn’t believe it, how much you’ve changed, how much you’ve grown. How beautiful you’ve become-

“Things… didn’t end well the last time we saw each other.” He was lost in thought again but your voice brought him back.

“Or rather didn’t see.” You murmured.

He knitted his brows in confusion. “I’m not following.”

Annoyance began to stir inside you. You huffed and looked away.

He nearly stammered his words. “From what I last remember; we had a blast at your birthday party, Matty gave you a puppy, the one that he’d been planning months to get for you. And I—”

“And you left.” Your eyes, returning to him and now darker with hurt, pierced straight into his eyes, and your silky voice cut him like a sharp knife. “Practically the next day.” “Without saying a single word to me about your enlistment that day.” A sad, but bitter, smile adorned your face, eyes cast downward. As the memories of that day continued to unfurl for you, a dormant resentment continued to bubble in the depths of your viscera.

“You didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Matty properly let alone me.” Your voice was softer now, but he could still see the hurt behind your eyes. “Much less to my parents who—”

“Listen, [Y/N], I didn’t—” He clenched his jaw and dragged his chair closer, hoping to keep his voice low. He felt embarrassed to be having this conversation with you in the first place in your parents’ backyard. And he especially didn’t want Matty to know you were talking about this with him. Still, he felt he owed you an explanation. “I didn’t want to scare you….” he stops and looks at you, in his eyes an emotion you have never seen before swims, you can't decipher it, but it somehow looks familiar. “Or hurt you for that matter.”

He shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest. He scoffed, just barely audible to you. “But be realistic for a moment. What did you expect me to say to you? ‘Hey, kiddo, I’m off to join the Marine Corps. Might die or get a limb or two blown off. Make sure you do your homework and don’t stay up too late playing video games with Matty! Bye!”

Phil couldn’t help being defensive of his actions that summer, a bit too defensive even to his liking. He sighs and continues with a bit of a calmer voice. Phil knew that his answer wasn’t half-assed, but he still knew they could be biting. Although he didn’t want to reopen old wounds, he also didn’t want to lie to you. Especially not now that you were no longer a child, and not just Matty’s kid sister. “I did what I thought was right, for you… and me. And I wouldn’t change it if I had to do it again. That’s the truth.”

You blinked. You couldn’t help but hear something alien in his voice, a tone so unfamiliar in your memories of him as kids. Was it sorrow? Remorse? Pain? You couldn’t figure it out. But you know it was something not to be pushed any further. As a kid you never understood why he did what he did, but as you grew older, somehow you knew that as a child everyone’s decisions were outside your range of understanding. You had accepted what happened. Or at least you thought you did. But today that young girl returned, took back control your body and mind, and you found yourself spluttering these words to Phil.

Sitting with his own answers, you sat in silence. You watched as he leaned back and eyed you carefully. His eyes were still the same baby blue ones that always gazed at you with brotherly affection all those years, the ones that sparkled when the Texan summer sun’s rays cast on them. But now you felt a hardness radiating from behind them, one that would make anyone else cower and feel smaller. Years in military combat had definitely changed him and his gaze. Indeed, you did feel like he was studying every inch of your face and body, scanning you as if trying to profile you, maybe like he did with the captured combatants in whatever war in which he fought. You tried your hardest to return the intensity of his stare, but it was hard to compete with the icy look in his eyes.

But behind his colder eyes was a burning curiosity that he was successful in concealing from you. It was a curiosity he didn’t expect to experience tonight, because he never expected to see you, Matty’s beloved little sister, again. In all his memories, some more faded and fuzzier than others, you remained a little girl whose clothes were stained with paint and fingers sometimes still smudged from soft pastels or even charcoal from your art. In his mind, you still had baby cheeks and wore Matty’s old hand-me-down clothes and hoodies. But before him, he never expected Matty’s little sister, now a woman, to be sitting before him. He almost wanted to curse himself for immediately noticing when you walked to the table how your curves fit the skirt you wore. And when you sat across from him, he caught himself glancing more than once at your chest when your arms folded just beneath it.

He clenched his jaw. God, if Matty even caught the places his eyes were traveling when he saw you, he was sure he was going to get his ass kicked and his face pounded in by Matty’s notorious fist. Grown up or not, you were still his sister. And this was also still Matty’s engagement party, and he couldn’t ruin it. And you were clearly still torn up about his sudden, unannounced enlistment all those years ago. This was not the place or time to be thinking of… other things.

What disrupted his curious gaze from roaming over you was a sole tear that began to trickle down the corner of your eye. Just one, and one that you quickly wiped away with your hand before it could ruin much of your makeup. But it was enough to know that, once again, Phil had made you upset. He internally wanted to bang a fist against the table. He was hoping you would lash out at him, he would let you burn off some of the steam that you couldn’t when you were both kids, he knew how much you controlled your rage, and he wished you would finally let it out even if it was on him. Let you both make fools of yourselves that night, so he could feel less remorse. But instead, the silence from you that he was me with was damning him more than he could expect.

When you refused to say anything, Phil anxiously whirled the cold glass bottle in his hands. “But, I was also an idiot,” Phil spat out suddenly.

Your furrowed brows softened, noticing how Phil’s eyes melted into what you couldn’t intercept at first. But you soon realized it was a miserable mixture of hurt and regret. “I just wanted to get away from my folks, you know. Even though they were hardly ever home, I still felt like they controlled every aspect of my life. So…” He breathed out. “So, I’m sorry.”

“I get that,” was all you said as you mindlessly twirled the bracelet around your wrist. As you did so, his eyes glanced down at your hand on the table, the same ones that were always covered in stubborn faded blue and yellow hues of paint. He swallowed when he noticed that, unlike Matty whom he’d spoken to earlier, you had no ring on your left hand. Before you could notice, Phil quickly glanced back up at your face, and was relieved to see that your harsh scowl from before had melted away. “I just wish you could’ve told me that then. But I… I get that I was too young. We were both pretty stubborn when it came to talking about anything serious, but we cared—”

Before you could finish, you heard a booming voice call out your name. You turned and saw Richard beckoning you to where he stood, while your parents stood to the side and grinned giddily together. Suddenly the whole party had grown strangely quiet. Beside the ice cooler, you noticed a bluetooth speaker playing a familiar soft rock song. One that you distinctly remember as the one Richard played in the car after your first date together at the theme park, and the same one you two danced to in his old apartment when you both were tipsy one night.

You got up from your seat. Next to you Phil also suddenly wondered why so many eyes were on you and this unfamiliar man. You started walking toward him and your parents, wondering what in the world was happening, and why your boyfriend was standing in the middle of the backyard like he was about to give a speech. Oh no, I've seen this scenario happening in public one too many times. This does not look good…. Your internal monologue was put in a pause when you looked around to find your brother, and when your eyes landed on his and his fiance, you knew with one look they did not seem pleased of what was going on.

“[Y/N],” he started. “We’ve only known each other for a few months…”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Matty muttered from a few feet away from where Phil sat.

Phil blinked a couple of times. His gut was telling him he knew exactly what was going on, but he himself couldn’t believe it. Not after he just reunited with Y/N a few minutes earlier.

Elaine tried to calm Matty down silently, but Matty was furious. “I specifically told them not to pull this shit, not on this occasion. Jesus fucking Christ.” Elaine didn’t need to hear him say it, but she knew who he was referring to when he said ‘they’.

Richard continued. “But you’ve made me a better man, a man with bigger, better ambitions, a man who can see himself becoming a family man. Beyond just a businessman, a partner, a rock to lean on, someone who could build a home with you and raise a family together.”

When he got down on one knee, you felt your heart stop and all the muscles in your body seize. You tightened your jaw, dormant rage igniting all over again. You didn’t know if you wanted to run away and flee the scene or smash Richard’s head with the beer bottle from a nearby table, but you felt as though your shoes were glued to the dry grass. “Y/N,” he said as he took a ring out of his jacket pocket.

You looked up frantically and saw your mother on the verge of happy tears and your father with a proud grin but his hands tucked in his suit jacket’s pockets, much like when he is negotiating a business deal at work. You knew immediately that this was not simply Richard’s doing. No, you had told Richard as recently as last night at bedtime that you would rather wait at least when you hit 30 before even considering marriage. This was your parents handing you off to Richard, hoping and desperately trying to have their wealth merge with Richard’s own family wealth. Just like you feared in every conversation you had with your mom and dad, you feared you represented nothing more than a simple pawn in another one of your dad’s business deals.

You glanced back down at Richard, the sour sneer on your face growing harder and harder for you to conceal. You could feel your hands trembling now by your side, and the cup of soda in your hand threatening to get crushed.

“Will you do me the honor of letting me call you my wife?”

You heard murmurs and all around you from the backyard. The night’s spotlight was now on you, no longer on Matty and Elaine, and that made you grind your teeth even more. You didn’t want extra attention. It was bad enough that suddenly your childhood crush crashed the party and made you relive your teenage hormones and heartbreak. Richard and your parents both knew how uncomfortable you felt coming back home, and suddenly they decided to make you have to answer a marriage proposal in front of all your relatives, friends, and neighbors.

You glared down at Richard, who was oblivious to the storm raging in your mind. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” you spat out, with a low and harsh voice, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. You whipped your head up furiously to glare directly at your mom and dad. “And you two! You two are unbelievable. You should be ashamed of yourselves!” Your throat ached from how harshly you growled at them.

Without another word, not even a “no” to dignify Richard’s proposal, you threw your cup of soda at Richard’s face. The half-melted ice-cubes and cold Sprite made him flinch and get back up to his feet quickly. A chorus of gasps erupted from behind and around you.

“You spoiled brat!” your mother shrieked. The disdain and disappointment on her face was one so familiar, but one that still brought your heart racing anxiously and your lips to quiver. Your father stood frozen in shock beside her. He himself didn’t expect you to react in such a way. He thought tonight would be another business success for him. “Do you know how much we had sacrificed for you? And you decide to act like a child? When will you grow up?l!”

“THIS IS INSANE!”

Your eyes snapped to the source of outburst and landed on Matty standing near where Phil and you had been sitting. Phil remained at his seat watching all of this unfold with amusement, as Matty was walking towards where your parents had been standing, with determination of giving an earful to them most likely, but before he could start what he had to say your voice decided to come out on its own accord.

“Oh mother… How can you still be so stubborn about this? How could you pull this stunt at Matty’s engagement party, your own son's engagement party? Do you have no shame? Either of you?” Your voice determined and harsh. Even your mother was taken aback by your bold retort. Her speechlessness only allowed you to continue your tirade. “I told you at least a hundred times that I don’t have any plans to get married anytime soon. But you didn’t listen! That doesn’t surprise me; you hardly ever listen to me. But at least have some respect for your own goddamn son! Who has been nothing but an obedient child to you! Both of you! And this is how you treat him?! The least that you could have done was ask him and Elaine if this was okay with them!”

Your mother was stunned, the blood having drained from her face and her hand clutching her handbag tightly as she gawked at you. You’ve never been this brave with your words. You never talked back to either of your parents in all your youth. And if your father wasn’t just as speechless, he would’ve given you an earful, and even threatened you to remove you from inheritance. But you didn’t care, your patience ran thinner and thinner each year and this new stunt made all that remained evaporate in a matter of seconds.

You knew you couldn’t come back from this. The realization that there was a chance you’ll probably be shunned and even maybe disowned after this. You had run out of words, so you simply ran from the scene. Your spilled red cup of coke laid on the grass, something the ants in the yard would later indulge in. You bolted into your family’s house, your childhood home, which was mainly empty with everyone mingling in the evening out in the yard. You went into your room on instinct, but noticed your mom and dad had converted it into an office space for their work. Your jaw dropped as you realized they never kept your room the same way they had adoringly preserved Matty’s. You tightened your grip around the door knob. You wanted nothing more than to trash the room, break the desk that sat where your bed once did, and stomp on bookshelves that once held your comics and artbooks but now held folders of boring white paperwork.

But instead you fled to your brother’s room across the hall. You knelt down beside his bed, kicked off your shoes, and buried your face in a pillow. You let out a muffled scream. After a few seconds, your scream morphed into pathetic sobs. You knew you were surely staining Matty’s old pillows with your makeup, but you didn’t care at that moment. At that moment, it felt as though you time-traveled back fifteen years in your old home, crying your eyes out into your beloved brother’s pillow.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

Phil watched as Matty slouched on the plastic lounging chair outside. Almost everyone had left. Your mother and father stood near the backyard fence, arguing desperately about what to do next after you had ruined their evening. Richard stood next to them but remained mostly silent and merely listened to them. Elaine, Matty’s fiancée, trudged into the house in search of you. Meanwhile, Phil took a seat across from Matty, who ran his hands through his beard and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily out of frustration.

“Cannot believe they would fucking do that on tonight of all nights,” Matty groaned out.

Phil let out a low whistle. “Yeah definitely didn’t expect to see [Y/N] throw a cup of soda at some random guy.” It would almost be laughable if it weren’t for the fact that he had seen tears once again streaming down your face when you darted inside. “So, that was actually [Y/N]’s boyfriend or—”

“Unfortunately,” Matty spat out. “I can’t stand the guy. But our parents love Richard even though he’s a huge asshole to her half the time.”

“Huh…”

Phil tried to recall the man. He was tall and athletic. He seemed like the type to weight lift, worry about trends in luxury suits, and track his meals’ calories to keep up with his appearance and health everyday. His dark hair was slicked back with some gel, and his jaw was sharp and pronounced. His sharp, aquiline facial features reminded Phil of some of the college guys who would apply for internships to work for his dad’s firm during summers back when he was a kid. But something about him made Phil’s skin crawl. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that his entire personality seemed like a masquerade of wealth and opulence, or the fact that he was dating you , had the gall to propose to you , while also being an asshole to you, according to Matty at least.

“I can’t say I blame her for throwing the soda at him,” Phil snickered quietly.

Matty almost cracked a smile at this. Suddenly, he remembered why he called Phil his best friend for so many years of his life. “Trust me, if I could’ve thrown one too, I would’ve.”

Your father suddenly bellowed your name. “Come out! We need to have a talk!”

Phil and Matty quickly glanced at each other, worry coating both of their faces. They expected Elaine and you to come out together, Elaine probably holding a box of tissues and your eyes still swollen from crying. But instead, no one came out of the backyard door. They waited several seconds, until your father stormed toward the door to head inside himself. Richard trailed behind him, not nearly as full of energy. It seemed the would-be fiancé was still feeling dejected, even if the soda from early had already dried.

“Unbelievable,” your father growled, the door of the house slamming open violently with a bang.

Phil and Matty both got up quickly, following the man. They found you and Elaine sitting in the kitchen, you nursing a cup of warm tea and Elaine sitting next to you still attempting to console you. Your father rushed toward you, grabbing you by your shoulders, forcing your gaze away from your cup of tea and to his own red-beet face. The force of his grasp made your elbow knock into the mug, tumbling it to the ground with a sharp crash.

Elaine gasped sharply before stepping back in shock. Meanwhile, Bear emerged from the living room, his bushy tail stiff in the air in alert and his pointed ears slicked back against his head. He growled and barked furiously at the sight of your father grabbing you. Agape, you stared back at your father in horror, feeling all the muscles in your body suddenly become paralyzed in fear.

“How can you throw away your future just because of your own stubborn self-righteousness?! Didn’t we raise you better than to act so selfishly?!” your father yelled into your face.

Matty quickly grabbed your father’s arm, grabbing him by his gray blazer’s stiff fabric, and pulled him off of you. “Your dumb plan for the night was botched from the start, dad,” he sneered out. “She clearly doesn’t want to marry Richard and this was supposed to be our engagement party to begin with!” he looked at Elaine for a second saying that.

The graying wisps of hair on your fathers were now disheveled and sticking up, his sagging and wrinkled face now flushed with a furious red. He balled his fists as he spoke back to your brother. “What she did, regardless of what day it was, to Richard was unacceptable. Would you ever imagine Elaine treating you in such a way? No, of course not! Because [Y/N] is acting like a child, and an insolent one at that!”

He turned back to glare at you, taking one step further forward. “Richard, come here,” he said, his glower locked on you not wavering.

The tall, dark-haired man strode beside your father. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You had wounded your ego and in public in front of your friends and family, something he would seldomly allow without biting back. But he remained quiet ever since his botched proposal. Usually he would yell back, make a scene, demand he stay in a hotel for the night, after arguing with you over nonsense. But his silent, narrow-eyed stare bore down on you and made you feel uneasy. There was nothing calm or passive about it.

“So, why don’t we start over, hm? Why don’t the two of you go to the living room to discuss and… reconsider Richard’s proposal once again, yes?” Your father’s gritted teeth betrayed the false air of diplomacy he was trying to prop up.

“I don’t think—” Your brother was caught off.

“[Y/N],” your father said more sternly this time. “Now.”

Your brother wanted to continue to protest, but he knew your father would not take no for an answer right now. Not with his fists balled up and his face as red as it was. So Matty, Phil, and Elaine watched breathlessly as you and Richard walked to the living room by yourselves. Phil noticed how your hands shook ever so slightly, even while you kept your lips pursed and tried to straighten your blouse, desperately clinging onto any semblance of composure before talking to your boyfriend.

Breathing out an exasperated sigh, your father, the man Phil used to revere so much as a child, began to step outside back to the yard. “There better still be some drinks in the cooler. I need one right now,” he muttered. Your mother followed him, obediently, to avoid the thick air of tension that was suffocating everyone in the kitchen.

Phil couldn’t help but let curiosity get the best of him. While Elaine consoled Matty in hushed voices and picked up the broken glass on the kitchen tile, Phil drifted away from them. He could hear Elaine telling Matty that it was okay, that they could hold a smaller, more intimate engagement party next week with just close friends. He knew that he, too, should be trying to console Phil. But he was worried about you. He just couldn’t believe your family was pressuring you to marry.

Phil stood just outside the living room beside its entrance, leaning on his side against the wall and focusing on the little he could hear. Bear padded up to Phil. Much calmer now, the German Shepherd sat down and looked up at Phil with a panting smile. Phil wanted to smile and pet the dog, but instead brought his finger up to his own lips, hoping the dog wouldn’t alert everyone to what Phil was doing.

“—how embarrassed I was left feeling! In front of everybody!” It sounded to Phil like Richard was still furious, still left with his pride injured. He was on the verge of yelling, but kept his voice somewhat hushed. Maybe to avoid drawing even more humiliation to himself tonight.

Your voice was less hushed, a little bolder. “We’ve barely been dating long enough to begin even thinking about marriage, Richard! I told you I wanted to wait!”

Phil carefully peeked into the room just enough to see that the two of you were standing and you had refused to sit on the couch. Richard towered over you, clearly trying to intimidate you. You were trapped between him and the untouched couch. You nervously ran your hand through your hair as Richard continued roughly gripping one of your shoulders with one of his hands. The sight of his hands on you like that made Phil’s skin crawl and stomach lurch. He tried his best to control himself.

“[Y/N],” Richard began again, clearly still annoyed. “You already made a scene with the first proposal. But I’m not giving up on you . And so is your father—”

You scoffed at this and rolled your eyes.

“So, please. Just stop being so stupid and stubborn for a second, and just say yes so we can both move on ”

You stayed quiet. And Phil’s mind was racing in the midst of your silence. Was it possible you were actually considering it? He remembered you when you were younger, as a kid. You were stubborn, yes, and very outspoken. It’s what stopped any kids from picking on you or your art. But you also never betrayed your own goals, your own ideas and feelings, for the sake of someone else’s preferences. Even if that meant getting into ugly fights with others and giving your mom and dad the silent treatment for weeks. It was one of many qualities in you that Phil remembered admiring, and he hoped that it was a quality that had never diminished during these last fifteen years.

Phil didn’t want to admit it, but he also felt sick to the thought of you getting engaged just when he had finally reunited with you. He felt a nauseating feeling in his gut at the idea of you marrying this, clearly, arrogant guy. Phillip Graves himself was arrogant at times—sassy even, but when it came to the people he cared about, he was never arrogant. When it came to you, he could never be arrogant.

Finally, you did answer. “I already said my thoughts on the subject, Richard,” you said firmly. At that moment, you hoped Richard and your father would respect your wishes more than anything. Once again, you felt like nothing more than a pawn. “I already said no to you once. And now I’m saying it twice. Do I have to say it a third time?”

“Well, neither of us are getting any younger, [Y/N]. If you’re as serious about this relationship as I am, then you should at least be considering marriage with me. If not, then what’s the goddamn point of this? Of any of this with you?” He placed both his hands now on your shoulders, shaking you just a little. “What do you even want out of this?”

Your face seemed almost serene. You didn’t frown, nor did you nervously smile or even produce a grimace. You placed your hands on his that were squeezing your shoulders, gently sliding them off of you and placing them back to his sides. “After tonight, Richard. I can’t give you a straight answer. I don’t know. After this scene you tried to pull despite everything I told you, I can’t say I see a future with you anymore.”

Richard leaned away, almost repulsed by your answer. He scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head furiously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you breaking up with me? ”

Phil would’ve started laughing if he didn’t give away the fact he was spying on you and Richard. But he also wanted to beam with pride at seeing you stand up for yourself despite Richard and your dad not ceasing in urging you two to get married. He was glad to see that you never lost your fiery side as you’ve grown.

“I guess that’s what it is,” you mustered out. “If you can’t stay in a relationship with me without getting married immediately just to make our parents happy, then maybe we just shouldn’t be in a relationship.”

Any shock was replaced with fury. Richard began seething. “You can’t be so goddamn dumb, [Y/N],” he growled out. “Why are you throwing all of this away? We could’ve had a future together, a built home, a nice family. And you’re throwing it all away just because you wanted to make a point about waiting ?!”

You scoffed. “A nice home where you’re calling me an idiot for sticking to my values. Yeah, sure.” You tried to step beside him to walk away, to finally leave this conversation behind and head back to the family that cares about you.

But instead Richard grabbed you by your forearm, whipping you back toward him and forcing you to face him again. His eyes were now no longer narrow with disdain but wide and dilated with rage. It was a look you only saw on rare occasions, mostly when you had screaming matches after you would “ruin the mood” when he’d try to have sex with you, drunk out of his mind, after one of his work parties.

“Let me go,” you muttered, your annoyance desperately trying to mask any fear that could be detected in your voice.

Suddenly, Richard grabbed your face with a hand, squeezing your jaw and cheeks as he did. He forced you to look at him, even while you desperately tried to pull his hand off you, scratching his forearms and trying to push him away. Phil’s heart began racing and he could feel the blood coursing through his body grow hotter. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but all he could focus on was how the solemn look in your eyes was now replaced with one of terror and shining with wet tears beginning to form.

Richard’s fury continued. “I never thought you could be this stupid. Do you even realize what you’re doing to your—”

Phil had enough. He rushed into the room and in what felt like a flash he pushed Richard away from you. You fell onto the couch, watching in horror as Richard tried to fight back against Phil. Sure, Richard was strong and big. But Phil’s hand-to-hand combat had been refined over the years in the Marine Corps. With little struggle, he managed to subdue him, and within seconds, Richard was pinned to the ground. Phil was successful in knocking the air out of Richard, leaving the man breathless and writhing on the floor.

“What the fuck ! Get off me!! ” Richard growled through gritted teeth.

Phil smirked for a split second before ignoring him. He let Richard crumble to the ground before he went over and tentatively kneeled in front of Y/N. He saw once again furious tears pooling in your eyes threatening to fall . He placed a gentle hand on her knee and gazed up at her. “You okay [Y/N] ? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You shook your head, your own hand traveling to your jaw where Richard had roughly grabbed you. “No, I’m fine.”

He nodded in understanding, still looking at you carefully. While he watched you, he felt Matty and Elaine rush into the room, confusion written on their faces. They saw your small form still sitting on the couch with Phil crouching in front of you while Richard was still getting up from the ground, catching his breath.

“Th-thanks, Phil,” you said quietly. “I… didn’t know he was gonna lash out like that.”

“ He what ?!” Matty demanded. “Richard, what the hell did you do to my sister?!”

Richard was now back on his feet, he breathed out deeply and glared at Matty. Then he straightened his shirt and painted on his usual smug look of contempt he carried. “I broke up with her. If she’s not taking this relationship seriously, then neither will I.”

“What a load of bullshit,” Matty practically spat the words in Richard's face before grabbing him by his collar. Elaine watched in horror too, scurrying away to the side. Matty dragged him out of the room until both you and Phil lost sight of the two of them. Knowing Matty and his long-lasting hatred for Richard, you were sure he was kicking him out of your parents’ home.

“Dad is going to be furious,” you mumbled to yourself, but Phil could hear you loud and clear.

He took a seat next to you on the couch, deciding not to touch you further. He had to remind himself that you were no longer a 12 year old girl, he had to restrain himself from holding you . Yes, you two were very close when both of you were mere teens . But it had been years since you last spoke. Fifteen years to be exact, he didn’t know if you ever counted the days but he did, for some reason that even he couldn’t explain it to himself. He couldn’t overstep his boundaries. So he just pulled his hands back to his lap and sat there, trying to console you as best as he could.

“He’s not always like that… but when he is it gets too much ” you breathed out. Phil tried to listen but he was also acutely aware of how your hand, albeit sweaty from your nerves, felt on his much rougher, larger one. “Matty never liked him. But mom and dad adored him for some reason.”

Phil sighed out. He wished he could say something comforting, something that would chase all your anxieties and fears away. But all he could do was sit there and listen to nothing and everything all at once . Feeling your heat radiate from your side, and he sits besides you only a hair of a touch away. He could lean in and hold you close, and the thought made his heart flutter with nervousness. From here, he could smell how your hair smelled like roses and coconuts—

Before he could drift further away he had to snap back to reality with you still sitting next to him solemnly. How could he think that about you? You were his best friend’s sister for goodness sake… but was he in the wrong to think of you as the pretty woman that you have become? Yes he considered you as a little sister back in the day, but that was a decade and half ago. But now? His heart told him one thing but his brain said something else.

You always carried your emotions on your sleeves. If you were happy, your face would be brighter than the sun. But then if sad, a cloud would particularly be looming over your head. When you were flustered, your face would be brighter than the fresh tomato that his parents would have the cooks pick up from the farmers market And if you were angry, oh man that was something to witness. That was why he always loved teasing you and making you laugh, to get that reaction and to see those emotions. He admired them. But in your grown-up state, he noticed that trait in you lessened. It was as if you were trained to wear a mask that would hide all your emotions. Even now, watching you sit there waiting for the unknown, you try to mask your emotions, hide them in a box and lock it. And discard the keys somewhere where no one can find it. And it hurt Phill to see you in this state. He couldn’t decide which one was worse; having you go through the trauma of facing your now abusive ex boyfriend, or that you were forced to masquerade your emotions.

“I knew the guy for like half an hour, but… yeah, I can say he seems like a dick.” He pursed his lips, but raised his eyebrows when he heard and felt you start to chuckle. “Pun intended” Phil smirked as he looked at you.

“He reminds me of a guy I met back when I first joined MARSOC,” Phil continued. You tore your teary eyes away from your hands and looked at him, listening intently. “He was big and burly too, but he actually was much more considerate. Hated bullies. Always lending the rest of us a hand if he could see we were struggling.”

You held back a snort. You couldn’t imagine Richard enduring something like Marines training, much less being generous and looking out for others if his skin was on the line. But as a child so many years back, you also couldn’t imagine Phil joining an elite fighting team. Not because he couldn’t work in a team, but because you only saw him as your brother’s best friend who just seemed to play football and video games—not shoot guns and hunt down dangerous men. So, you asked him more. While your mother was off trying to calm your father down, and your brother was getting fresh air to cool down with Elaine, the two of you stayed on the couch. While he did, Bear padded over to both of you, laying down at your feet and surely feeling sleepy already. Phil finally had a chance to reminisce out loud on some of his training days and some missions with the MARSOC Raiders—at least the parts of them he was allowed to tell others about. He even remarked how he had left the Raiders, now working with others to form a new PMC, hence why he was back in Texas.

While you sat listening and while your tears dried, you couldn’t help but feel admiration bloom inside your chest for him. Admiration and… something familiar you still couldn’t put your finger on. Yes, you were thrilled to have him back in your life, someone you might’ve called your best friend as a young girl. You felt some nostalgia, of course. You felt like you were truly back home for the first time, even after visiting home a few times already after moving in with Richard. Still, while he spoke and you listened intently, you couldn’t help but admire how his lips moved when he smirked as he remembered something cheeky he did, or how his brows furrowed tightly and his jaw clenched when a difficult memory flashed for him. Or how he’d sometimes run his hand across the side of his head, his light brown hair getting disheveled for just a few moments without his knowing. It made you smile for a few seconds before returning your focus to his words. But even while you concentrated on him and his stories, you couldn’t ignore the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the way your palms sweat when you noticed him gazing at you several times.

For a moment, it felt good to disconnect from your world, from the drama and yelling of your parents and Richard. Delving into Phil’s past several years away from your hometown felt like finding an oasis in a harsh, unforgiving desert. Your racing heart that you felt when Richard had glowered down at you in furious disbelief moments ago had diminished, now a comforting lull in your chest as you listened to Phil’s familiar voice. But it was short-lived, and it made you realize, yes, this was just one night, when your parents both walked in.

Your father’s face was less red, but the tired look in his eyes made you know that he was still disappointed. “Your mother and I are heading to bed.” He pursed his lips into a thin line when he looked at you. He had so much he wanted to say to you, so much he wanted to yell too. But your mother next to him nudged him with her elbow and cleared her throat. He shook himself out of his death stare and instead looked at the man beside you. “It was, uh… good to see you, Phillip. Please give your father my regards when you see him. It’s been a while since we’ve emailed each other.”

Phil nodded curtly but said nothing in response. Next to you, he could feel how tense you still were. He didn’t want this conversation to drag on any longer. Without another word, your parents left the living room, finally retiring to their bedroom up upstairs. But replacing your parents’ spot in the living room’s entrance came Matty and Elaine.

Elaine yawned. “How are y’all not tired yet?”

“We’re going to be heading to the guest room in a bit. But by all means, let me know if you need anything. Just knock on our door or give me a call. I’m here.” Matty gave you a reassuring smile.

Phil glanced down at his watch—you remember it as the same rolex that his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday and that Phil only begrudgingly accepted.

“Jesus, time sure flies. It’s already one in the morning.” He huffed, feigning sleepiness, and looked at you with pursed lips. He placed an earnest hand over his chest. “I’m sorry to have kept you awake so long, [Y/N].”

You shook your head frantically. “No, don’t apologize, Phil. Catching up on what you’ve been up to has meant the world to me.”

Hit with sudden realization, Phil widened his eyes slightly. “[Y/N], do you need a place to sleep tonight?” The thought of you returning to your hotel room with your furious ex-boyfriend made his chest tighten.

You shook your head. “No, I’ll just be sleeping in Matty’s room for the rest of my stay. So I'll be hanging around here for a while.” You honestly weren’t in a rush to return to Seattle immediately, just to have to see Richard glowering at you from every corner of his apartment. He was going to have to find a new roommate quickly.

Your brother wrapped his arm warmly around Elaine, bringing her sleepy body closer to him comfortingly. “See you two around,” he said before turning around and heading up the same stairs your parents had climbed earlier.

Phil got up from the couch, and you followed. You straightened your skirt as he rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepishly. “Really, I mean it. I hope I didn’t bore the hell out of you, [Y/N].”

The two of you began to walk to the front door, Phil pulling out his car keys from his pockets. “No, Phil. I’m being honest. Just getting to sit and hear you speak for a while has really helped me. I’m—I feel a lot better now. Thanks to you.” You watched as he opened the door but then you realized he also is technically only visiting town. “Wait. Do-do you have a place to stay?”

He paused. He shut the door that he had left slightly ajar before, as he turned to look at you. “Oh, yeah I’m staying back at my parents’ place. They rent out the first floor as an AirBnB sometimes, especially since they mostly spend time with my uncle in St. Augustine in Florida. But they’re letting me stay on the second floor now that I’m back home for a while as I work things out.” He smiled warmly. He couldn’t help but find it endearing how you worried where he was staying as well.

You let out a soft sigh. “Good.” You were relieved to hear not only that he wasn’t staying in some sketchy motel but that it was back in his childhood home, where you and him had spent so much time watching TV and pranking Matty on your weekends off of school.

He leans in slightly. “That’s right,” he said in a low voice. “If you wanna come by tomorrow, we can hang out. I’ll even cook you something.” He smirked.

You felt your heart leap and your face heat up furiously. You prayed that he couldn’t tell how flustered you felt. You tried to play it off smoothly. You tried to suppress the huge grin from growing on your lips and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Phil nodded and turned the doorknob again, getting ready to head out. “You better, or I’ll come by and snatch you myself.”

Your heart did backflips again at this. The image of eating dinner with him flashed in your mind, and you felt like your brain was short-circuiting. But you had to say something back, you had to answer without melting down. You desperately kept your composure but let out an airy laugh, one you hoped didn’t give away your nerves. “Goodnight, Phil. I’ll see you later.”

You followed him, stepping outside to your front porch as you watched him heading back to his black sedan parked by the side of the house. You couldn’t help but watch him as he walked with the same confident strides from when he was your childhood crush, his keys jangling in his hands.

As he pressed his car key’s FOB and and his car beeped, unlocking, he turned and glanced at you. He felt breathless as he saw as your hair blew in the cool nighttime breeze. But he didn’t want to give away how he, too, was gazing at you for too long. “Go inside, [Y/N],” he laughed. “You’re gonna catch a cold like that.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. ��Just making sure you’re gonna head out safely, Phil,” you called back, feigning annoyance. He shook his head and chuckled as he stepped into his car, headlights turning on and engine rumbling.

You turned around and headed back inside, closing the front door but quickly scampering to the window to look through the blinds until you saw his car disappear down the road.

Even after chatting with him all night, you still couldn’t believe Phil Graves had somehow returned to your life.

#cod x reader #phillip graves x reader #cod fanfic #phillip graves fanfic #phillip graves x you #phil graves x you #phil graves x reader #graves x reader #Authors Has Played Call of Duty

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badbatchposts · 5 months ago

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Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 20

Fic Teaser: While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19

Chapter 20 summary: Dara comes to on the Marauder, but her interrogation doesn't go as planned.

When Dara came to with a groan several hours later, the first thing she noticed was the rhythmic whirring of the Marauder’s hyperdrive. The second thing was how unamused Hunter looked.

“Start talking,” the Sergeant growled. She was sure he was used to that expression and tone being intimidating.

Dara said nothing. Instead, she tested the tightness of the binders that held her wrists behind her back and examined her surroundings. The cargo hold, which had served as her bedroom for weeks, was now their interrogation room. They would want to keep her as far away from the nav computer as possible—if they were still planning on going to Rex’s base, they didn’t want her knowing their destination. She wasn’t entirely sure why they would even risk bringing her with them, but the Batch often did things she didn’t wholly understand. In fact, she wasn’t sure why they had let her stick around for so long in the first place. Or why Crosshair had gone out of his way to intervene when the Imperials almost had her.

Speaking of which. Hunter and Tech were the only two in the hold with her, which gave her some relief—if it had been the sniper, she didn’t think an ex-Imperial would have as many qualms about what methods he used to get the information they were looking for.

Especially now that she’d learned the truth about him, that slimy—

“We are aware that you are working with Saw Gerrera,” Tech put forward. Dara remained impassive. She wasn’t sure what had given her away. Maybe Rex had finally remembered her, from when he’d trained them to fight back against the droids all those years ago on Onderon. She had risked a lot on the idea that he would have forgotten her by now, but even back then she had always kept a low profile, merging into the background, never standing out, and their contact had been minimal.

Hunter was now taking his turn. Dara wondered idly if they had practiced who would be good cop and who would be bad cop, or if they had just naturally fallen into their roles.

“We haven’t always seen eye to eye with Saw, but it’s a low blow for him to spy on us. Which means we aren’t feeling very kindly toward his spy. Especially after you shot Wrecker,” the Sergeant threatened darkly.

She rolled her eyes, finally deigning to respond. “It was on stun. He didn’t even go down. I doubt he has so much as a headache. I didn’t have to use stun blasts, you know.”

“I believe you did,” Tech replied. He was far less hostile than his brother, his eyes gleaming with something like intrigue behind his goggles. “Because you wish to be our ally. In fact, we could consider this to be an information exchange. As you are already aware, Rex has been organizing to help free and protect our fellow clones from the Empire. And as we are aware, your own organization likely has intelligence that could aid us in that endeavor.”

Dara clammed up again. Hunter leaned toward her, his eyes deadly. “Or, if you don’t want to talk, we could send Crosshair in here and see how things go then. Your choice. I’ll let you think about it.” The Sergeant exited the cargo hold, closing the door behind him, while Tech remained—to keep watch over her, she supposed.

She doubted Hunter would really let Crosshair do anything to her. Despite what happened with the Jedi, the clones had a code of honor.

Well. Most of them.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Tech working diligently on something on his datapad, before Dara spoke up.

“You shouldn’t be contacting Rex via holo. It’s bad infosec. Too easy to trace.” When she had first seen Rex’s face appear in the Marauder, she hadn’t just been surprised to find he was still alive; for most of their subsequent meeting she had been convinced the Empire was minutes from barging down their door. With the clones inside the warehouse, she had even taken up a position on the roof so that she would be able to warn them the moment any Imperial ships arrived.

Tech glanced at her, scoffing. “Perhaps for your organization. I encrypted and secured all communications for Rex myself.”

“Hmm.” Dara couldn’t help herself from looking a little impressed, and Tech took the opportunity to see if he could press her further.

“You have more stringent security protocols in your group?” he inquired. She didn’t reply, setting her mouth into a stubborn line, so he continued. “We are familiar with your use of the smugglers’ sub-space communications array on Ord Mantell. It is risky to put yourself in a situation where you rely on the discretion of criminals, but I suppose you do not have the capacity to replicate these set-ups on as many planets as would be necessary to make the network viable.”

He was right. It was a dilemma she had agonized and debated over, but ultimately they had decided it was the safest among a litany of risky options for their field agents to check in regularly. And, of course, there were the ways she had devised to make it safer.

The ways she had just ignored in her urgency to discuss the clones with Saw. But they shouldn’t have been able to listen in, not unless they were monitoring everything that passed through the smugglers’ comm network.

Then again, this was Tech. Maybe she shouldn’t put it past him.

When Dara remained silent, Tech shrugged and returned to his datapad, no doubt researching as much about Saw’s group as he could access to help him start filling the gaps. They knew too much already, in her opinion, but they would not be finding out more from her.

A few moments later, Tech peered up at her again. “You should know that, when we arrive, you will be left with Crosshair, as Hunter has stated. I will instruct him not to harm you, but as you are no doubt aware, his attitude toward you is extraordinarily hostile, and has only worsened upon confirming his suspicions. It may be best to speak with me before this occurs.”

Dara narrowed her eyes. Her voice betrayed every ounce of the violence and rage she had been repressing since she learned from Saw that Crosshair had been responsible for the death of her fellow rebel—her friend. Shot point blank, and the civilians she had been evacuating massacred.

“If you leave me alone in a room with that Imperial scum, only one of us is walking out,” she warned.

Behind his goggles, Tech’s eyes softened with sympathy.

“Dara… Crosshair’s actions against your comrades were terrible. But they were not his own. The inhibitor chip in the brain of all clones activated for him. We lost him for a long time. He was controlled, compelled to follow orders. It is very difficult for Crosshair to acknowledge his emotions—but I know he regrets it. I know he is sorry.”

Dara liked Tech, truly. She liked the whole Batch, with one obvious exception. But at that moment, she wanted to knock his lights out. She didn’t want his pity.

She looked away from him, resting her head back against the wall.

“Sorry won’t bring them back.”

***

Dara rotated her neck, trying to relieve the ache in her shoulders from sitting for so long with her wrists bound behind her. With the ship having just powered down upon landing, she was straining her ears to hear any activity out in the hallway that would give her a hint as to the Batch’s plans, but of course they knew better than to discuss them within earshot.

She had known this was a bad idea.

Her last mission had been a bad idea from the very beginning, in fact. Sneaking into an Imperial facility was always a bit of a risk, and going undercover for weeks with no backup ready to extract her if things went south was even worse. But she was used to working alone, and there had been no one else to spare for this operation.

She couldn’t arrive in her own ship either, had to leave it hidden near a spaceport and take a commercial transport to avoid suspicion when she began a position as a clerical worker under the vice-governor of some Force-forsaken desert planet. But she bided her time, familiarized herself with the facility, got the data they were after.

It had all gone fine, up until the moment she’d been caught in the act.

She’d barely made it to the hangar and onto a shuttle, and not without effort or injury. Only to crash-land right into another fever-wasp’s nest, barely getting out of it—surviving only thanks to that kriffing asshole.

She knew she should’ve just hopped on a transport back to her ship when they arrived at Ord Mantell, whether the Empire might have tracked it down or not. It was always pushing it, sticking with them for as long as she did, especially since Crosshair had been suspicious from the very beginning. But she had to lay low for a while anyway, and she thought that if she could recruit them somehow, find the clone network she had been hearing about, they’d mean everything for the cause. They were all good at what they did, she couldn’t deny that.

Even that asshole. If only she’d known he had been Imperial, if she’d known from the beginning what he’d done, she could’ve taken him out and disappeared before this whole thing got out of hand.

Speak of the sand demon—the cargo hold door opened to reveal the sniper, looking, even more than usual, like someone had pissed in his breakfast.

Maybe she’d still get her chance.

Dara schooled her expression into passivity as Crosshair approached. It was not an easy task; in normal circumstances she was a durasteel wall, blank, impossible to read. But her time with the Batch had challenged her. More specifically, he had challenged her, getting better and better at provoking a reaction. And now, she felt her righteous anger seething under every inch of skin as she was faced with him again.

Jolla’s killer. Her friend, gone, at the flash of a blaster. His blaster.

Crosshair’s eyes glittered dangerously, and Dara could imagine him doing it so easily. He was cold.

He was also still so painfully attractive, a small, traitorous part of her reminded. Her heart was beating fast, and she had to suppress a shiver, both reactions that, she insisted to herself, had everything to do with the danger she was in, and nothing to do with the memory of him crowding into her as she perched atop that crate only a rotation earlier. It didn’t matter that she no longer had that sort of reaction when under threat—not since early in the war.

Keep it together, she reminded herself. She could get out of this.

Finally, the sniper spoke. “I knew all along you were trouble, burk’yc.” His voice was a coiled whisper, a rock viper preparing to strike.

Should she rise to the bait or continue with the silent treatment? Dara knew that silence was often the prudent choice in an interrogation, but she had also learned that Crosshair’s presence kept her from acting rationally. In lieu of answer, she strained at her binders, focusing on the way they dug into her wrists, letting the pain ground her.

She was seated against the wall, and Crosshair’s tall, thin frame loomed over her. His gaze raked along her body, lingering for a moment on the binders. He leaned over and tucked one slender finger under her chin, tilting her face up until she met his eyes defiantly.

He smirked. “Although I can’t deny how much I like seeing you bound and at my mercy.”

The roles were reversed so quickly that he didn’t even see how it happened.

While Crosshair was distracted with his gloating—no doubt planning something heinous, Dara thought—she had found her contingency plan tucked behind a loosened panel in the wall behind her: a hidden vibroblade. In a single motion, never breaking eye contact, she had sliced her binders apart, leaping to her feet and pressing the edge to Crosshair’s neck. She backed him against the wall, watching his pupils widen as she allowed the knife to break the skin ever-so-slightly.

“Some of the others in our group think I’m paranoid, you know,” Dara began conversationally. “But it’s not paranoid to always have a back-up plan. Or two. Or three.”

Crosshair got over his momentary shock, glaring at his change in fortune. She could see in his eyes how he immediately set his mind to working at a way out of it, and she knew she had to be careful—he had enough height and weight on her that if she gave an inch, he could easily overpower her.

“Does Saw think that?” he growled. “He must have so little faith in you. Hasn’t he seen how good his little spy is at playing the whore?”

Dara laughed, full-bellied laughed at him. “You can do better than that pathetic attempt at riling me up. But I guess I shouldn’t expect much from Imperial filth.”

The sniper bared his teeth. “I’m not with the Empire.”

Dara leaned even closer. He could feel her hot breath on his face, and the knife stung a bit deeper into his skin. “You did plenty of damage while you were,” she hissed. “Do you even remember any of their faces, or have there been too many to keep track?”

Crosshair broke eye contact, his anger and bravado gone in a pained instant. He had known his actions would catch up with him one day, and now they were finally coming back to haunt him—at knifepoint, no less.

“I remember,” he croaked.

“Do you?” Dara spat out. “Do you remember the elderly? The children? My friend—” She broke off for a moment, took in a shaky breath. “You don’t even know what I’ve lost.”

They were both silent for a moment, breathing heavily, before Dara gained control over her grief and resumed her venomous tirade. “You’re not going to defend yourself, then? Blame it all on the chip, maybe? Say how sorry you are? Beg for your life?”

The sniper’s amber eyes snapped back to hers, and she immediately wished they hadn’t. She recognized the ache in them too easily.

“Go ahead and kill me,” Crosshair stated plainly. His gravelly voice began as a whisper, but gained in strength as he continued. “On Onderon it was the chip. But I still…deserve it. I did the same thing to plenty more…even after I had the chip out.”

This sudden admission had thrown Dara off, but Crosshair was no longer aiming to catch her by surprise or wriggle out of the situation. He had avoided thinking about it for so long, but now the floodgates were open, and he couldn’t stop as he heard the words spill out, tinged with desperation.

“You don’t know what it’s like, not to be in control. I remember all of their faces. I watched myself do it like my body wasn’t my own anymore. I tried to kill my own squad, my brothers. And when the chip was finally gone, I kept going. As if—as if doing the same things of my own free will would help convince me it was my choice all along.” He was begging now, but not for his life, or even for forgiveness. “So it was my fault. I deserve it. Kill me.”

Crosshair still didn’t look away as he waited. All he could think of was the irony, that the vengeance he was owed would finally be brought down upon him by her, of all people. The one he’d saved.

Dara eased up a little on the knife, but not enough for him to move. It was hard to read her turbulent expression, myriad emotions all flaring up and gone in seconds, like a series of flashbangs.

“I’m no executioner,” she finally choked out. “Not like the Empire. Not like you.”

With her free hand, she reached behind him to another panel in the wall and found her second contingency. He almost welcomed the darkness when it hit him.

Tag list: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon @somewhere-on-kamino @morerandombullshit @zahmaddog

Thanks again to @cloneflo99 for the amazing banner!!!

Next chapter

#the bad batch #star wars #clone force 99 #bad batch #tbb crosshair #the bad batch fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction

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steviewashere · 5 months ago

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Words to Keep Us Moving (Chapter 1 of 6)

Rating: Mature CW: Implied/Referenced Non-Canon Character Death, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death—CANNOT EMPHASIZE THAT ONE ENOUGH, A DOG LITERALLY DIES HEED CAREFULLY Tags: Canon Divergence, Post-Season 4, Apocalypse AU, Vecna Apocalypse, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Character Study, 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Journal Entires, Amputee Steve Harrington, Disabled Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Protective Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Stubborn Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Getting Together, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Other Tags to be Added

This is a 5+1 fic, but only the first chapter so far. Five journal entries during the apocalypse/moments during the apocalypse, and one entry after the apocalypse. Please heed all content warnings, I am begging you.

Also on AO3 (because this is wicked long for a first chapter)

📝———————📝 The First Journal Entry: April 16th, 1986

I don’t know what I’m doing with this. I’m not much for writing. Fuck, I couldn’t even write an essay for my senior paper. Nancy had to coach me through eighty percent of it. But I’ll go insane if I don’t speak. And I’m being careful with my voice for now. Those demogorgon things are blind, but aware. They can sense the heat of our bodies, the sounds of our movement, the smell of our fear and our blood.

Many people I’ve had to rescue have ultimately faded into nothing. They scream and they cry and they shake. They get too close, they stray too far. They reek of sweat. Even though I tried to get them away, to get them back towards the safe houses, they weren’t savable. I tried, though. Believe me, please, I tried.

Hawkins may not be salvageable. I don’t think this town is meant for saving. We try anyway. There’s the safe houses, like I mentioned. One bordering the exit sign, that’s where they put the women and children. They being the feds, by the way. Didn’t make that clear, should do that by now. Anyway. There’s the safe house across from old Forest Hills; the victims from the sinkhole crevice tearing through the trailer park go there. And then the final safe house is Hawkins High.

Some of our group is between Hopper’s cabin and my house. Everybody is safe there. Eddie’s no longer in hiding, but he still sleeps down the hall from me. Max is out of the hospital, her old bed now taken up by an elderly woman; the woman will probably die—a demogorgon got her with its claws—and Max is with El. The Wheelers are with their parents in the exit sign safe house, same with Henderson and his mom, the Sinclairs are there, too, and Mrs. Hargrove. Jon and Will are here with Hopper, El, Max, and Joyce. I wish we could take Max back to her mother, but she’s under constant supervision—El believes her newfound blindness is connected to Vecna. Wayne is no longer at the high school, he’s been forcefully relocated to old Forest Hills, but he’s welcome around here any time. Robin’s with her parents at the high school; that’s where Vickie is, so that’s where she’ll be.

I haven’t seen my parents since before the earthquake. They were out of town on a business trip. Mom went with Dad because she still doesn’t trust him alone. They called me the day Dustin brought me along to find Eddie. Told me they were on their way home, were driving back from the airport. I can hear back the message on the answering machine, as long as I keep the generator up and running.

Mom told me she loves me in it.

I can’t help but think that they should’ve been back by now. I’ve checked with the soldiers on the edge, see if they saw a black Lincoln come through. Told me no. Told me they found remains of a car; a black car. I stopped checking after that. Couldn’t stomach the meaning behind that.

Our town is in ruin. I’m not alone, I have to remind myself. I’ll go out on monster hunting duty tonight, first time on my own. We’ll see how that goes.

I have to go, I can hear Eddie rousing. Time to check his wounds. Make sure he has his dose of antibiotics. See if he needs Tylenol; opioid free now…yay!

———— Steve closes the soft leather cover of his journal. He found it among the rubble of the bookstore in town. He’d been advised by Hopper to start writing because apparently his low morale “affects the monster hunting” and if he didn’t get it under control, he’d be reassigned to radio duty. Where Eddie is now.

Speaking of, Steve stands from his cramped desk and walks the short distance to the first guest bedroom on his floor. Knocks gently on the wood and enters without any other preamble.

Sitting in the spare desk is Eddie, hair ruffled and clothes messily strewn across his body. He spares Steve a glance over his shoulder. The bandage on his cheek is beginning to peel and Steve knows it’ll be a bitch to change; he always feels bad when he has to rip it off, it tugs at the raw skin and the little bit of facial hair Eddie’s still able to grow. Remembers, though, the joke Eddie had made about his situation: “Look, I’m freaking Two-Face from the comics! Think he grows half a beard, too?” He had to bite his tongue. Almost reprimanded the poor guy.

He blinks and Eddie’s still staring at him.

“How’s it goin’, Stevie?” Eddie murmurs. His voice has taken on an even deeper rasp than before. The demobats had taken a liking to his chest and the base of his throat, but Steve had been able to keep those wounds from being life ending. “You were pretty quiet in there.”

“Well, you know we have to be somewhat quiet,” Steve mock-whispers, “thought I’d use the…solitude to focus on getting in a journal entry.”

Eddie hums. “Glad you’re getting started on that. Don’t wanna be removed from surveying duty, yeah? You’d be stuck in here with dear old me. And let me tell you, sitting around and checking the stations is booorrring.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, well, this is where you remain until you’re healed.” He steps further into the bedroom, clicking the door closed softly behind him. Settles on the guest bed on the right of the desk. Roams his eyes around the walls. “I’m doing alright, though. A little nervous if I’m being honest. About going out there alone. What if I don’t hear—“

“They’re letting you go out there alone?” Eddie squawks. “They should be sending out one of those adults, not you! You’re just a kid, Steve.”

Taken aback, not one to usually be concerned about, Steve crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs.

“It’s not like I have anything else waiting back for me, right?” Steve bites. “It’s my duty and I plan on going through and taking care of said duty. And if something happens, I’ll radio back. You’ll hear me. Someone’ll come running. I’ll be fine.”

Eddie eyes him for a moment. His big, brown eyes impossibly wider. A little wet. His face is pinched, frowning. There’s a moment where he opens his mouth to protest something Steve said, hesitating strongly, but he literally bites his tongue. Croaks, “And if you don’t radio?”

“I’ll radio,” Steve insists.

“Will you? Because the last time you were on duty and that happened—“ He waves a hand at Steve’s missing left wrist. “—You didn’t say anything until you got back. You’re fucking lucky Claudia was over here with Dustin. Else you wouldn’t have any sort of nurse or doctor available to sew you back—“

“I’ll be fine,” he harshly interrupts. He sighs, drops his arms, and swallows hard. Then, he blinks and looks back, leans into Eddie’s space. Brings a tentative hand to trace the edge of his facial bandage. “Have your hands been shaking?”

“Don’t switch the conversation—“

“Have your hands been shaking?” Steve repeats firmer.

Eddie sighs through his nose. Sharp. Annoyed. “Yes, Steve, but I can do this on my own. You don’t need to—“

“Just let me change it before I go, okay? Give me a little peace of mind before I head out.” He pets his hand down to the underside of Eddie’s jaw, to the side of his neck. His pulse welcomingly slow.

Their eyes lock. Eddie’s concerned, too much for Steve’s liking.

Though, finally, “Okay,” Eddie murmurs, “but you have to promise that you’ll be careful, you’ll be safe.”

“Eddie, I already—“

“Promise, Steve. You have to keep your head on your shoulders. You have to report to us if you’re in danger. You have to come back.”

“I will,” Steve promises, whispers immediately, “I will from here on out.”

And with that, Eddie opens one of the desk drawers, pulls out a package of gauze and bandage, and offers it out for Steve to take. He leaves the room briefly to wash his hands, returning with damp fingers. It was a quick, yet intimate procedure. Peeling away the wrappers. Laying down the gauze—right after a cleaning. Taping it all down, sticking it to Eddie’s sensitive, raw skin.

When he pulls back, finished, Steve’s stomach jumps with a new level of unease.

It was done. He could go.

He has to go.

“Jacket,” Eddie murmurs, his hands holding out for Steve’s. He takes them, of course he does. Voice still low, he continues, “Don’t make the mistake I did. Stay safe.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands, nods, and stands from the bed.

He looks back at Eddie before leaving the bedroom, but not without a steel ball weighing low in his stomach. There is a wildfire in Eddie’s eyes. And the beginnings of burns along Steve’s ribcage. He knows, whatever is going to happen, that his promise wasn’t just words.

It was a testament.

A confession.

He descends the staircase, grabs his jacket by the front door, zips it all the way up to the base of his neck, and leaves with his baseball bat and car keys.

———— The two way radio is heavy on his front left pocket. Sagging down the waistband of his jeans. There’s an empty chunk of his jacket sleeve that dangles down and rustles against it, he stops all movement to tie it up.

He was assigned to the scrapyard. Hopper’s orders.

Oddly enough, it was the only location in Hawkins to have very rare activity. Despite the history he shares with the place. But he knows what to do. There’s a jerry can of gasoline and a bottle of vodka in his trunk, a packet of matches in his jacket, and the weight of his splintering baseball bat in his grip. He’s silent as he walks through the bits and pieces of junk. Carefully dragging his feet over the loose soil, cautious about accidentally kicking a chunk of metal.

It’s so quiet, he can hear the wheeze of his breath. As he takes another step, standing parallel to 1984, there’s a sound that echoes through the breeze. A singular pained whimper. At first, he believes it to be a figment of his imagination. Nobody else should be out here. There’s cracks in the ground and fiery red sky oozing through the trees. A shimmer of early evening light and a plume of wind-wild smoke.

He hears it again, though.

This time, however, it’s followed by the rumble of a low growl. Unlike the chittering of a demo-creature. This sound belongs to something like a domesticated animal.

A dog, he recognizes, A dog.

Before he follows the sound, he turns back to where he discreetly parked his car: behind the concave of that rusted bus. Wriggles with the trunk until it just barely creeks above his head. Snatches up the vodka and the gasoline, tucks his baseball bat into his left armpit, and he shuffles back towards the source of the noise, the dog.

It follows out to some various, tumbleweed-esque bushes. He hides behind the nearest junk car, eyes narrowed above the hood. It’s a brown, thin-skinned, almost just bones puppy. Probably around six months or so. A mutt—some sort of lab mix. The eyes are wide, teary, dark brown, and frightened.

The dog cowers against a bush. And right in front of it is a small pack of demodogs. Three of them. Wide mouthed and snarling. There’s large globs of saliva leaking from its lower jaw, or what would be a lower jaw to a human. They’re not very big, roughly around the same size of this puppy, but they are muscular, leathery, and hungry.

He’s not sure what exactly his game plan is. But he knows he has to do something before this dog is consumed for all it is—all it isn’t.

Around him, he spots an empty, glass bottle. As quietly as he can, eyes pointed at the hard soil under his feet, he lays out his equipment. Sits down with his legs straight out in front of him. Ears alert for the dog—whimpers raising in volume, growling trailing off into an absolute nothingness. He sets the bottle upright onto the ground, squeezed together by his knees. Bites down on the twist cap of the vodka, rips it off with his teeth, and shakily pours the contents into the glass. Though, he realizes he doesn’t have a rag to put in the bottle’s opening.

Being careful once more, Steve fidgets with the tied wrist of his jacket. And begins, quietly on top of the whimpers, to tear away at the fabric. Until, finally, he’s got a scrap to stuff limply into the bottle. He wets the sleeve with a bit of the vodka. Then, he lights a singular match.

He places the wood end of the match between his lips, stands from behind the car with the bottle in his one hand, lights the jacket sleeve. And with as much force as he can, he chucks the glass at the demodogs.

It’s fast to occur. The dry bushes go up in bright orange flames. Red sky becoming one with the glow. From the barely interrupted silence, screeches and chittering and snarling erupt. The fire dances in the dog’s eyes. Demodogs melting, dropping to the side, falling silent and smoking.

Steve spots it, then. The wound on the dog’s gaunt side. Fresh blood, crusted brown stains around the edge of this bite, entire chunks of skin and muscle gone.

He realizes, when the silence surrounds him again sans the crackle of going out flames, that it was all no use. There was no point. It couldn’t be saved. He drops his arms to his sides. And watches the flames die out right in front of his eyes. The dry grass now brittle and black. The dog just as brittle, near death.

A glance around shows no other demo-creature. Hastily, he crosses to the bushels, yet slowly, he approaches the fading, cowering puppy. Crouches to be on the same level.

Clicking his tongue and snapping his fingers, he calls out. “C’mere, baby,” he coos, “c’mere, puppy.” However, it’s too weak to move. Too weak to run. So it just stares at him. Wide brown eyes and puzzled absent eyebrows. Fast, rattling breaths through its nose—ones that come from an organ deep exhaustion.

Startlingly, it reminds him of Eddie. He nearly throws up at the realization. Instead, however, he finishes his approach and settles close to the dog’s head. Gently, he lifts it into his criss-cross lap. The dog barely weighs anything between his legs. Its eyes drooping, exhausted. Its fur is greasy, and the skin dry under his good hand. But he doesn’t mind. All he does is comfort it, pet the curve of its skull, thumbs at the base of its ears, traces the wet edges of its nose. The only sound it makes is a gentle, giving-in wheeze of breath.

And as Steve runs his hand one more time over its skull, the dog passes on.

A quiet, ordinary thing. Its eyes going far. Chest caving with its last breath. Not another sound. Not another movement. An ordinary death with an ugly, unusual circumstance.

His lap pools with warm blood. It’ll congeal, stain, never rid. But he doesn’t care, for once. Instead, he lifts the dog over his shoulder, stands on trembling legs, and finds an unoccupied, untainted spot of grass. He lays the dog down into the overgrown weeds. And digs, uncoordinated and sloppy, into the oddly warm, consistently dry dirt. The soil gives way in clumps. Chunks of it getting stuck underneath his fingernails. Palm collecting the dirt into each of the fine lines of his palm.

It’s not a great hole. Only about a foot deep—too shallow. But he rolls the dog into the well he created. Closes its eyes with his one hand. And covers the body back up. Resting, now, on his dirtied knees in the aftermath of destruction. The smell of burnt flesh and dead grass filling his nostrils. Looking around at the scenery: scraps of rusted metal, yellow weeds, demo-corpses, and an ashen circle where rotting meat lays.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. How long he lays his palm over the textured mound of dirt in front of him. How long he grieves a dog he had no connection to. But when he gets up, dusk is settling in. And he figures, with no other activity and nothing else to look out for, he’ll head back.

He grabs the two way from his pocket. Switches to Eddie’s channel. Presses down on the talk button. Speaks low and nasally, “This is Steve. Report to Chief that there were three demodogs. None of them were fully grown; all small, hungry, bloodthirsty. I lit them up. Over.”

“Hear you, Steve. Report on supplies? Over.”

“Half of a bottle of vodka. Gasoline can full. I have a full pack of matches, except for one. But I think it would be a good idea if we collected empty glass bottles and rags. Over.”

The radio reads silent for a lull of two minutes.

Eddie speaks again, softly,“Come home. Over and out.”

———— His front door was already unlocked by the time Steve came through.

It should’ve startled him, really, it should’ve. Though, with the flash of that dog behind his eyelids and the odd fatigue that overcame his limbs, he barely even cared. But the lights throughout the first floor were dim. And the noise of the radio in Eddie’s room floated down the stairs like an early autumn breeze. It was almost sweet, when he eventually came across Eddie in the kitchen, but his stomach was nearing sour.

“I made dinner,” Eddie murmurs as a greeting. He’s standing at the stove, back towards Steve. “The rations that Wayne dropped off earlier had some stale bread and a jar of minced garlic. Thought I’d just make some shitty garlic bread with whatever spaghetti stuff I found in your pantry.” He looks up from the stovetop, then. His hair is sitting atop his head in a barely neat bun, but it’s enough. And he has Steve’s mom’s apron tied around him—covering a plain black t-shirt and a pair of red basketball shorts Steve had loaned him at the start of his stay. Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes Steve in, though.

There are no more words. Eddie’s mouth is open, dried up. And Steve doesn’t know if he can speak—not without tears, at least.

Finally, ever observant, Eddie gestures loosely to Steve’s clothes. “You’re sleeve…you’re pants…”

Steve has to swallow harshly. His right hand is clenched tight to his thigh, and if he still had the other one, he’s sure it would shake noticeably. But he stays rigid to the entryway. Thinking long of the dog. Of its last expression.

Of Eddie’s expression now.

He figures it odd, to be so hung up on this mutt’s face. The haunting that places itself in the small spaces between his ribs. Every single time he’s involved himself with these day-to-day nightmares, he hardly ever considered mortality. Unless it leant itself in the face of everybody else, in which he constantly and greatly considered life or death. In which he knew that it would be him under the knife; never one of the kids, never Nancy or Robin, not Eddie now, not even Jonathan. There were also several moments where he blearily considered morality—the hard set lines of its face and the ugly snarl to its lips. He always thought of himself last in these things, almost like he was repenting—if he put himself in the shoes of his younger self, starchy clothes, and a thick youth’s bible in his hands. Bad things mean bad results, he always considered.

But the dog had no common understanding of morality, let alone mortality. It probably dragged its heels when being pulled along its leash, being led somewhere it never wanted to go. It probably had a family who adored it to the moon and back. It probably was told it was good every minute of its sheltered life, fed dog bones, held close in the darkest point of evenings, and scratched soundly and contentedly between its ears.

And on top of that, he can’t stop ruminating over the striking resemblance the puppy held to Eddie’s own tired, desperate, dying face. His big button eyes and the blood across his body. The open wounds and the dried tears on his cheeks. There are two questions in his hands: Had the dog considered running away, or did it know that the demodogs was its fate? If so, did it die selflessly, or did it die to escape something greater?

He wonders if Eddie answered those questions before facing the demobats.

Eddie’s in his kitchen though, wooden spoon at his side, trembling to take a step forward.

At last, Steve croaks, “I buried a dog today.” He unfurls his fist and reaches out his shaking, dirty hand.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

“It—The demodogs were hunting it, Eds. I…I had to save it. I had to save the dog. I don’t know why, but I just…I had to. I set them on fire,” he explains, loose lipped and tumbling, “even when the fire died, the dog was still scared. I came close to it. And it wouldn’t run. I wanted it to run away. I wanted it to get to safety, but I noticed while the demodogs literally—“ Steve inhales, a hiccup, a gasp. “—A huge gaping bite on its left side. I could see its ribs. I could see where the blood began to dry up. So I put it in my lap. I pet it. It died.”

The spoon is settled softly on the granite counter behind Eddie. He approaches Steve slowly. Arms out, fingers spread wide. Steps into Steve’s orbit, but lays his palms on his shoulders, the trembling aching joints. Eddie’s thumbs begin working away at the tension. Before he can say anything, Steve speaks again.

“I buried it as far down as I could dig. And I just sat there, unsure of what to do.” His eyes burn and his throat stings. He shakes in his rigidness. So Eddie leads them to the dining area, settles Steve into a chair, leaves momentarily, and approaches again, now with a warm, wet rag in his hands.

Steve’s dirtied palm sits skyward in his lap. Eddie picks it up deftly, running the soft, worn side of the rag over his palm. The water probably won’t do all it needs to, the tap was apple juice colored, pipes having burst or flooded with sewer in the earthquake. They should use a ration of bottled water, but that would be a waste, Steve considers. So he lets Eddie work. Silently, gently.

He does it methodically. Working harder in the fine lines of Steve’s palm. Digging the cloth into the underside of each fingernail. Going by with another pass, crumbling the stubborn clumps. His breath deepens, sighing through his work. “I’m sorry you had to do that, Steve,” Eddie breathes. “Somebody should’ve been there—“

“The dog made me think of you,” Steve chokes out. He swallows back a pained whimper. Eddie halts all his movements and looks up startled. His wide eyes not scared, but too similar. “How you looked when…I just couldn’t leave it there to die.” And at that, Steve finally lets the tears spill over. He doesn’t make a sound, biting down on his tongue to make himself as silent as possible. But he shakes from shoulders to knees. Sipping air through his nose.

Steadfastly, Eddie maneuvers them so that Steve is burrowed deep into his chest, right ear over Eddie’s heart, nose smushed underneath his clavicle. Eddie strokes a hand down his back, wraps another around Steve’s forearm, above his absent wrist. Shushes him with whispers; the syrupy soft ones, the ones meant to soothe, but otherwise a babble of nothing. Of “You’re okay,” and “I’m okay,” and “You did okay.”

It works, eventually. Steve wrung out. Eddie shaken to his core.

They pull back from each other. The rag is run softly over the tear tracks on Steve’s face, cutting through a sheen of light dirt he didn’t know was there. Eddie murmurs, close to Steve’s tendered eyes and chewed lips, “Eat some dinner, okay? I’m going to put a call over the radio. And when I come back down, I’ll clean up and we’ll lay in your bed, alright?” Steve minutely nods and lets Eddie get him some food, mourning the touch he gave almost immediately.

And when Eddie’s upstairs, he hears, drifted from the opening of the guest room, “No more putting Steve on duty alone. That’s final. Over and out.”

The chattering static of the radio cuts out after that. Steve realizes he meant what he said. They’ll go to bed. Bodies close. Warmer, ever warmer.

But that dog will still be dead and buried.

📝———————📝 Taglist is open for this fic!! (Comment to be added <3)

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst and hurt/comfort #apocalypse au #steddie apocalypse au #cw blood #cw gore #cw animal death

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kakasaku-week-2023 · 1 year ago

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Thank you everyone for participating in this year’s KakaSaku Week and making it such a success! Don’t forget to reblog all the art, and of course co scream at the authors in their comments on AO3. Hopefully we’ll see everyone next year!

For future events and more KakaSaku goodness, be sure to give us a follow at @scarecrowsandcherryblossoms!

Here’s the 2023 Master List, under the read more!

Day 1: Historic AU

Trapped in a Small Space—Innocent—"Never cruel or cowardly."

Art 🎨

a barmaid and a pirate by @mayskalih Innocence, the language of flowers by @aerie-skysinger historic au by @this-is-my-canon WWII trapped historic au by @xenea-aesthetic

Fics 📝

Shield by @tsume-inuzuka Undone by xylazine Salvation and Slaughter by @petriikore My Fate is in Your Hands by fusionblitz28 Hey Princess, Let’s Go by kaoruhana08 Ruination Be Damned by @sakuradeservedbetter91

Never cruel or cowardly by Crystalina The Lady and The Coward by @alittlewooy Midnight Stranger by FeralSaturday My Cruel Lady, My Cowardly Samurai by Fountain_pen Sharp Tongues and Foolish Daydreams by @twofortea Stuck in the Middle with Pakkun by @mrssakurahatake (every chapter is a different prompt of the week, still in progress!)

Day 2: Someone Else’s Show

Domesticity—Wingman/Wingwoman—"Should I stay or should I go?"

Art 🎨

an earthbender and a waterbender by @mayskalih someone else's show-bleach by @aerie-skysinger pretty woman by @this-is-my-canon

Fics 📝

My Cruel Lady, My Cowardly Samurai by Fountain_pen The Battle in the Underground by @goldfishlover73 What Trembles Underfoot by @twofortea The Intricacies of Pokémon Breeding by Fusionblitz28 Healed with a Kiss by heartensoul Stay by @alittlewooy

Day 3: Modern AU

3 A.M.—Missed Connections—"You have my sword."

Art 🎨

assassins modern au by @mayskalih 3 A.M. missed connections by @aerie-skysinger

Fics 📝

When I Saw You Standing There by @tipsyraconteur Kill for Me by @this-is-my-canon An Ocean Away, A Moment Away by Fusionblitz28 Like To Get To Know You by @twofortea Morning Fix by xylazine Pretext/Postscript by @ax31s2 Missed Connections by @alittlewooy A Four Week Class in Flirting, Seduction, and Bagel Making by @goldfishlover73 the booty call that wasn’t by @sakuradeservedbetter91

Day 4: Fantasy AU

Hot Springs—Seduction—"I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her."

Art 🎨

seduction fantasy au by @aerie-skysinger

Fics 📝

My Cruel Lady, My Cowardly Samurai by Fountain_pen Say What You Wish by @twofortea What The Sea Wants, The Sea Shall Have by @rosebrided Lady of Dreams by @alittlewooy

Day 5: Swap AU

Booty call vs. Butt dial—Beach—"Oops."

Art 🎨

oops by @aerie-skysinger swapped, beach by @this-is-my-canon office hours by @twofortea gender swap by @princessxgarbage

Fics 📝

One Long Mission by @goldfishlover73 Office Hours by @twofortea In Between My Legs by Fusionblitz28

Day 6: Mythology AU

Soulmate—Morning After—"Not if you were the last person on Earth."

Art 🎨

soulmate by @aerie-skysinger

Fics 📝

through violence by @this-is-my-canon On Wings like Wakinyan by by Fusionblitz28 Death and the Maiden by @twofortea

Day 7: Canon Divergence

Pakkun Makes a Startling Discovery—Arranged Marriage—"Why are you in my house?"

Art 🎨

Pakkun Makes a Startling Discovery by @aerie-skysinger married by @this-is-my-canon

Fics 📝

Dwindling Dreams and Infinite Nightmares by Fusionblitz28 What You Don’t Know (Sure Can Hurt You) by @twofortea a scent of floral by @goldfishlover73 From the Imperfect Start to the Finish Line by heartensoul

#kakasaku #kakasaku week 2023 #master list #hatake kakashi #haruno sakura #fanart #fanfiction #modern au #historical au #someone else's show #fantasy au #mythology au #canon divergence

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aethon-recs · 1 year ago

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HP Rec Fest, Day 19 ❄️

@hprecfest daily prompts running through Dec 31. Goal is to find lesser-known or underrated works, even by well-known authors, to feature here.

Day 19: Fic with the Hottest Smut

Prison Blues by @metalomagnetic (E, 68k, WIP)

Summary: Harry and Voldemort find themselves locked up in a mysterious prison in an A/B/O alternate universe setting. Why I rec it for this prompt: This is such a hard prompt to narrow down, because I feel like I could link like a hundred fics in this ship with really, really hot smut scenes. But! The smut in this fic is INSANE, and prolific, and detailed, and varied, and it's just perfection, and I literally couldn't focus on work or anything else for the rest of the day after reading certain chapter updates because all I could think about was how hot the writing in this fic was ‎️‍🔥

Running list of recs:

#hprecfest2023 #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarry #aethon recs #tomarrymort recs

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tsukimefuku · 10 months ago

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Right, wrong and the in-between (Part 3)

Previous chapter | Next chapter

You and Higuruma were assigned to investigate the disappearance of women around Shinjuku. This led to a dicey situation regarding what place Jujutsu sorcerers occupy in this world and what is their role to play when non-sorcerers get involved.

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". There is currently a sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a fic I'll eventually write (eventually). To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :) The "Right, wrong and the in-between" will be a 4 (maybe 3) part short-story set in this AU. I hope you enjoy! The tags below will be applicable to every chapter.

Tags: oc/f!reader, soft/implied Higuruma x reader, soft/implied Nanami x reader, slow burn, mentions of violence and non-con/abuse among side characters, canon typical violence, some angst, some fluff, just characters being themselves driving the plot (and me) insane. Some philosophical debate will be in place.

WC: 2.7k

NECESSARY DISCLAIMER: This chapter is DARK and involves depictions of death and hints of s*x*al abuse. If you do not wish to read this part, you can jump to the "+++" sign below and read from there.

"Here you go, princess!" Toshio said, throwing you inside a very dark room. You had both of your hands tied to your back, and your feet were tied together as well. This room was right beside the interrogation office they had you in moments earlier, and you suspected this was in one of the buildings internally connected to the club. "Behave, or I'll fuck you up, got it?" He warned, right before slamming the door, and yelling for Yukiko. You figured that was the woman's name.

Propping yourself to seat upwards, you scanned around the room, as you could barely make out anything, but the stench was even worse inside this place than it was previously. There seemed to be some mattresses spread across the floor, and that was when you saw them — the kidnapped women laying over the mattresses.

According to Jujutsu Tech's reports, there had been 5 women kidnapped (6 if you counted the one you and Higuruma saw), but you could only make out 3 that were actually laying on their beds, and from what you could tell, they were covered solely with a paper thin white blanket. They seemed to be drugged, since none of them reacted when you were thrown inside the confined space. As you were searching for the remaining three women, it suddenly struck you, sending ice-cold shivers down your spine. Oh, no.

The smell.

You fought back the urge you had to throw up, as you saw a mass that could amount to three bodies, all stacked together, barely covered by a black tarp. "Oh my God!" You exclaimed. This was bad, very bad, and you had to get out of there as soon as possible. Shit, shit! Fuck! It was everything you could think at this very moment.

+++++++++++++++

"H-Hey." A tiny voice muttered from one of the mattresses on the floor. You looked its way, and it was the girl you and Higuruma had seen earlier that day. She still had her clothes on, maybe because they didn't have the time yet to do anything to her. The woman crawled her way to you, with some difficulty, and tried to sit beside you, having to remain supported by her two arms on the front of her body.

"Hey." You answered. "What is your name?"

"It's... My name... I'm Kaoru." She was clearly still loopy.

"I'm here to save you girls." You answered. "But I'm going to need your help."

She was waning off slowly.

"Hey!" You whispered strongly in her direction, eliciting a slight eye widening from her. "Kaoru, I'm going to need your help for untying myself."

"You untie yourself?" She asked, puzzled. "That hag, she told me to follow her, and then..." She sighed deeply. "What then?"

This was pointless, she was still completely useless. You started to look around and see if there was absolutely anything you could use in order to cut the ropes they had used to immobilize you, but apart from the darkness, there didn't seem to be anything helpful inside that bedroom. You had to use your technique, it was the only way, but you were afraid — and rightfully so — of making too much noise with a tiny grenade and bestow upon these women and yourself the wrath of the duo.

"Shit. What the fuck can I do?" You muttered to yourself. You finally had the idea to lay over your arms, right on top of one of the mattresses, and just pray it would be silent enough not to garner any unwanted attention.

Taking a deep breath, you laid yourself on your back and slowly pushed yourself through the ground, using your tied up legs and elbows, towards a mattress. Then, you managed to squiggle your way on top of it, and held your breath as you summed the tiniest grenade you could, just to rupture the rope keeping your hands together.

It was a little louder than expected. You heard footsteps in the room's direction and the door bust open, revealing Toshio's worked up face. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I was trying to lay on the mattress and I fell." You said, as it was the first thing to pop into your mind.

He walked towards you and slapped you viciously across your face, managing to somehow hit your ear as well, leaving you to see stars and temporarily deaf on that side, as a ringing echoed all throughout your skull. "Be quiet, or I'll do a lot worse, princess." He said, puling on your shirt disgustingly. You mustered all your strength to not spit in his face as he got up and made his way out, slamming the door loudly yet again. You were relieved, though, for your plan had worked, and you managed to liberate your arms from the cords contraption the hag had conceived.

Now, prioritize. Cursed speech user, so I have to- you started looking for anything you could use to stuff inside your ear. One of the mattresses had some holes with foam bursting through the seams. You quickly grabbed two fairly sized balls of that white plush and jammed them inside your ears, before doing absolutely anything else. Now sensory deprived, you swiftly started looking for the end of the knot where your legs were tied, and it was a pretty difficult task that took at least 10 minutes to complete.

You got up, grabbed Kaoru and laid her on the mattress. "I'll be back for you, okay?"

She nodded as she dozed off.

You then went to at least check on the other women, and it was as you thought. They were covered in bruises, bites, cuts and scratches, completely unclothed under the sheets and doped beyond anything you could do to help all of them currently. You inhaled deeply, and absolute rage took over your body.

***

Nanami and Higuruma were making their way around the block, walking silently beside each other, and the tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife. It was already dark, and the streets were incredibly crowded with gamblers, drunk people and those looking for something else in the red-light district. However, no one dared to approach them offering any kind of service — probably because of Nanami's energy of fury, which was simmering just under a nonchalant expression.

"So, cursed speech technique. It really doesn't work if you can't hear what is being said?" Higuruma asked.

"Yes, it doesn't. When we arrive, insert the cotton balls inside your ears as deep as you’re able to, in order to properly isolate noise." Nanami replied.

They went to the rendezvous ahead of schedule. Since these people were clearly idiots and had no idea what they were doing, there was a pretty great chance that they provided the address to their current location as the place to hold this meet up. Nanami and Higuruma's thinking soon would prove to be very right.

Both men, when they got to the address, found themselves in front of a simple wooden door with two sets of locks. Higuruma started looking around for another way inside.

"What are you… currently engaged in?" Nanami questioned him.

"This door is clearly locked. I'm looking for another way inside the building." Higuruma explained.

Nanami sighed, promptly grabbing his blunt blade and completely destroying both of the locks on the door with one single hit, pushing the door inside. "Our path is clear now. Follow me." He said, stepping inside the narrow corridor. Some people stared and them, and Higuruma took note of that.

"Discreet." Higuruma stated.

Nanami stopped in his tracks, not turning to face Higuruma as he spoke, forming a wall between the former lawyer and the rest of the way. "I strongly suggest you keep that attitude in check for the time being. Someone is in harm’s way, and it is your responsibility, yet another time."

Higuruma scoffed, knowing all too well that explaining anything right then would be a complete waste of their time, as both made their way up the stairs.

Then, Nanami and Higuruma fit the cotton balls inside their ears.

***

Suddenly, there was a loud noise of something breaking outside, and you heard Nanami's voice calling for you. That was your queue.

You opened the door, already bearing one grenade inside your palm, the one with the corrosive element within. Toshio tried to body slam Higuruma, and was gaveled away across the hallway, landing right beside the door to the women's cubicle.

The woman came running and screaming something you couldn't make out thanks to the foam you stacked inside your ears, and you jumped in her direction, choking her from behind and shoving your corrosive grenade inside her mouth, letting it explode — the explosion was minimal, just to liberate the substance inside her mouth. Yukiko grabbed her neck with both her hands, falling to the ground, seemingly choking. Sighing, you kneeled beside her and RCT'd her throat, just so she wouldn't die, but the sigil in her tongue was destroyed, and so was her ability to manipulate any of you with cursed speech.

You got up and walked back to the door, opening it, seeing Toshio laid on the ground completely unconscious. You kicked the guy, and while kicking him, didn't derive half as much satisfaction as you hoped to. Kaoru had managed to drag herself near the door, and you looked at her, laying beside that man. Your stomach turned unpleasantly.

Nanami and Higuruma started to make their way to meet you, but you signaled for them to stop.

"Don't come. There are women in here, the victims. They're... Just- don't come near. Let's preserve whatever dignity they still have left after this pigdid what he did to them." You kicked him again, this time in the stomach, and the man jolted awake in a world of pain. "Good. I hope you feel it and I hope it hurts."

You walked across the hallway and looked at Nanami and Higuruma. They both seemed slightly surprised as they took a closer look at you, and it was puzzling — was your face...? There was a small dirty mirror hanging near you, and then you saw. Nearly half of your face was covered in bruising, and there was no pain probably due to adrenalin.

Unexpectedly, you heard quick footsteps making their way towards the exit, and you three realized at the same time it was Toshio. Faster than you could think, you conjured and threw a grenade right above the door, letting all the rocks come tumbling down and blocking the way out. The man was terrified, but one of the rocks hit him in the head, rendering him unconscious yet again.

You felt numb, abused, invaded and infuriated like you had never before in your entire life. You conjured up a massive grenade in your hand and started to walk towards Toshio, blinded with murderous intent.

Nanami saw you conjuring it and promptly grabbed your arm, pulling you back. "What do you intend to do?" He questioned you. His grip was firm, but wasn't hurtful at all. He was completely in control, especially now that the crisis was averted, as it was to be expected of Nanami.

You looked back at him with the emptiest eyes you had ever showed up until this point. "What does it look like? I'm going to kill him."

"No, you are not." Nanami replied.

"Nanami, let go of my arm. I mean it." You growled, turning to face him.

"Unfortunately, I cannot oblige to such a request. We're not murderers, and we certainly do not take the lives of non-sorcerers. That is not what we came here to do."

"Are you really going to protect a rapist murderer piece of shit because he's a non-sorcerer? Seriously?" You were hanging for dear life to every little piece of respect, admiration, and affection you had for Nanami in order to not yell at him that moment. "Those women in there are mutilated!"

"You seem to be mistaken. I'm not protecting this man," Nanami said, gravely, "I'm protecting you."

You scoffed, completely incredulous.

"It won't make a difference." Higuruma interjected. "These charges alone — rape, aggravated assault, multiple murders and possibly even sex trafficking — would probably elicit a death penalty for this man. The evidence against him is abundant."

Nanami sighed. "Your input is unnecessary and unsolicited." Nanami made absolutely no effort to hide his distaste for Higuruma at that moment, and the former lawyer noticed it, simply scoffing in response.

"So you think the existence of a Court to prosecute this man is unnecessary?" Nanami questioned.

"Oh, I don't think that. I know it." Higuruma retorted. "He'll surely be prosecuted and convicted, sentenced to capital punishment for his crimes regardless of his defense. It's just a matter of deciding how and when he dies."

"We are jujutsu sorcerers, not judges, nor executioners." Nanami answered sternly.

"I beg to differ." Higuruma replied. "When we kill curse users, we're executioners, whether you like it or not."

"We only kill at sight already sentenced individuals, and in extremely specific scenarios, unless we're acting in self-defense." Nanami pointed out. "And it's beyond our scope dealing with regular citizens. We're jujutsu sorcerers, remember that."

"Nanami, you keep saying that like it has some inherent meaning!" You said, angrily. "What does that mean to you?"

He sighed, turning his gaze to you. "It means our role is not to choose what happens to non-sorcerers that get themselves involved with these situations. We have our role, and the judiciary system as well as other systems in place have theirs."

You grunted, and angrily pulled your arm from his grip. "Fine. I don't think I'm suited for this jujutsu sorcery bullshit, then."

"Do you intend on becoming a vigilante curse user?" He asked, standing between you and Toshio's unconscious body on the ground. His gaze was razor-sharp, and he clearly demanded an answer from you.

"No. I-" You were coming back to yourself, and diverted from his locked gaze on you to stare at the innocent woman who was drugged up by the door. "I just can't look away and do nothing because things that go beyond killing curses and fighting curse users are outside of my role." You walked towards Kaoru, kneeled beside her, and started to RCT her back to consciousness. "I'm not that kind of person, nor will I ever be."

Higuruma and Nanami were standing silently, for none of them had an answer to what you had just said.

"I will not ignore the people that get harmed along the way, and I will not cease to try helping the people I can outside from exorcizing curses and stopping curse users."

"You can't save every person in need of aid." Nanami pointed out, matter-of-factly.

"I didn't say I intend to, I'm not a naive child nor do I have some savior complex. But I'll help those I can and try to mitigate the ugly consequences stemming from our job. Otherwise, being here and working for Jujutsu High would just mean I'm wasting my time. I want a new Jujutsu world-" you remembered your conversation with Gojo, months prior, as you heard his words spill out of your mouth, "and I can't do that if I just stick to my designated role. I can and will do more than that."

He sighed, and Higuruma was attentively watching the both of you. Higuruma was right about you, after all. You were definitely not a cynical person. And he felt, as he heard you speak, that neither was he.

"If you got any problem with that, Nanami, take it up with whomever you need to." You said, ending the discussion.

Nanami sighed as he crossed his arms and relaxed his shoulders. "I won't file any complaint of the sort." He pondered for a moment, and grabbed his phone. "I'll call an ambulance and the police right now. We should leave before they arrive."

"Hm...?" You heard Kaoru humming softly as she started to wake up.

"Hey." You said, looking at her. "You're safe now."

Tears started streaming down her face, as she held your hand that laid on her chest. "Thank you."

Next chapter will be the epilogue. There will be a lot of dialogue and interesting stances on the JJK world from our trio.

#jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jjk fanfic #nanami x reader

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molter-writes · 3 months ago

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MOLTER!!!!!!!! your fics have me going absolutely feral

I started off reading love is complicated and then I consumed all your other fics because they've all been so good, and so different from each other, they all seem so fresh and full of life

grey ridge- it has to be my favorite out of all of them, I'm kind of a sucker for ceo rhaenyra, but can we talk about alicent in this fic???? she is so good??! I disliked Otto in this (as one does) but the flashbacks that happened made me understand him a lot more and, although I don't think they redeemed him for me, it really shows how three-dimensional you made him. the happiness that R+A have in this is really what makes it for me - and I really like Harwin and Erryk as supporting characters, they stood out to me as faves

song of the exposition- there's that argument that alicent has with rhaenyra in grey ridge at the cocktail party in ch 5 where she expects Rhaenyra "to answer rejection with rejection, like she used to, when they were younger" and it's kinda cool to see a glimpse of their younger-selves before they finished growing up

ride the dragon (do it quickly)- I really like this one! especially how it is the closest to canon, it's nice to have "what could have been" type thing when one inevitably thinks about how the show/book ends with these two. the second chapter from daeron's perspective was really great, I imagine it must have been fun to write! I like how not everything isn't perfectly resolved at the end of ch. 1, the messiness of it, if you will, adds a sense of realism I enjoy with it

leaf and blade- this is the one I read last out of all of them bc I wasn't sure what to think of a teacher au, but it's sooo good, it's one of my faves (which is hard to say when all 6 are my faves!) syrax being a lizard is so great and funny and ur so right that this really is a summer fic with the way that it reads. I really love the kindness in this fic and it's hard to read about Rhaenyra and her struggles with her inheritance+future but it's also so good to read at the same time? I don't know how you do that but it's so incredible to read

love is complicated- the first fic of yours that I read!!!! it is such an Immense, richly-packed fic that I honestly struggle with what to say about it because there are so many little details that I'd like to comment on. I love Alicent's big sad wet brown eyes and this fic defo provides that, but Rhaenyra is so sweet in this to Alicent and I just love them both in this, I also really like the little boardgame group they have going on and I sure as hell like Laena a lot more in this than in bodhrán beat, but all of the friends (and brothers) in this are really good!!

bodhrán beat- umm modern royals? it goes so hard! I can't find it in myself to hate Rhaenyra in this for cheating on Alicent bc you're sooo good at characterization that I can really understand the difficulties that both of them are going through in this. I really liked the part with teenage Rhaenyra spending time at Rheanys' house. I am putting my heart in your hands, trusting that it will all turn out in the end

Thank you so much for writing dude, I've really, really love your works and super appreciate all the time and work you put into them

insanely generous insanely caring simply insane i wish i could thank you by name and the way you deserve

#this is like.beyond #rhaenicent

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onwhatcaptain · 1 year ago

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A sample from Chapter 5 of my K/S novel... (this chapter is ILLUSTRATED!)

“You have been unusually quiet,” Spock observes aloud, twenty minutes into this particular match. The silence shattered, Kirk hums in vague acknowledgement and looks at him with a cool expression, unfazed. “Have I?” he says gruffly. “Is there something you would like me to say, Mister Spock?” “Not in particular,” Spock comments. “Is there something you wish to say?” Kirk’s eyes soften minutely. “Is this your attempt at getting me to talk? Did Bones put you up to it?” “Captain, crew morale has been impacted by recent events,” Spock offers, deftly avoiding the question concerning McCoy. “The recent diversion of the Hamlet performance resulting in murder on stage... has unsettled the crew more than given them cause for enjoyment, as I am sure you are aware.” Kirk purses his lips. “I regret that, believe me, but I did what I had to do.” There it is. The lie, Spock thinks, that Kirk is telling himself. The events leading up to a convoluted plan to get the company to perform Hamlet were largely unnecessary and could have been bypassed. “I believe that you did what you had to, to get answers.” All softness in Kirk’s eyes flees, and he places the rook in his hands down onto the board with a loud click. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”

And as always, if you were intrigued by that snippet, you should check out my fic "I Shall Do Neither" here at AO3! Details below.

I Shall Do Neither (27531 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 6/22 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations, In spite of the description Kirk features heavily in this novel Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool. How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human. How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 21 chapters, and will be updated on Fridays.

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ineadhyn · 9 months ago

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Writer interview

@vixstarria tagged me and I finally get to do it! Thank you <3

I am tagging @sky-kiss @scuttlingcrab and @thedomesticanthropologist

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13 and some are multi-chapter. All are BG3 except for a german Inkheart one

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

85.408 -that is a surprising amount of words for being active less than a year

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

His consort, his god - I finally wrote smut for a popular ship XD (bloodweave)

At her mercy - kinky sapphic Karlach x Durge smut

Natures most beloved treasure - Halsin x trans masc Tav smut

Direct from Hell Logistics - ongoing Raphael x Haarlep comedy/angst/smut/plot - this one has it all

A song of snow and embers and Copper Hearts share this place. one is a F/F/F/F foursome and the other my Astarion x male Tav longfic

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I appreciate every single comment and try to show that. There's nothing better than the e-mail that says "comment on your work" and it can make my whole day. Sometimes I don't know what to respond if it's just a word or a keybord smash, but rest assured I see you and I love every one of those, too.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Angsty ending hmmmm. Because some of my stuff is not completed yet I am not gonna spoil anything but Dust and ash about Astarion's backstory was naturally quite angsty

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Not. gonna. spoil XD

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not yet. Maybe I could count Copper hearts because I took Francys from my original work and planted him into Bg3

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, not yet.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. I am exploring all kinds atm with preferably queer pairings wlw or mlm or nb. I can also write mlw from the men's perspective but not the other way round :D

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Boy I wish.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No and I am not sure if I could commit to a project like that.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Hmmmmm ... Raphlep probably

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

My german Inkheart fic with a genderbent lesbian Basta. Damn I was invested in creating this character, but gave up after a while because it was a lot of work and it being german and a niche topic in a small fandom was not very rewarding tbh. I know I should not care and maybe I'll come back to it when the Inkheart obsession comes over me again.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I am good at setting the scene. Atmosphere and small mundane details that make the setting feel alive. I have always liked that in reading as in writing, because it makes you feel like you are actually there when you can hear and smell and taste the scene.

Also I am okay at developing coherent plot, but that's mainly practice from writing a lot of og work before I started with fics.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I still struggle with english grammar and punctuation at times so I always have a beta reader. And I am lucky to have great ones.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I am not a fan. It confuses me. Singular phrases and such yes, but not entire dialogue. Especially if it's german in an english fic I get super confused.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

*digs through her files* So, my first works were basically fic for my best friend's story. (I was in my early teens.) But since she was the author the lines between canon and fic are blurry and the "fandom" consisted of three people of which one was the author XD

So if we don't count that the first one would be Hunger Games - It was one chapter and I never published it

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

We'll see what posesses me next I guess, though I think Bg3 will stay with me for a considerable amount of time. And ship wise ... I feel Durgetash creeping up on me.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Definitely Direct from Hell Logistics. I am having so much fun with it. It constantly makes me laugh and sheme and I also feel all the angst. Also it is ongoing and I get to explore the story alongside the readers (though I have a rough plot structure to keep me on track).

#bg3 #raphael fic #astarion fic #ao3 writer #bg3 fanfiction #my writing

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spacelatinoluvr · 2 months ago

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blood runs thicker than water (4/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.0k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: mention of sexual content rating: 18+, !MDNI!

LADY IN RED

“Rhaenyra and her family plan to visit King’s Landing.” Aegon laughed, and his hideous cackle echoed through the hall and Aemond scowled lightly at his brother’s immaturity.

“She dares show her face here-?”

“Your father insisted-“

“My father has no solid thought in his decaying brain.” Alicent stood up fast, waving her finger towards Aegon's face and he shrunk down the smile leaving his face.

“Do not talk about the king- your father.”

Silence.

“And the Stark girl will be with them-“ This time Aemond turned towards his mother, eyes wide. A Stark at the Red Keep?

“Stark?” The question had slipped from Aemond’s lips before he could think or even comprehend what his mother had said. She let out a huff before sitting back down in her chair.

“Yes, a Stark.”

A wolf from the North had wandered into the South.

Dragons were not what Alarra imagined. They were magnificent creatures, and not the terrible beasts her father had told her they were. Alarra remembered how her mother told her stories of flying flames and women with whispering hands of magic. How her mother filled her head with fairytales and myths while her father told her the truth and history. But sometimes myths can be proven true, and those are the stories Alarra wishes to create for herself.

The myth of Alarra the Fierce.

“My Alarra, my beautiful girl…“ Her mother’s eyes stared at her, blue and wide. She sat on her bed, next to her, running her fingers through Alarra’s red hair. Alarra smiled adoringly at her mother.

“Dragons are beasts of fury, of fire. They guard the sky with their scales of iron and eyes of gold. They roam the Earth for their riders, and are lost without them.

“But you my rose are a Stark. You do not need a beast of fire to proclaim your fury…” Alarra’s mother pointed at her chest.

“You have your heart. Your voice. Use it.”

Alarra’s mother died a fortnight before her fourth name day. She remembers crying for days, like she had wept for her father, but the days after her mother died were a blur. Something she didn’t quite recollect. But she does remember meeting Eyla. The woman with hair as black as a direwolf’s fur and eyes as enchanting as the movements of a great stallion.

“My lady, I have been awaiting your arrival,” Eyla was in Alarra’s temporary room at the Red Keep. Rhaenyra had taken the initiative to send all staff ahead of time on a boat, and Alarra was thankful her handmaiden would be there with her in an unfamiliar place. “I haven’t been on a ship since I was…” Eyla paused, staring at the floor before she looked up at Alarra again smiling.

Alarra smiled at Eyla, entering the large room. It was much larger than any room she’d stayed in. But Alarra was still skeptical. She was still unsure.

“How was your trip?” Alarra asked, walking towards the woman.

“I should be asking you the same!” Alarra laughed.

“The air felt nice. It was cold. But I enjoyed it. I felt like a bird.” Alarra whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Have you met the king? The queen? The princes and princess?” Alarra shook her head.

“I’ve merely just arrived and was instructed to head to my room to unpack but it seems you have done so. We are meeting them tonight. Told to freshen up, smell nice and not like old meat.”

“Oh how insulting the South is!” Eyla giggled, shaking her head. “Well I have laid out two dresses.”

Alarra had chosen to wear the dark blue dress that was laid out for her. A color that always suited her best. A color that meant peace and innocence. The color of Starks.

Alarra had been wandering the halls of the Red Keep by herself, admiring. She was feeling the walls with her fingers, how differently it was built than her own castle. Quick footsteps sounded behind her and then they stopped just as fast as they started. Alarra paused, turning her head around to find the one-eyed prince staring back at her.

It was her.

Aemond froze. The rumors were true. Alarra Stark wasn’t just beautiful; she was breathtaking. The air had grown stale and Aemond was finding it hard to compose his heartbeat. No one had ever taken Aemond’s breath from his chest like Alarra Stark had done. And he hated her for it. He hated the way she made him feel the first time he saw her.

Princess Alarra of the North, the Flower of Winterfell, the Cub and Alarra the Fierce.

Alarra approached Aemond, her steps soft yet calculated. She carried herself with a certain grace, but there was a dark shadow behind her eyes. And when his eyes met hers, Aemond could see that darkness within her. Stark women could freeze a man with a single glance, and Alarra had done just that to the Targaryen prince.��

As she neared, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the scar on her face. A scar so large it was hard to miss at a first glance. A scar that was long and white, done healing: but it still pained her no matter how much it healed. Alarra knew he was staring, opting to scorn him verbally.

“It’s quite rude to stare, Prince Aemond,” Alarra greeted, her voice low as it carried like the faintest chill in the northern winds. Aemond ignored what she had said, wanting to keep his manners in place. “Never seen a strikingly beautiful woman before?”

Aemond had to keep from snarling.

“I trust the hospitality of the Red Keep has been to your…liking. I imagine the Red Keep cannot compare to Castle Ward.” Alarra shifted on her feet, smiling and Aemond fought the urge to scowl once again, his anger rising to his face. Alarra noticed and picked up on the subtle way he bit the inside of his lip, his hands shuffling behind his back. Alarra noticed how his hair was pushed back just right, and his eye patch placed perfecting, shielding it from public view. Alarra noticed a lot about Aemond in those few seconds, but she still didn’t know what the prince was thinking.

“Yes, my prince. Nothing is quite like Winterfell,” Her words were polite, but Aemond could read her tone. “Although, I imagine the North is far too cold for a dragon.” A knowing smile appeared on Alarra’s face yet again but this time slowly.

“Mhm…and I assume the same for you,” Aemond’s gaze lingered on Alarra for a moment before he spoke again. “Wolves don't stray too far from the pack.”

“I am no ordinary wolf, my prince.” Alarra said, and Aemond’s eyes creased as he watched her.

“I can see,” Aemond pursed his lips slightly and Alarra tilted her head to the side, an antagonizing grin growing on her face. “I shall see you at supper.” Aemond walked right past her, not giving Alarra a second glance before he was gone from the hallway, his steps no longer echoing.

Alarra then found her way to the gardens where she stumbled upon Helaena, dipped below the ground playing with flowers and plants in the courtyard.

“Oh! Princess Helaena,” Alarra watched as the princess did not move, still picking up flowers from the ground. “I did not mean to intrude-”

“You are always welcome, lady in red.” Helaena turned, looking at Alarra and Alarra got on the ground, sitting next to her on her knees. Her dress was bound to get dirty and muddy at one point, something common in Winterfell. Yet, it felt wrong to do it in the castle.

“Lady in red?” Alarra smiled at the girl, questioning her nickname.

“You were in my dreams…wearing red.”

“I do not wear red, princess.”

“But, you will,” Alarra tilted her head to the side, with so many questions racking her brain. “Wolves bite and dragons take flight.” Helaena whispered to herself.

Alarra plucked a small flower, twirling it between her fingers as she stared at it.

Wolves bite and dragons take flight.

“Your hair looks beautiful, my lady.” Eyla combed her fingers through Alarra’s hair, as it was curled and splayed over her shoulders.

“You should be complimenting yourself.” Alarra stared at her hair adoringly, as it was beautifully set into ringlets, a silver pendant with a red jewel sat atop her head. Eyla had gifted her that pendant as a form of love and was told it would ‘keep her safe’. Alarra only wore it when Eyla insisted, and this night she had guided the girl to wear it.

Rhaenyra had instructed Alarra to sit next to Joffrey, but that would mean she would have to sit across from Aemond. Viserys and his hand were not present, only Alicent and her children. He must have been instructed with bed rest. Aegon was laughing drunkenly as he threw grapes into his mouth like a child. Helaena was next to him, playing with her food, not a single emotion present on her face. Lucerys, Joffrey, and Jacaerys were all talking lively to each other, ignoring their family members across the table. Rhaena and Baela were speaking to each other as well, bursting into hushed laughter occasionally. Daemon and Rhaenyra were speaking quietly, while Alicent glanced over at them once and awhile while she downed her own goblet of wine. Alarra was in her own bubble, chowing down on her food and keeping to herself. Until she noticed the person in front of her. Aemond was staring at Alarra, a small smirk placed upon his face. A smirk that brought Alarra pure anger. Alarra stabbed at her food, glancing up at him once and awhile. Aemond had grabbed his wine, looking at her over the top of it with that stupid, stupid smirk-

“Is something the matter, my lady.” Aemond pulled Alarra out of her trance. She hadn’t realized she had been angrily staring at his face. And his dumb smirk.

“Everything is well, my prince.” Alarra gritted the last part out of her teeth. Aemond’s smirk widened, if that was even possible.

“Enjoying your duck?”

“Very much so. And you?” Alarra stabbed a piece of the meat, bringing it to her lips slowly. Aemond watched her, his hand gripping his fork harder, his knuckles almost turning white.

“Quite delectable.” Aemond wasn’t talking about the meat, but Alarra didn’t know that.

“Your sister hasn’t touched her plate.” Alarra observed Helaena who was sitting quietly, pushing around her peas and carrots with her duck untouched, a small frown on her face.

“She feels bad for the duck.” Aemond said it as if it were an insult. But, Alarra gazed at Helaena, sympathizing with the girl. She’s just a child.

“Don’t make fun,” Alarra sniped, and Aemond tilted his head. “She is an empath. It is a wonderful thing to be.”

“Until it gets you killed.” Aemond muttered. Alarra caught the disgust in his tone, scanning his face and his features and how he looked angry. But that anger was hidden by sadness. And she could see right through it. Right through him.

Rhaenyra stood, clearing her throat as the sounds of laughter and talking died down, everyone turning their attention to the princess.

“Since my father cannot be here tonight, I trust that he is in the Gods’ hands, free from pain this evening. Hopefully he will feel well soon enough to meet his newest kin.” Rhaenyra smiled at Baela, Rhaena and Alarra.

“And to Alicent,” Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, her smile different from the one she gave the young girls. “I pray for your well being during my fathers torment.” And Rhaenyra nodded at Alicent before sitting down again. Nobody spoke for a few seconds, before Alicent smiled at Rhaenyra, nodding her head at her.

The talking ensued again, and Alarra resumed eating her food. Aemond was no longer staring at her, but staring at his brother who was next to Helaena. Alarra watched as Aemond glared at Aegon, who was mindlessly drinking wine, seemingly making a fool of himself. She knew exactly what Aemond was thinking at that moment. How much hatred he had for his older brother. The misfortune that he was older. Alarra admired her older brother, yet Aemond showed no signs of admiration for Aegon. Aegon then stood, stumbling lightly as he did, reaching for his wine, and it spilled on the table as he grabbed it roughly.

“A toast! To my nephews and their…” he snorted, laughing his head in the air. “Women. That one is quite pretty-” He pointed to Alarra and everyone looked at her. “-besides that ugly thing on her face. Maybe you won’t have to look at her when you fuck her dear nephew.” Aegon cackled again, his laughter filling the room. Alarra’s lip curled as her hands molded into tight fists under the table. She couldn’t help but open her lips. No one would speak to her like that. Even a foolish drunk prince.

“And what scars do you have to show for your skills in swordsmanship, my prince? Oh that’s right…” Aegon hummed, looking Alarra up and down, taking a big gulp from his goblet. He paused before slamming it back down on the table, the remains of red wine spilt.

“And she talks back. Most do not speak back to me. Maybe a slap across the face will do her well.”

“Likewise, my prince.” The prince’s eyes widened as he pointed an accusing finger at her across the table. He leaned over as far as he could reach.

“Excuse me-“

“Aegon, sit down.” Alicent had ordered her son, her voice loud. Aegon obeyed immediately, huffing as he fell back into his chair, glaring at Alarra. She looked away from Aegon to see Aemond with a small smile upon his face, obviously trying to hide it. This was amusing to him. Alarra raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask, is this funny to you? All Aemond did was smirk at her before he took another sip from his wine. Alarra couldn’t stand that smirk on his stupid face with his stupid blonde hair and his stupid eyepatch. But there was one thing Alarra knew for certain. She hated Aemond Targaryen.

Later that night, Alarra was bathing in warm water and lilacs speaking to Eyla about the dinner she had with the Targaryen family.

“It was an interesting family reunion…” Eyla scrubbed at Alarra’s shoulders, the water cascading down her back. “It was…tense.”

“I can imagine it wouldn’t be a joyous reunion.”

“What makes you say that?” Eyla stopped scrubbing at Alarra’s naked body, pondering on what to say next.

“The rightful heir to the iron throne is Rhaenyra Targaryen. But, Aegon Targaryen is the king’s first-born son. Who’s to say he won't overtake the throne once his father dies.”

“Aegon Targaryen is an idiot. A fool. He is not fit-” Eyla shushed the girl, her finger closing over her mouth.

“The walls have ears, my lady.” Alarra snorted, her face contorting into a blissful grin.

“The walls are walls. If anyone dares to use my words against me, I will cut their throat.” Alarra laughed at Eyla’s shocked face. A second later, a laugh emitted from Eyla’s throat and she shoved Alarra in the bath, water splashing on her dress.

“My lady! Now you are speaking like me, not yourself. I fear you have been around me too much.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” Alarra now washed herself, drenching her hair in water.

“You need to speak like a lady. Not a whore from Essos.”

“Eyla!” Alarra scoffed, pausing her cleanliness. The only sound that was heard now was the occasional splashing of water, as Eyla continued to clean her.

“The princess calls me a silly name.” Alarra smiled at the memory, a nickname she thought was cute and had no meaning.

“Does she call you a wet dog?” Alarra snickered, as Eyla’s hands moved towards her stomach area.

“She calls me lady in red.”

Eyla stopped cleaning Alarra, a concerned look crossing her features.

“Lady in red?”

“Yes, but I insisted that I do not wear red-”

“My lady, Helaena, is a dreamer. She sees things that others cannot.”

“I have heard of her odd inquiries.”

“They are not just odd, my lady. There is talk that her dreams are prophecies from God.”

God.

Eyla never spoke of what higher being she believed in. Alarra always wondered what she believed because she never brought it up until now.

“Besides, red has never suited me.” Eyla sighed, beginning to scrub Alarra's body more harshly this time.

“Every color suits you, my lady.” Alarra shook her head, her nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Except yellow.” Eyla laughed, turning around to grab more lilacs and throw them into the bath that had grown colder.

“Except yellow.” She repeated.

“Aemond hates his brother. That is one thing I know. I see it in his eyes everytime he looks at him. Pure jealousy and rage.” Alarra whispered, thinking about his eyes and the way they glared at Aegon. Alarra almost felt bad for the prince. Almost. Something in her understood him. Something was telling her that maybe he wasn’t so bad- but that couldn’t be true. He was a Targaryen after all. And she was a Stark. Wolves and Dragons don’t get along.

Ser Criston Cole was a man of honor. A man’s honor is something that can corrupt him, make him manic with power. And Alarra knew that all too well. Her uncle had surged, his hunger for power devouring his mind. Ser Criston Cole reminded her of her uncle and his unending thirst. The first moment she saw the knight, she saw the monster that lay between his gaze. Awaiting any moment to strike at anyone or anything that dares threaten him. But he could never scare her. For he was only a man with a tiny blade to save him. And Alarra had much more than that.

Alarra approached Ser Criston Cole, as he stood outside the hall, not even meeting her gaze below him. He was frozen still, not even acknowledging the princess before him. Alarra was offended, but declared that it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth her might.

“Ser Criston Cole,” She rang, and he finally glanced at her, his head still forward but eyes scanning.

“Alarra the Fierce…what a pleasure.”

“I am sure it is a pleasure, Ser.” Ser Criston straightened, clearing his throat.

“Do you need something?” He questioned, his eyes again falling forward.

“I wish to break my fast.” Ser Criston Cole glanced at her again from the corner of his eyes.

“Prince Aegon wishes to not be interrupted-“

“I wish to break my fast.” She said again, more loudly and clearly this time. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, from two feet away.

“You will have to wait.”

“My stomach is growling, do you hear?” Alarra pointed to her stomach, and the quiet was loud around them before her stomach growled.

“Break your fast elsewhere.”

A loud euphoric moan sounded from the hall, and Alarra’s eyes widened as Ser Criston Cole visibly stiffened.

Alarra chose to break her fast outside. The hall was not inviting to her. She watched the water as she ate, as the blue sea crashed in waves against the cliffs. Alarra had never seen a sea so blue before.

“Enjoying the view, my lady?” Alarra was in the middle of chewing, when she turned to find Rhaena standing behind her. Alarra almost choked on her pastry, as she turned to face the princess, who had a bright smile on her face

“Yes, very much so. I’ve never seen water so blue.”

“I forget you don’t have seas in Winterfell.”

When Alarra first arrived at Dragonstone, getting there by ship, she was in awe of the sea. She recalled never seeing something so blue. Something so vast and large, as it stretched before her. Rhaena moved to sit at the seat across from Alarra, the sunlight making her white hair look even brighter.

“I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to you yet.” Rhaena folded her hands across her lap, a hint of shyness in her demeanor.

“Likewise.” Alarra responded, swallowing the piece of food she had been chewing on with some effort.

“My brother never let me leave Winterfell,” Alarra said, shaking her head before speaking again. “That’s why I’ve never seen the sea before.” Rhaena’s eyebrows furrowed as Alarra spoke.

“Why let your brother control you?” Alarra hadn’t thought about that before. Why had she let her brother dictate her choices? Her life. She could have left. She could have never seen her brother again, adventuring away from the North. But she didn’t. Alarra shook her head, looking away from Rhaena, her gaze drifting back towards the sea, its vastness pulling her inward.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Alarra looked at her again, the scar on her face more prominent in the sunlight. Rhaena had been the one person to not stare. Alarra remembered that act of kindness, and it had made her heart ache a little less. “I have duty there, I have a place in the realm, I am not a princess but a valiant knight.” Alarra knew she wasn’t a knight. She knew she could never be one. But she always dreamed of it. She always felt she was more than a princess at Winterfell. That she had a purpose other than producing heirs. Rhaena was silent, listening to the words that Alarra was saying. She didn’t need to respond for Alarra to know she understood. She just did.

“I admire you. And your courage. The way you stood up for them, without even truly knowing them-“

“I know what is right. That is all I need to know.” Rhaena smiled, her cheeks rising to her ears.

“Anyone would be honored to have you as their knight.”

“I am not a knight. Only a lady.”

“I know,” Rhaena smiled, beginning to stand. “Well I shall leave you to your sanctuary. And please,” Rhaena’s eyes glimmered as she looked at the girl. And Alarra knew just how well they would soon get along. “Talk to me at any time.” Before she left Alarra wanted to say one more thing.

“Rhaena?” Rhaena looked at her, awaiting her words. “My brother does not control me. Only I control myself. Don’t let any man, no matter their title, tell you what you do. How you do things. They cannot touch you. You are a princess. Use that title to its purpose. I promise it will get you far,” Rhaena knew she’d liked Alarra just by meeting her. And this had just made her assumption much more true.

“As women we don’t get much of a title. We don’t get much of anything. But what we can get, what we can earn, we must conquer. Do you see?” Rhaena could only nod, taking in the wise words of Alarra the Fierce. And then Rhaena was gone, only the wind and the sea to accompany Alarra with her meal.

Aemond could not sleep that night. He opted to wander the halls, get his mind out of everything but he assumed that would do more harm than good. Wandering only led to more thinking and more thinking led to bigger thoughts- it was turmoil. Aemond had decided to visit the library instead. The door squealed as Aemond opened it, only a candle in his hand to lead him through the dark room.

Aemond thought he was alone as he walked through the rows of books, until he saw another light flash before him. Someone else was in there with him. Aemond moved his candle all around, trying to find where the light had come from but found nothing but darkness. Somewhere in the back of Aemond’s mind he had hoped it was the Stark girl. He hoped to get one more glimpse at her face before he slept. But he knew he’d see her in his dreams again.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I truly love writing Alarra, she's such a good character. Her and Rhaena's platonic and sisterly relationship is one I look forward to writing.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

#a song of ice and fire #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones #house of the dragon #aemond fic #hotd #aemond x you #aemond smut #prince aemond #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond x reader

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