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druidwolf21 · 7 months ago

Note

*slides some stuff that give me ideas*

Imagine being Konrad Cruze daughter and what lucidity he have to protect the only innocent thing he has to any of his brothers or a nice base humans he told his legion to leave his daughter in their care knowing well she'll live a good and safe life that isn't him

And lest say after the heresy Guilliman ( after awakening and all ) there is a large planet in uncharted of space that has been trying to make contact as the one in charge have something or someone

As it's the list daughter of the Night Haunter, and she been in a force endiceted coma as she is using her ability that she inherited from her father and bit more to protect the denizen of the planet for chaos long as she can

So how would Guilliman be when situation liked that be a reaction?

*enjoy my brain dumb, you can ignore this if you want*

Ok first of all

NOT BRAIN DUMB

Brain good!!

I love this so so much!!!

I really hope you like this! Thank you for letting me write it! I rewrote it so many times

Little bit of fluff, little bit of angst!

CW: violence, bad language

@kitty-chan33 @beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @laura-naruto-fan1998 @echo-of-damnation @kit-williams @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond

Konrad Kurze was a wraith, his breaths staggered and eyes wild as he tore through abandoned streets and lonely alleys. One armoured hand clutched under his tattered clothes as he ran. Above him lay a sky choked with clouds of thick chemical refuse, industrial towers spewing a blanket of toxic haze across the world and smothering the dim light of the dying sun to a muted grey sheen. The city was a maze of blistered stone and rusted iron, and the people were just as rotten. Violence and corruption wormed it's way into the soul of every living thing in Nostramo, leaving nothing in its wake but despair and blood. This was no place for humanity.

No place for you.

He paused for a moment, black eyes scanning the collapsing architecture before a sound drew his attention and he turned, teeth bared in feral snarl as he spun to the source. A small woman stepped from the shadow, a cloak bundled around her frail form as she shuffled forward. A bag swung from her shoulder and a small dagger flashed as her cape swayed with her movement.

"My lord" she croaked, weathered hands raised defensively as she approached "my lord I am here, as you commanded" she was still young, but worn out, brown hair flecked with grey and crows feet wrinkled around dull green eyes. Her youth fallen to the same fate as everyone who found themselves in this desolate place. Kurze didn't care. He stalked over to the woman, sniffing and puffing at her before finally stepping back. "Good, I didn't take you for a coward, Tela, but one can only judge so far" he bent low, his fetid breath fluttering the woman's lank hair as she froze. "You understand the... Importance of this job? The consequences should you fail?" She nodded in response. A small but firm gesture under the black stare of the primarch. "I do, my lord" she strained her neck back, staring Kurze in the eye as she spoke. "I have not failed you yet, night haunter and I do not plan to start now" Konrad rose to his full height, nodding thoughtfully before slowly drawing his own ragged cloak aside.

Clutched in his taloned hand, pressed to his chest, he held a child.

A small girl, clinging to his beaten robes with pale hands, eyes bright and large as she glanced around.

Tela watched as the hardened cold face of the lord before her softened, his hands, normally so quick to gore and maim, moved carefully as he lifted the girl from his warmth and placed her on the floor. The monster who terrorized Nostramo now stood as just a man, wrapping the child in a bundle of fabric. "Regardless of what you think of me, she deserves more than this" he growled, his eyes not leaving the girl as she laughed, unaware of the world around her. "She will be the best of us. Of me"

"your daughter will be safe with me, lord Kurze"

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Tela sat in the cargo hold, her body aching and cold from the cramped corner she hid herself in. The young girl squirmed and whined in the confines as the engines of the vessel roared to life, struggling against rocking motion as the trader ship began to depart.

"dad?" She questioned, looking at the old lady with big watery eyes, her bottom lip quivering. "Dad?"

"no sweetie, just me and you"

The girl began sobbing in earnest, tears streaming down her round face and reddening cheeks as she cried. Tela watched her for a moment, fingers twitching towards the blade at her hip. A primarch's child was an unusual thing in itself, but kurze's welp? She'd come with every intention of putting the abomination out of its misery, but this...this was not what she had expected. There was no fanged beast, no raging animal hellbent in gutting her and although the girl was larger than she should be at that age, her eyes seeing a little too much with each blurred blink, she was still just a little girl, missing her dad.

With a resigned sigh she held out her arms. "Come here, little one, I'll look after you" she cradled the girl against her chest, running frail fingers through her hair as she held her. A wave of emotion washed over tela and she blinked back tears that did not belong to her. She glanced down at the bawling toddler. A psyker too?

"what have I gotten myself into"

The two of them sat as the hull groaned and creaked around them, the sound of sobbing faded to a whimper as tela soothed her with soft words.

Shhh shhh it's ok, everything be be ok

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"Aunt Tela, I'm back!"

The elderly woman smiled from her seat on the porch, shawl drawn close around her bent shoulders to stave off the cold evening air. She raised a frail hand to you as you climbed the hill, becoming you over. "Hello love, I was beginning to worry about you"

You smiled and waved her concern off, dropping to a knee to press a soft kiss against the old woman's head. "Really Aunt, you should know better by now, I outsize and outpace everything on this planet" you laughed and raised back to your towering full height, lean muscles popping as you stretched. Tela shook her head, tutting. "I've told you before, if you get cocky, you'll get into trouble, there are things much bigger and stronger than you out there and we don't need you drawing more attention than you already do"

You chuckled softly and lowered yourself to sit on the grass in front of her, an elbow propped across your bent knee as you sat in comfortable silence staring out across the sprawling view. Wooden cabins and small holding rested on the hillside and beyond them, The city of Trahull bustled like an anthill below you, grey walls climbing high to defend the branching streets and alleys. Even from up on the hill top you could hear the faint mumble of chatter as the denizens went about their day, bartering for goods and services in the street. In the center of the city, coiled and proud, stood a spire. A titanic structure dwarfing the buildings around it, its pale marble colour stood in stark contrast to the dark concrete around it. From atop the steeple a pulse was emitted, an obsidian wave generating a translucent shield around the metropolis.

"we've been here a long time, Aunt, If someone was coming, they would've been here by now"

The old woman sighed and ran her fingers gently along your head in thought. "60 years is long for me, love, but it's a drop in the bucket for you, I need to make sure you'll be safe when I'm gone." You hummed in response, unwilling to acknowledge the way the conversation was going, deciding to enjoy the simple touch along your scalp instead. "The imperium hasn't taken much interest yet, but if they knew you were here they would..."

You reach over and gently grasped her fingers, your hand dwarfing her own as you held her. "Tela, I know, I remember all the stories, the primarchs won't find me, I swear" you turned to look at her and smiled "I promise I won't go looking for trouble"

"well trouble has a way of finding you, unfortunately"

You shrugged off the well intended accusation, huffing slightly as she flicked your head with a laugh. She suddenly grew quiet, he hands stilling in your hair.

"are you still having that nightmare?"

You swallowed dryly and nodded. Images flashed through your mind, the city burning, corpses littering the street, blood flowing down the alleys as red eyes flashed in the darkness. "your father had them too, don't dwell on them, lest you bring them to pass"

You both sat and watched the sun slowly dip below the horizon, the orange and red hues thrown from the evening casting a warm light across the terrain like molten gold. You shrugged the cloak from off your shoulders and slung it around Tela, the weighty material dwarfing her as she snuggled into the layers. "It seems like it was just yesterday that you were the one buried in fleece to keep warm" she sighed wistfully, picking at a loose thread on the purple material. "Now you're out there, protecting the cities from orcs and eldar" she clutched the cape to her, arthritic hands shaking as she pulled it against her. "Such a loud child, always making trouble"

You cocked an eye brow at her as she spoke, letting her reminisce as she leant back in her seat. "I feared you'd turn out like your father, thought I'd made a mistake, but here you are"

"here I am" you agreed, watching her rock slightly in her chair.

"my sweet girl"

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"Tela, Tela wake up, we need to move. NOW"

Tela opened her eyes groggily, seeing your concerned face peering at her through the darkness. "What? What's going on?"

"no time to explain, were going to Trahull"

You bent and clutched her to your chest, lifting her with ease as you kicked the cabin door open and you felt her stiffen against you.

From atop the hills peak you could see it all, screams and howls carried in the wind filled your ears as gunfire and artillery filled the air, the sky was crowded with ships and choked by thick black smoke that coiled and curled, blotting out the stars.

Barreling down the hill towards the city, the cries grew louder and the smell of burt flesh and scorched brick was overwhelming. You kept your eyes fixed ahead as you drove downwards towards the gate, jumping over bodies and piles of ash as the walls loomed closer. As you moved through the debris, you dropped low, clutching Tela to your chest as you crept forward. Your ears pricked for any sound as the burned remains of cabins and homes groaned and heaved around you. Bile rose in your throat as you recognized the remains of neighbours. people who had helped you, laughed with you, now discarded into the trampled earth like broken toys.

A noise

You paused, eyes flicking through the smoke as a shape began to emerge from the haze. Your eyes widened in surprise before you twisted and ducked down behind a smoldering beam. Blood red armour, fringed with gold and platinum, an axe, bloody and rusted dragging across the floor. His pauldron displayed a round mouth lined with jagged teeth. You drummed your thoughts, digging through your memory to try and recognize the sigil but the smell of ichor and the taste of iron on your tongue overloaded your senses.

"what is a marine doing here?" You hissed, trying to ground yourself. Tela moved against your grip, pulling the hood off her face to glance around. Sadness and rage consumed her features as she spoke. "World eaters, Angron's dogs" she spat. You glanced round the corner, watching the mass of Ceremite and muscle skulk off into the ash. "Why are they here? You always said the astartes were only sent in to" The old woman cut you off "I know what I said, but something isn't right here, we shouldn't linger"

You nodded and turned back around the corner.

You reeled backwards as a metal boot swung towards your face, narrowly missing you as you jumped backwards. You scrambled to your feet and hissed through your teeth, raising to your full height and glaring down at the warrior. The helmet tilted as the cold steel stared back up at you, pausing for a moment before hefting the axe to its shoulder.

"Tela, go and hide, I'll find you in a minute" you growled, placing her gently behind you. She placed a soft hand on your arm, looking up at you with concern before scurrying off. You stared down at the marine, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. You were not prepared for this fight, you had no armour and no weapons, only the soft tunic, trousers and cloak you had gathered before escaping.

"what do you want?"

You didn't understand the garbled words that were returned to you, and you didn't have time to think before a heavy blade was swung towards your center. Instinct took over and your body moved on its own as you twisted away and swung your fist at the gleaming helmet, catching the ornate crest and tilting the marine into a cartwheel sideways as his axe flew from his grasp and his helmet flew from his head. A sickening crunch as his leg twisted in Ceremite. All thoughts in your mind were muffled as a primitive voice took command.

Kill him

Tear him

Break him

You lunged after the marine, collecting his discarded axe from the ground as you charged. The marine turned to face you as he clambered to his feet, his injured leg giving way beneath his weight. bare face revealing a scarred visage, riddled with cables and cord that plunged under his skin and His lips drew back in a snarl as he ripped a bolter from is holster on his hip and began firing, the rounds tearing through wood and metal as they pinged through the wreckage. A burn in your shoulder as one embedded your flesh, another hissing past your cheek as it burned a furrow under your eye.

You raised the axe above your head and swung it down with a scream, cleaving through sinew and bone. The world eater's hands shot to his chest gurgling and choking as he pawed at the blood oozing from between the plates of his armour as he fell forward with a last rattling breath.

Casting the axe to the floor, you sucked breath into your lungs through clenched teeth. Blood thrummed in your ears and adrenaline pulsed through your body as you glared down at the corpse, you bit back a manic grin, high in the victory as you spun round.

"Tela, it's ok, he's dead"

No response

"Tela?"

Through the soft popping of cindered wood and battle cries you heard her, a soft whimpering emanating from the wreckage. Sprinting over, you collapsed next to her, eyes already burning as you tried to staunch the wound in her stomach. You ripped at your tunic, plastering the already drenched fabric against her to halt the flow. A soft hand found your face and you blinked tears away as she smiled up at you.

"You need to go"

"I'm not leaving you behind"

"you don't have a choice"

Head bowed, you sobbed, openly weeping as you continued to paw at spreading crimson on her belly. "Head to the city, the tower, if you can get there, you can keep the shield up" she coughed, her light frame spasming in pain.

"I can't do it, please mother" you wept, shaking your head. A warm smile spread across her palming face as her thumb ran gentle circles across your cheek. "yes you can, my love"

Her hand fell from your face and she sighed.

"always such a loud child"

And she was gone.

You screamed your despair into her body, pressing your face into her hair as you swore, begged, threatened someone, anyone to help. But no help came.

And you were alone.

After a while, you dragged yourself to your feet, casting one last look at her, you slowly made your way towards the city.

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Guilliman rubbed his temples and groaned inwardly at the sharp rap at his door.

"what"

"I apologize for the interruption my lord, but the astropath picked up a message, they said it was urgent."

The primarch motioned the serf and they scuttled forward, reaching up and placing the large rolled parchment on his desk before bowing hastily and making their exit. Roboute sighed again and reached out to the letter, a scowl creasing his brow as he cracked the wax seal and began to read. Blue eyes flickered over the page in disbelief, rereading the message before he lurched from his chair. Slamming open his door, he stormed down the corridor to the shock of the Invictarus guardsman stationed outside his office.

"my lord? What is happening?"

" That's what I'm going to find out" guilliman thought, as he made his way to the helm.

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The planet was desolate, the soil was barren and lifeless, motes of dust flying into the air as the thunderhawk landed. A small retinue of men stood outside, clad in thick protective robes and face shields to protect them from the acrid swirls of sand that danced along the seals of their suits as they waited for the primarch to depart.

"my lord primarch, such an honour, we are grateful for your decisive response" the leader uttered, dipping into a low bow as guilliman stepped from the vessel. "As soon as we found it, we knew it should be investigated at once, a rather splendid archeological find, if I may say."

Roboute gestured for the men to lead them as his guard readied bolter and blade. Following the men at a leisurely pace, he cast an eye around his surroundings. Whilst the outside world had been laid to waste, the city sat resplendent behind high walls, a tall tower peaked over the great palisade , emitting a purple hued barrier that shielded the occupants from the wasteland. The archeologists stepped through the barrier with barely a glance, but roboute paused, examining the barrier closely but pressing a gauntleted hand flat against its surface.

The barrier convulsed under his touch, a blue ripple passing through its surface briefly before fading again. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling a familiar psyching energy emanating from the barrier, but a strangeness alongside it he couldn't place. He stopped through the wrought iron gates and pressed on, listening to the gentle sounds of the city. The imperium had hardly laid a claim here, with only a few militarum patrolling the alleys. The streets were crowded but happy, children ran in-between the feet of market owners peddling their wears from bright stalls.

A small child ran into the back of his legs, clustering against the armour. He looked down, towering over the small boy, who picked himself up off, dusted his britches and looked up at him with a toothy smile, gaps in his front teeth and a bruise forming already on his forehead. "Sorry sir!" He laughed before squealing and running after his friends.

Guilliman's gaze traced after the boy as he ran, an almost wistful look across his stoic face before returning his attention to the tower. Approaching the base, he was directed to a large door, carved so intricately into the marble it was easily missed. Pushing it open revealed a set of steps driving down into the dark bowels of the earth.

"wait here, I'll go alone"

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It was so cold

Or maybe it was warm

A touch, cold metal reverberating, echoing

An image, a man clad in blue and gold

Where am I?

Is this.

Home?

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Roboute paced the sphere cautiously, examining the cables and pipes feeding from it into the heights of the building. The sphere was glass, or something similar at least, a fluid bubbled softly inside, iridescent and ethereal.

Floating in the liquid, was a girl.

Curled in the fetal position, her eyelids flickered like she was dreaming, fingers twitching gently as if to reach out and grasp. Her face was soft, but the similarities were undeniable.

"Konrad, what did you do" Guilliman muttered, running a hand through his blonde crop. "And to hide her for this long" he felt his hearts pounding in his chest, his rage at his brother surfacing, along with the grief of everyone he had lost. Konrad had been a monster, fueled by rage and fear, but would she be the same? Why was she here, who was she?

Why did he hide you?

He continued to patrol the edge of the receptacle, tapping and touching every so often. Thousand of theoreticals pouring through his mind as he measured and counted. Finally he stopped, pulling his fist back and shattering the glass with a deft punch.

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Everything was too cold and too loud, but all at once too quiet and too hot, you felt yourself falling forwards and a strong pair of hands catching you as you gasped, breathing air for the first time in

How long had it been?

Memories came flooding back to you, the attack, the devastation. You had entered the spire to boost the shield, to save the city, to sleep and forget it all.

So where am I now?

Above you hovered a man you had never seen, but felt so familiar. You reached a hand to him, cupping his cheek with a soft touch as you lay in his arms.

"I.... Know... You?"

"no" he whispered, leaning in slightly to the touch "but I'm here to help"

You closed your eyes again and nodded slowly, pulling your hand back "everyone... The city... They're ok?"

The primarch gazed down at your face, so much like his brother, and yet so soft. "You're worried about the city?"

"yes"

"the city is fine"

"good, thats good"

The lord of ultrimar sat, holding you gently as you faded in and out of consciousness. His head was a mess, filled with confusion and hope as he listened to you mumble. Kurze might have been an abomination.

But you might be better.

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer x reader #warhammer #konrad curze #konrad kurze/reader

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heylittleriotact · 5 months ago

Text

𝐸𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓁𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝒾𝒹:

Used to preserve deceased individuals, sometimes only until the funeral, other times indefinitely.

(for @emmg who was thirsty for Emmrich porn avec whiskey dick and I am nothing if not accommodating)

Under the cut and on ao3

Hours had passed since they first set foot in the high-class cocktail lounge tucked behind a secret entrance down an unsuspecting alleyway in Minrathous.

That should have been his first clue that this night was going to end up wildly out of hand. This was no humble tavern with a starving bard strumming their lute in the corner, singing about some woman named Sera while a harried barmaid slung pints of warm ale and unidentified meat to patrons, warding off the occasional pinch to her rear with quick fingers that told just how long she’d been tending bar in the city.

No, instead of a bard, there was a somber, balding man at a harpsichord in the corner, dispensing sophisticated chamber music, and there was no barmaid in sight: only a portly middle-aged Orlesian man who introduced himself to Emmrich and Amina as ‘Guillaume’ and walked with a labored gait that Emmrich suspected immediately to be caused by an active and rather nasty flare-up of gout.

There were no windows in this cocktail lounge, given its exclusive and ‘well-hidden’ existence, and the only light sources were small oil lanterns placed on each of the small round white-linened tables.

A password. They had needed a password to be admitted into this place.

While admittedly some part of him felt thrilled at the cloak-and-dagger charm and implication that attending this venue was somehow rebellious in nature, he did think it a bit ostentatious, even for his tastes, but Neve had suggested the lounge, going so far as admitting that it claimed the spot at the top of the list of venues to take dates she was really interested in.

Emmrich didn’t ask where she ended up taking the ones she wasn’t as optimistic about.

Guillaume hobbled over to their table and folded his white-gloved hands before inquiring if the monsieur and mademoiselle would like another beverage. They probably should have stopped two or three rounds earlier, truth be told, but conversation flowed so naturally - so easily - between them, and they simply never ran out of things to talk about.

Emmrich watched Amina lift the little leather-bound menu and squint in the dim light as she attempted to discern the feathery cursive on its pages. A thick strand of her bone-straight black hair slipped over her shoulder as she leaned forward, humming thoughtfully and tugging up the neckline of her plunging burgundy top as if the motion would do anything to protect her modesty. They were both more than a few drinks in, and she wasn’t a heavy drinker to begin with, so about an hour earlier when she’d beckoned him close over the table and whispered in his ear that she wanted him to cum in her mouth later, he knew she was properly in her cups.

He decided he was too as he tilted the empty crystal glass in his hand, watching the large cube of ice within drift over the bottom until it met the side. He’d had what… five or six whiskey cocktails and that one with the gin, vermouth, and olives? Spaced over the three or so hours they’d been here, there was no denying the light around the lanterns had developed a misty glow and he felt very relaxed… and increasingly distracted by the curve of her breasts peeking over the top that was doing its very best to conceal them.

“I’ll try the Sazerac, please,” she primly closed the menu and held it out to Emmrich, who accepted it from her, arching a brow discreetly in her direction when he felt the pointed toe of her nugskin heel travelling sensually up the inside of his leg under the table, staring at him with kohl rimmed eyes and drawing her lower lip through her teeth like she was a housecat ready to pounce on a fat songbird - him.

She knew what those naughty little shoes did to him, the minx.

“One more of these, if you’d be so kind,” he lifted the empty glass and tried his best to sound cordial and unassuming as Amina’s foot meandered up his thigh and the sole of her shoe came to rest on his crotch, which enthusiastically responded to her attention. “And we’ll settle up with you as well, please: we’ve another engagement this evening we must be off to.” He grabbed Amina’s ankle to halt her taunting movements against him, and she shot him a coquettish smile over the rim of her tinted coupé glass before tipping it back and draining the remnants of the cocktail - some concoction of gin, wildflower wine, elderflower, and bitters, among other things… he’d had a sip: it tasted floral and lively like a late spring breeze dancing down a winding country road on a clear day.

Guillaume tipped his head and limped away, returning a few minutes later with the cocktails and a handwritten bill tucked into a little leather folder which he placed in front of Emmrich without hesitation after setting down the drinks.

As soon as Guillaume was far enough away, Amina reached over the table for the folder, but Emmrich snatched it away, holding it out of her reach.

“This doesn’t concern you, darling.”

Her outstretched hand did not move. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emmrich. This is hardly my first time at a place like this - I know this isn’t a cheap night.” How lovely she looked with that delicate rush of colour over her cheeks and nose.

Emmrich thumbed the folder open and skimmed over the bill, his expression stoic. “No darling, but I knew before we started seeing each other formally that you’re a woman of expensive tastes.”

Expensive tastes to the tune of precisely two-hundred-forty-seven gulder… and an appropriate gratuity on top of that. He withdrew his purse from the inside of his waistcoat to start counting out coin.

Amina knocked back half her Sazerac in one go and said confidentially, hiding the side of her face with her glass so no one but him could see her mouth, “You’re right about that, but there is something I know that you don’t, Professor Volkarin.”

“What might that be, Ms. Ingellvar?”

She leaned close - almost close enough to taste the booze on her breath.

“I’m not wearing any underthings.”

His cock twitched and he felt the colour in his cheeks deepen further at the thought of her warm, wet cunt separated from him by only the expanse of table linen and expectations of public decency. It wasn’t that he needed to drink to feel attracted to her - no, that came as effortlessly to him as breathing - but in the haze of perhaps one or two too many fancy cocktails, his mind was consumed by thoughts of ravishing her for the remainder of the night and well into the early morning if they could get away with it.

“What a charming surprise.” He counted out payment, set it on the table, swallowed a good deal of his drink, the burn of it doing little to quell the urgent desire to bend her over the table and bury himself in her then and there. “Finish your drink, darling, and let’s get you home, shall we?”

She was already tugging at buttons and closures by the time they tumbled through the eluvian into the Lighthouse, giggling feverishly and twining around him like an affectionate cat. Her shoes were abandoned in the eluvian room, and her shirt was doffed in a careless heap on the floor at the top of the stairs to the library.

“Remember when I sucked you off by the bookshelf and you were soooo worried that someone was going to catch us?” She grabbed his hand and put it over her bare breast as she meandered unsteadily backwards towards the stairs to their respective rooms.

Filling his hand with the warm weight of her flesh and tugging at her nipple gently, he hushed her inebriated titter with his mouth over hers, knowing full well that he was far too drunk to be wandering around attached to someone at the mouth with his eyes closed, but not able to find it within himself to behave responsibly for a change.

“Davrin very nearly did: you’re a bad influence, Ms. Ingellvar,” he purred, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and catching it with his teeth. She moaned into the slight hurt and threw her arms around his shoulders, then her legs, trusting him to catch her - which of course he did. He could drink the city of Minrathous dry and he’d never drop her. Not her. Not precious, beautiful, lovely, entrancing Amina…

He carried her all the way down to his bedroom, admittedly a little unsteady on his feet and taking extra care as he descended the stairs from the laboratory into the well-appointed cavern where he slept and kept his personal effects.

Placing her gently on the bed, he did away with his boots and joined her, crawling atop her and devouring her with another hungry kiss as he slipped his hand up her thigh, past the bunched up hem of her skirt until his fingers met with the dripping heat between her legs.

“I’m beginning to think you deeply begrudge smallclothes, darling. It seems you’re completely averse to wearing them unless absolutely necessary��” He circled her clit with his thumb almost tauntingly before slipping two fingers inside her, working them slowly, stretching her, slickness slowly travelling down his palm and the back of his hand.

Arching against his touch, Amina groaned. “I never did have much patience for pointless things.”

She palmed him through his pants, humming approvingly when she found him hard and straining against the material. “I wanna kiss it,” she declared, her voice semi-slurred, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

“You want to kiss it,” he corrected smarmily.

She poked him in the side, hitting a spot she knew was ticklish and making him flinch, but his fingers remained within her. “This is not… that’s not how one successfully goes about getting their dick sucked.” Despite the admonishment, her fingers worked at the closures of his trousers, and despite the turgid gracelessness of her motions, she managed to free him.

Leaving the comforting warmth between her legs, he fell to the bed, still completely clothed, and Amina slinked downwards, bending her legs at the knee behind her and crossing her feet at the ankles as she rested on her belly so he could enjoy the sight of her petite little soles and well cared for toes while she sucked him off because she knew he enjoyed that.

How lucky he was. How unexpectedly fortunate to find himself on this harrowing but exhilarating adventure of a lifetime to begin with, and then to find companionship as well? True, genuine connection with another person that he hadn’t felt in years - he certainly hadn’t responded to that letter from Bellara requesting a meeting operating under the assumption he would find himself entangled with someone as wonderful as Amina...

There was little refinement to her approach of pleasuring him - no slow, sensuous teasing with that tongue of hers, not tonight, oh no: her nose was already already buried in his pubic hair, and the tip of his cock was residing somewhere in the neighbourhood of her tonsils. Uninhibited by the numerous cocktails she’d downed, she was going down on him like he was her last meal and it sent his mind reeling to witness her so liberated and shameless in her movements and actions.

Her eyes met his and she let his cock slide from her lips, a fat rope of saliva still tethering him to her, and the naughty thing actually winked at him before a heavy bead of drool dangled from her open mouth and spread over him, the heat and depravity of it forcing the air from his lungs.

Working the slick all over him with her callused hand, he watched her and something in his brain stopped working altogether when she lowered her head and enveloped him again, her sage green eyes locked on his the entire time.

Messy, sloppy, unseemly. Every memory of a polite greeting and an understanding smile held in sharp relief against the undisciplined young woman currently slobbering on his dick.

It was exceptionally attractive.

But then something was off. The steady thrum of his pulse beating hard through his nethers vanished with worrying haste.

Oh no…

No-no-no-no…

No?

He dared a glance at her and could tell in the instant before his eyes snapped shut from sheer embarrassment that she had indeed realized that something had changed as well. Specifically his cock, and the firmness of it - it was rapidly softening in her mouth… practically deflating in her hand, the blood fleeing from it deciding to circulate elsewhere at the worst possible moment.

You loser, Volkarin!

He could practically hear Johanna’s snide tone in his mind. Why he was hearing her voice in his internal monologue at this exact moment in time was a mystery to him, but that didn’t change the fact that he heard it like she was kneeling on the bed next to him, berating him directly.

Amina’s lips twitched upwards in a helplessly sympathetic expression that for the first time in his life had him considering that embracing death might not be so terrible as she continued to do her best to resuscitate his wilting manhood.

A few drinks and your boudoir performance turns into a mummer’s farce! She’ll come to regret crawling into bed with your feeble bony carcass if this is the best you can do! Poor thing… her, to be clear - not you. I knew you were a lightweight, but this is pathetic!

Too much time had passed with neither of them saying anything - it was becoming increasingly awkward as moments ticked by and his traitorous loins continued to play shy.

One of them had to say something.

It had to be him.

“D-darling–” he stammered uselessly.

Amina sat back, tucking her legs beneath her, his limp cock flopping against his trousers with all the sprightliness of a dead herring. She rubbed her palms on her thighs and blinked rapidly. “It’s… it’s fine!” The put-on shrillness of her voice told him that it very much was not fine. “If it wasn’t doing it for you, you could have just said so.” Her lip trembled and she looked at the pillow above his head instead of him.

Fade take him: she thought he wasn’t enjoying himself - that she was the reason for his… impotence.

“No, no, no, dearest - that’s not true at all!” He scrambled for words and her wrists so he could pull her close and try to at least undo some of the damage that had been done, knowing from the redness of her eyes and the knit of her brow that it was far too late: she resisted his gentle tug and stayed sitting on her knees between his legs.

Of course they were both drunk, and where he found himself unable to perform, she found herself weepy.

Oh dear.

What a mess he had made of an otherwise lovely evening…

“You must believe me that this isn’t your fault, darling. I… I’ve had too much to drink, I’m afraid, and, and this is tremendously embarrassing - I… this doesn’t happen often, really, I swear, and I want nothing more than to make love to you, it’s just… I just…” his face felt redder than it had all night and the amount of liquor he consumed had nothing to do with it.

Amina hiccuped wretchedly and finally let him pull her down against him so he could wrap his arms around her and stroke her beautiful night-dark hair.

“Let me make it up to you?” He murmured drunkenly, softly tracing the shape of her ear with a finger. “Just because I’m not up for it - much to my own chagrin, I must emphasize - doesn’t mean you need to go to bed unsatisfied, hmmm?”

“Please Emmrich, it’s not any fun if you’re doing it out of pity,” she groused into his shoulder, her dissatisfaction with his proposed arrangement apparent.

What was he to do? He hadn’t run into this particular difficulty with a partner in so long that his memory strained to recall how he’d handled it back then. It seemed cold and uncouth to shrug his shoulders and call it a night, leaving her unfulfilled, but there was little chance of him finding arousal again in this state… not for a few hours at least.

“We… we could try again in a while, perhaps?” He offered weakly, hating himself, hating his uncooperative anatomy, and hating the very existence of the spirit known as whiskey. It would be a miracle if she wanted anything to do with him after this…

Amina heaved a tormented sigh, still not lifting her head from the space between his neck and his shoulder. “I don’t… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things for me if you don’t want to. It just makes everything… weird.”

He shifted his shoulder, lifting her face from him and then cupping her cheek, forcing her gaze to his. “I do want to though, darling, don’t you understand?” Her fingers found his wrist, warming skin and gold under her searing touch. “I am consumed by thoughts of you from the moment sleep leaves me in the morning to the very moment dreams find me at night, and those dreams have been conquered by you too.”

His other hand skimmed up her thigh, back underneath her skirt, finding her heat again. She shuddered against his touch, still wet and engorged, and he bitterly wished his cock could replace his fingers.

Would it be like this after he achieved lichdom? Certainly there would be… changes to their intimate dynamic, but would it be fraught with this same awkward tension that currently lingered unpleasantly somewhere between resentment and pity?

He considered this previously unconsidered eventuality as he laid her down on the sheets and spread her open, filling his nose with the scent of her - feminine and lively: a natural blend of salt and sweetness and sweat that made his mouth water reflexively.

That scent would no longer exist for him after lichdom. Not without olfactory receptors lining the tissue of his nasal cavity. It was indeed difficult to the sense being replaced with something better, but being able to smell was vital to being able to taste, and as he lapped at her deeply, tonguing her hot flesh as one would indulge in a ripe, messy summer peach, something twisted in his chest, compounding the pre-existing misery caused by his inability to perform.

One hand gripped the top of her muscular thigh, the other stretched over her lower belly, covering it almost entirely, hovering over her womb that was hidden under a network of muscle and sinew.

He would no longer be able to taste her, nor would he be able to please her in this way either.

Never again would he feel her warm juices dripping into his mouth and rolling down his cheeks, saturating the hair above his lip and dwelling there so that he would catch scintillating traces of her in the hours afterwards, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the memory of her underneath him, chanting his name as he brought her over the edge.

He undid her with ease despite his inebriated state, knowing exactly where and when to lick, how hard, and when to introduce his fingers again, working them inside of her in tandem with his tongue against her clit.

Touch would still be an option, he supposed, crooking his fingers towards himself and finding the rough, textured spot within her that immediately made her hips buck and her thighs clench against his head. She moaned his name and he placed a gentle sucking kiss on her clit, then told her she was a good girl before returning to his ministrations - and his ruminations.

Would she even desire that, though? Not being able to jointly enjoy each other intimately tonight clearly hadn’t sat well with her, so what were the chances that she would be satisfied - let alone eager - to find release by way of skeletal - albeit loving - hands, and whatever metaphysically similar connection he might unlock?

Would she even want him to touch her anymore once his flesh was shucked away eternally, replaced by linen wrappings and the illusion of a glamour that catered only to the sense of sight?

Her knees pressed against the sides of his skull so hard he thought she might crush it, but he did nothing to remove them or attempt to ease her grip.

How would he even kiss her without lips? Embrace her? Comfort her with his body that was rigid and hard and hollow and cold?

How could he be anything for her in that form?

… What if she decided she wanted a child?

He liked to think that she would see past it - that her true feelings and affection for him would outweigh her apprehension and need for physical connection - that lichdom and all that came with it outweighed the confines of mortal flesh. But as Amina’s fingers curled in his hair and she gripped him hard as she spent herself, her sweet release gushing down his throat, he knew deep down that the chances of her seeing it that way was about as likely as his cock coming back to life tonight.

Even still, he couldn’t find it within himself to think her shallow or unfair for it: while he was pleased at the sight of her panting and gasping for breath from his place between her legs, he missed at least having the option to incorporate his own anatomy into their activities, and it was just natural fact that having had a cock for the entirety of his life up until this point, the prospect of having to part with it wasn’t at the top of the list of things he looked forward to experiencing when he finally attempted lichdom.

He should be above such things. He should be beyond such attachments if he was truly ready for the gift of immortality.

He finished licking up every drop of her from her perfect sex, then tucked her in, then tucked himself in alongside her. He smoothed her hair as she nuzzled into him, exhausted and blissed-out as he knew she would be.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he told her.

“Don’t be,” she mumbled sleepily, already dozing off, uncaring that they were both at least partially clothed.

He wanted to do as she said, but as he watched her fall asleep in his arms he couldn’t.

Couldn’t let go of the sickly, creeping feeling that he was going to lose her when all was said and done, and this was only a glimpse of a not-too-distant future.

The next morning, despite the vicious hangover that was ravaging the insides of his eye sockets and his stomach, he dragged an equally hungover Amina to the market in Treviso and wouldn’t let her leave until he bought her three new pairs of shoes, an expensive new perfume to replace the passable but cheap label she normally wore, and a tasteful but very authentic gold anklet with half a dozen flawless sapphires along the chain.

It was obvious to both of them what he was doing: making up for his dysfunction the night before.

But it was more than that for Emmrich. This wasn’t just an apology - it was a promise: I might not be able to please you in the ways that you deserve and desire, but you will never feel unloved. You will never want for anything.

That’s enough, isn’t it?

I’m enough?

He remained unconvinced.

#emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich x amina ingellvar #emmrich x rook ingellvar #emmrich x ingellvar #emmrich x female rook #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #emmrich has whiskey dick #datv #dragon age #dragon age fan fiction #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard #v writes #ao3 #this is an emmrich thirst post

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argumate · 25 days ago

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Ukraine has carried out large-scale drone strikes against several air bases deep inside Russia, destroying multiple combat planes, according to the Ukrainian Security Service (SBU).

The operation, dubbed “Spiderweb,” comes on the eve of expected peace talks in Istanbul between Russia and Ukraine, and involved the most ambitious simultaneous strikes on Russian air bases carried out by Ukraine since the war began.

An SBU source said that Russian bombers were “burning en masse” at four air bases hundreds of miles apart, adding that drones had been launched from trucks inside Russia.

Ukraine planned the operation for more than a year and a half and used 117 drones to carry out the attacks, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky said in an address on Sunday night.

this cloak and dagger stuff is always impressive but I don't think you can actually win a war this way.

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verlaineszz · 8 months ago

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"My lover, take cover, it's time for fire!"

PRINCESS AFAB! READER x YOKAI! FOREST PROTECTER DAZAI!

( ၴႅၴ+—SUMMARY: The kingdom particularly wasn't fond of the princess due to the conservative misogynistic beliefs, they expected a boy from the start to take over the throne, so the mistreatment happened since the princess was born. Jagged breathing filled the air as the princess ran through the forest as an escape, it was the middle of the night before the princess hid behind a tree, taking deep breaths and looking around before getting surrounded by a red fog and circled by a tall figure with tails and ears, a figure that was sooned to be destined the princess's savior.

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖FLUFF + SLIGHT ANGST + ROYAL AU˖˚ֶָ֢‧࿔

A/N: I'll let you guys get a good ending.. I guess........ ;-;

also the first part is just a backstory and before reader ran away!!

ᯓ ⁺₊ ♱ .ᐟ — WARNINGS: Cursing, small super duper small mention of blood, a good ending, misogyny (from the kingdom, not dazai -_-..), petnames

Originally, the kingdom wanted a boy. Everybody was praying for another boy to be born since the first beliefs everyone had, that a man will always be stronger, and will always be the one that would do better on the throne. All the kingdoms joy slowly dissappeared when they heard a female was the one that was gonna be born, everyone became devasted.. Which led you to being known as a disappointment to the entire kingdom. All eyes went to your younger brother, same features as you and characteristics but the difference was, he was a male.

The favoritism between you and your brother was so different. Your parents indifference towards you was evident that you weren't special to them.

All this treatment towards your brother made him act immature and spoiled.

Now to present times.. Your parents currently made a fool out of you during one of the royal events, while they praised your brother. During the whole scenario, your hands were clutched and your knuckles white, it hurt. Everyone stared and laugh, your own family did this to you.

As they laugh, you slowly excused yourself and walk away, the second you left the sights of the crowd, you ran. You ran as fast as you could. You went in your room and removed some of the layerd of your dress, everything was heavy. It was overstimulating, tears escaped from your eyes because of how much anger you held against your family, you wore something lighter to go out, some longer bloomers, socks, an above the ankle length skirt and you packed your things in a slingbag, a dagger slid down the thigh garter pocket incase of self defense, you took your cloak and put it around you.

You looked around and outside the window if anyone was watching you, you were paranoid. It was already near dark so you snuck out.

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉°‧₊˚.

Running through the woods was tough, the rough and spikey rocks were always in the way, it was getting dark but atleast the stars and the moonlight illuminated brightly so you can atleast have some light source, during the first period of running, you tripped and scraped your knee multipe times, you couldn't help to run. You felt all the negative feelings anyway..

Your breath was unsteady, the blood dripped down your knee and you slowed down, your movements became sluggish, you sigh and walk farther in the forest, having no clue where you even were right now. You had a map but you were too tired to get it out, as you walked sluggishly, at the corner of your eye you saw something. A black figure circling fast.

You gulped and stop dead at your tracks from fear, this can't be happening right? You weren't even aware that there. Might've been ghosts around the area, you cover your mouth with shakey arms to stop yourself from screaming, you began to ran.

Your breath became jagged as you ran, sweat trickled dowm your back as you ran, without looking down where you stepped, you tripped again. Leaving a patch of blood on the ground, you try to catch your breath and you sit down, leaning on a tree before seeing red fog.. It was a beautiful crimson red. You crawl backwards, letting out a gasp as a tall figure immerged from the fog, he had brown brunette hair, brown eyes, 9 tails and fox ears on his head.. He grinned as he looked at you, walking to you slowly.

He wore a dark crimson red hakama kimono and a mischievous grin.

"What the.. Who are you?! Don't get any closer!" you yelled, he tilted his head to the side with pursed lips, he stared at your bleeding legs and bruised arms. You notice this action and cover them up, he sighed and obliged, not getting any closer since he respected your boundaries.

"But your injured. I can smell the reek of blood from you, yknow." he pouted and looked to the side with his arms crossed, still keeping a safe distance from you.

"This is none of your business." you snarked back

"Maybe it is." he grinned at you, he already knew who you were, he has been guarding the forests for years, he always knows what the news are in the city, and that led him to catch an interest towards you, he somehow empathizes with you.

"Unless you want that to get infected." he slowly walked closer to you, he bent down and checked your wounds as you sat there, not really knowing what to do.. He was quite attractive, but then again, you don't trust anyone.. But he did have a point.

You look to the side and scratch the behind of your neck, his presence was oddly comforting but the suddenness made you feel weird, it was like a paradox, and you didn't know if you should let him get even near you.. He had 9 tails and ears for godsake...

He looked at your tearstained face and he smiles softly, "Do you have a place to stay at? What're you even doing here anyway.."

"... I dont, but I'm here because i ran away."

"tsk tsk tsk.." he shaked his head, "Don't be so reckless next time, since you are a pretty little thing. Why dont i help you out?"

You raise a brow, "Really? You will?" you ask skeptically.

He chuckles and puts his hands on your wounds, your eyes widens when he touched you, it stung before a crimson glow emitted from his hand, the glow healed your wounds.

"Wait..how..?" you look back at him in awe, he laughed and rest his elbow on his knee while his cheek was againts his palm. "Don't worry about that bella, do you want a place to stay at for tonight?"

You blinked, "uh.. And how do i know i can trust you?"

"I just healed you?" he replied back.

He did have a point.. "Okay, i do need a place to stay at for tonight."

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

The trip to his realm was breathtaking, it was a whole nother realm. The crimson realm. The moon was a glowy red, the trees were red leaved weeping willows and there were red lamps everywhere, and a row of toriis.

Everything had a beautiful illuminating red, as you left the multiple rows of torii gates stairs, you were greeted with bustling red and orange lights, chatter, and a tune played by a shamisen, dazai patted your head and turned your attention to him. "That's just the market, my dear. Let's go to my place." he smiled softly at you.

"okay.." you nodded and followed him.

The forest full of weeping red leafed willows and a beautiful clear river that reflected the moonlight was beautiful, he walked through the path and walk on a tall red bridge. The bridge was high, you looked down and saw a white fog abyss. Dazai smirked and tapped your shoulder, pointing at the sky. The sky was a beautiful glowy dark red, it was only red because the moon illuminated it. Up at the distance were floating foggy houses, it was all floating in the sky, you smiled softly and chuckled, you were definitely happy that you went with him.

He notices your smile and he chuckles, finding your little reactions cute.

The ongoing trip was beautiful, everything was so picturesque and this is probably the most happiest you have ever been, you and dazai eventually reached his home.. And his house was big.. It isn't even a house, it was a mansion. It was a tall tenshu. The length of the house was so tall that you couldn't even see the top, it was ongoing into the foggy abyss up in the sky.

"This is absolutely gorgeous." you say in awe while you stared.

"Aw.. Thank you!" dazai chuckled.

The trip into his palace was like a Rollercoaster, there were multiple foxes guiding the both of you into it, "If you ever get lost, just ask one of the foxes, this place is infinite so don't try to find out whats the highest floor."

Oh.. Err.. You nod and continue following him along the way, each step, walls kept changing, his place was a maze and a puzzle that only he could solve.

"So, er.. Why are you taking me in?" you asked as you followed him in little puppy steps.

"Well why not? You're a pretty little thing and i can't leave you alone in the woods can i?" he smirked and tilted his head to the side abit as you followed him into his room

The scent of something floral flooded your nose, he really did know how to keep a place looking sleek. Red and yellow lamps surrounded the hallways, you follow dazai and as he tours you around, you notice how lonely it must be in his big place.

He sits you down on a chabudai table which already had food laid out on it, brewed tea and chopsticks, as if dazai knew he'd be taking you home for tonight.

He sits right infront of you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face, "so how do you like this place?"

"The aroma and the art in this place is beautiful." you reply back with a chuckle, gently taking the chopsticks and looking at the food served at the table, as soon you took the chopsticks, he did as well, eating the same phase as you while talking.

"Not as beautiful as you though!" he mutters in a sing-song tone, like he was saying it sarcastically, when he fully knows, he meant it.

"Oh cut that out" you snarked back, before chuckling. As soon as the corners of your lips turned up, dazai felt pleased with himself, staring at your pretty face and thinking about how you'd look tainted in his affection and obsession.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

After their meal together, dazai leads you to the red and yellow lamp lit halls, with foxes lying around and playing everywhere, the atmosphere calm with a faint shamisen sound filled the halls with a low hum of an energy that reeked of awaiting and satisfaction.. Since dazai did create this realm in his own magick, surely must of hus thoughts or emotions have been engraved in the air right?

Dazai leads yoy down a long, shadowed corridor. His usual aloofness has melted away, and he seems to radiate a possessive intensity, his eyes watching your every movement as you are his most precious treasure and priority.

Finally, he stops in front of a large, ornate door, its wood dark and polished, the carvings on it glowing faintly as if they’re alive. He opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, what a gentleman i guess?

The room is extravagant, more extravagant than your room in your own home. Every corner of the room is adorned with trinkets and ornaments that flows a mysterious, ancient charm, treasures he has collected over countless centuries, just to impress you.

Dazai’s gaze never leaves her, his expression dark with yearning. “This is all yours now,” he says, voice low. "Just for you, my dear." he winked.

There’s a strange glint in his eyes that you couldn't put a finger to. Was it a glint of approval? Promiscuity?

He swiftly walks behind you, extending a hand to pat your head, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, making you jump abit.

Days turn to weeks and weeks turn into months, and each and every day, Dazai's obsession deepens, a deep affection eating him with urges of wanting your touch and words, say his name and he's wrapped around your finger.

Every morning, he is there whenever you wake up, as if he was watching your every move.. Always greeting you with a possesive look, always feeding you delicacies from both the human world and his own Realm, dishes and delights reserved only for royalty. He takes his time to pour you tea, serving you as though you were an empress and he , your one and only devoted subject.

Though during the first few weeks of dazai acting like you were the empress of the realm, some spirits first looked at you with suspicion.. Since you are a human lady. But slowly and surely, the way dazai looked at you and how you somehow always reject his advances, the spirit folks got used to it, worshipping you slowly as dazais influence spread around the realm like wildfire. Giving you the royal attention and treatment you deserved.

By night, Dazai stands guard at your door or sits beside you, gently peppering your knuckles with kisses, his gaze lingering over you with an almost feverish intensity. He often brushes his fingers along yoru hand, and though his touch is gentle, there’s a power behind it.. a silent oath that promises to keep you safe, adored, and worshipped.

Unbeknownst to you, Dazai has already begun initiating his planned wrath upon the family that mistreated you..

In the mortal realm, your family’s wealth starts to burn into ash slowly, their alliances falling apart in ways that seem like mere misfortunes but are far too perfectly timed..

Of course, dazai, the bastard he is, never told you.. Since he was too busy giving you a good time so you'd never even think of leaving his realm that he made just for you, within each touch from you shoulder to your neck, blood is already dripping down from the neck of the people who hurt you,

And each night, as you drifts off to sleep in your room adorned with luxury, Dazai’s adoration swells to something beyond mortal love.

A/n: this fic is super rushed... I was originally gonna make it more bloody but i got tired. Giving you guys a taste of fluff.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #dazai x fem reader #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #kitsune dazai #dazai fluff #fluff #lol

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hyunsvngs · 2 years ago

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kinktober !

kink: knifeplay

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

wc: 3k

knifeplay: consensual BDSM edgeplay involving knives, daggers, and swords as a source of stimulation.

It was perfect. You had fake blood all over your room, staining your once blue sheets, but the costume was perfect.

For Halloween, your friends had decided to host a party at one of the dorms. You and your best friend, Jeongin, had decided it would be the best idea to dress up as Sidney Prescott and Ghostface. Your costume was quite easy - you already had an old denim jacket you could cover in blood, and a basic lilac top to go underneath it. When put together with a simple black pair of jeans, you felt completely ready. Your costumes were going to be the best.

The Instagram pictures would be amazing, too, you decided while walking to the party. You didn’t have a long way to walk, and it was quite amusing listening to the kids screaming for candy outside people’s doors - but all you could hope was that one of the members of 3Racha had actually cleaned the dorm this time, and not left it all on Hyunjin.

Music was already booming when you arrived, reverberating around your sober brain and making you wince. Would you regret coming here?

You realised you really did regret it, when the front door swung open and you were met with fox-like eyes in a… a fucking Pokemon trainer costume. Felix emerged from behind him, sharp yellow ears perched on his head and his cheeks covered in red.

“Listen,” Jeongin began, gloved hand reaching out to you. You sighed, shutting your eyes. “It was Felix’s idea. Look at him. He’s really convincing, and I’m sorry I didn’t text, but Chan’s put this stupid no phone ban on and-”

“Look!” Felix chirped, and when you finally saw him… well, you understood what Jeongin meant. He was in yellow dungarees, tail wrapped on a string around his waist and little ears bobbing with his glee. When he looked at you, his face fell. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you guys have something planned, or-”

“No, not at all, Lixie,” You murmured, pulling him in for a hug. He really was so cute. No one could resist him. “I’ll find my Ghostface somewhere.”

Felix nuzzled into the hug, wrapping his arms around you, before he was squealing. “Seungmin’s dressed up as Ghostface! Oh, Innie, did you plan this?”

You blinked, turning to Jeongin. Seungmin was your arch nemesis, but only purely on the basis that you both had some heavily unresolved sexual tension. Jeongin wouldn’t do this to you - or so you thought, because when you looked at his face, he was looking extremely guilty. “I know you have some… issues, but it needs to end now. It’s making things awkward, and, and… you can take pictures together, y’know? Then be friends,” He was mumbling, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. His Pokemon hat obscured most of his face, but you could still see the pout on his lips. Fuck this. You had the two sweetest men in front of you apologising, expecting you to be angry at them, but even you weren’t that mean.

You sighed, finally pushing past the two figures to enter the party. You were immediately attacked by a black plastic streamer dangling from the ceiling, and you swatted it away with a grunt. “It’s fine. Let’s do the pictures, then.”

It had always been the plan - to take pictures all together before the party really got into full swing. You had a feeling you’d been a little late because there were already quite a few people there. Still, you diligently walked into the kitchen behind Felix and Jeongin anyway, where everyone was standing around, conversing.

There he was. Ghostface mask pulled halfway off of his head to reveal dark, menacing features and a black cloak draped over his slender figure. Chunky black boots made an echoing noise as he tapped his foot impatiently on the tile, sipping out of a glass with one gloved hand and the other holding - a knife. It glinted in the light as he spun it around with his fingers, playing way too comfortably with the blade. Oh. Oh, no. Someone was playing a practical joke on you.

“Is that knife real?” You squeaked, and Seungmin turned to you with a glare. “Like, it’s not a prop…? Why do you have a real knife?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, then his lips were curling upwards with a smile. “To finally kill you with.”

“Haha, that’s so funny,” You deadpanned, but half of you was considering if he was being genuine about it. It wouldn’t surprise you - he was a sadistic fuck, always had been since you met him. It was why you wanted him so bad. “Let’s take these pictures. I’m already over it.”

Felix fiddled with his camera, flicking off the lens cap and trying to get it in the perfect position on the counter. You scurried in front of Seungmin as he walked over after placing his cup aside. Once Felix had set the timer, he ran in front of the lens and clutched onto Jeongin. Oh, yeah. What was Seungmin supposed to do, given that you were matching?

You had your answer quickly. With one gloved hand, he pulled his mask down and pulled you into him by the waist, and then he was positioning the knife at your exposed collarbone. It nipped teasingly, the blade threatening to draw blood. You looked down in shock, only to see Seungmin’s hand confidently holding the handle - god, was he skilled with this? He hadn’t killed people, hopefully, but… what if he was into something like this?

Wetness pooled in your panties at the thought. It’s a kink straight out of your deepest, darkest desires. The idea of being too scared to move in case the knife bites at your skin, dripping crimson liquid down your body only to be lapped up by the blade again… yeah. It was hot, and for some reason, with your fake-enemy pressed against you, it was even hotter. You didn’t even blink when the flash went off, too focused on trying to keep your breaths even.

Seungmin dropped his hand once the picture was taken, and then he yanked the mask back again. He was staring at you with a bewildered expression, but he looked somewhat impressed. Pulling you to one side by your arm, he gripped your waist again, trapping you against the wall so he could whisper into your ear. “Did you get turned on when I held that knife to your neck?”

“No, what’s wrong with you-“

“I heard you holding your fucking breath,” Seungmin hissed. “That’s fucking insane, you know? Dressing up as Sidney and then getting all… like that. It’s like you wanted me to do it.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Seungmin’s eyes flitted around your face. “I was actually meant to match with Jeongin, so maybe I wanted him to.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Seungmin scoffed, rolling his eyes. He pinched his temples, and then he sighed. “I know you want to fuck me. God, I want to fuck you too, so bad. I’m sick of playing this stupid push and pull when I could be upstairs fucking you with this knife to your neck right now.”

Your eyes widened. You let out a puff of air, trying to find the words to say, but you only noticed that fuck, Seungmin was awfully close all of a sudden. His breath was heavy on your burning cheeks. When you looked around the room, you could see that no one had noticed the two of you - Felix was too busy still jumping around and Changbin and Jisung had dressed as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. You wanted to coo at Changbin, his bulging arms so adorable in the little green dress and wings, but you were definitely more engrossed in what Seungmin had to say.

“The party. We can’t leave, you know?” You finally spoke, and Seungmin pulled back. You wanted to cry. He looked around the room, nodding, before he was pulling the mask back onto his face and obscuring his annoyingly perfect features.

“Half an hour. Jisung’s room, upstairs. Is that alright with you?” His voice was muffled, and you had to crane your head a bit to hear him. You nodded nonetheless, and he gave you a quick wave before disappearing into the crowd of dressed up men.

You sighed heavily. This was about to be the longest half an hour of your life.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung’s room was chaotic. You had literally no idea why Seungmin had decided on his room out of everyone’s - surely Hyunjin’s would be better, or even Chan’s with the mood lighting? You opened the door anyway, entering the small room and stepping over piles of clothes to lay back on the bed. At least the bedsheets were cleaned. Jisung’s lamp was the only source of light, leaving the room basked in a creepy orange Halloween atmosphere. It definitely fitted the setting.

It had been exactly half an hour. Seungmin was late. Was he ever late? In your whole pseudo-friendship, you were sure he’d never been late, and-

The door burst open and a masked figure emerged. You jolted, sitting upright on your hands and blinking at the man in costume. It briefly crossed your mind that you couldn’t even be sure it was Seungmin, and then he was tearing the mask off, throwing it aside.

“It’s still me,” He said, tone soft. Was he a mind reader as well as a borderline psychopath? You nodded, wiggling forward on the bed when he sat across from you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Did you bring the knife?” You responded. Seungmin burst out laughing, and then he was bringing it out from his jean pocket, beneath the cloak.

“You are very fucked up. Has anyone ever told you that?” He murmured. You stared at his gloved palms as he threw the knife aside, moving on the bed to pin you down against the mattress. You wiggled impatiently, spreading your legs to allow him between them. Your chest heaved, staring up at him with doe eyes as he blinked down at you.

“‘M not fucked up,” You mumbled, pouting. Seungmin chuckled.

“What was it Billy said in the movie again? ‘It certainly fucked you up, it made you have sex with a psychopath’? Is that not what’s happening right now, baby?” His breath was hitting your face again, and you just couldn’t help it this time. With one hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him down, pressing your lips against his in the filthiest kiss you’d ever shared. Seungmin groaned, hands meeting your waist and delving into your mouth with his tongue. You let him nibble into your bottom lip, let him nearly draw blood with his teeth until you were whining, bucking your hips up for more.

You whined, chasing his lips for more kisses. You heard fabric rustling, and then Seungmin was pressing an ice cold blade to your neck. You shifted immediately, laying back against the pillow and looking up at Seungmin obediently. He just smiled, appearing borderline menacing in the dim lighting of the room. You were so fucking wet.

“You do get off on this,” Seungmin mused. He leaned back on his ankles, letting the knife drag down your body. With a clean swipe, it was cutting through the fabric of your tank top and leaving you in just your bra. “Should I make you bleed, hm?”

“You can- you can do anything you want, Seungmin,” You sighed, arching your back to get more of the feeling of the blade against you. Seungmin bit his lip, dragging the blade down to your jeans. He wouldn’t be able to cut through that fabric - it’s too thick, he’d need something sharper. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head and then he was shaking his head, unbuttoning your jeans and yanking them down your legs. They balanced precariously on one ankle, and you kicked them off before eyeing Seungmin up and down. “Are you… gonna get naked, or?”

“I have different plans for tonight,” Seungmin replied quickly. He gripped the knife firmer this time, until he was dragging it down to your underwear. You knew you were wet, and you shut your eyes and moaned loudly when he pressed the blade into the wet spot forming in the fabric. You thanked every god that the music was still just as loud as earlier. “I’m going to finger you and play around with this knife. I don’t think you could handle more tonight.”

He was right. Another thing that irritated you beyond belief was the fact that Seungmin seemed to read your mind. First with your silly knife play kink, and now with the fact that you definitely couldn’t handle full blown sex tonight. You would’ve tried, and gotten yourself all fuzzy over it - but he knew better.

“Okay,” You agreed. He hummed once more, and then he hooked the blade into the lace of your underwear, cutting them off of your body. He was a bit heavy handed though, and your legs thrashed when the blade nicked your skin just a little, causing a small crimson red cut to bloom on your hip bone.

“Oh, would you look at that?” He ogled the cut, running his thumb over it. It made you whine in pain, yet he ignored you and thrust his thumb into your mouth. The taste was tangy, a bit too metallic for your liking but the whole thing was so fucking hot you couldn’t deny him anything. “Did you like that, too? Okay. We’ll explore that another time.”

Seungmin threw the knife aside once more, and then two long fingers were pressing into your folds. You laid there with legs spread, letting him explore every dip and crevice in your pussy and examine how wet you were. You knew you were dripping, and he did too - it was just a waiting game.

You squirmed, bucking your hips up. “I’m wet enough. I promise that I am, just-“

You gasped when he pressed the knife against your throat again. You hadn’t even seen him grab it. “Stay fucking still,” He warned. “I decide when you’re ready.”

Well, you could definitely get on board with that. Seungmin sunk his middle finger into you nonetheless, meeting no resistance. Your hole was dripping around him, leaking down to his knuckle and making him sigh in approval at the sight. He still had his gloves on, the faux leather buttery and smooth inside of your hole. “This pussy’s tight, huh?”

“I’d clench it for you,” You breathed out, letting one of your hands grab your tits over your bra. The knife was still pressed tightly against the column of your throat, but you managed to pull your tits out of the lace, making Seungmin’s eyes instantly flit down to your pebbled nipples. He started to thrust his finger inside of you, the material of his gloves dragging on your rim. “I’d- I’d clench around your cock, Seungie. Make it so tight for you.”

“Yeah?” Seungmin breathed. On his next thrust in, he pushed another finger in, and then he was curling two directly at that lovely spongy spot inside of you. “I’ll look forward to it, baby. Do my fingers feel good?”

“So good,” You gushed, tweaking your nipples with your fingers. “It’s so good, and- the knife, oh god-“

“Is it like you imagined, yeah?” He moved up to your side, easing his pressure on the blade so you could turn your head and kiss him. It was just as filthy, and he moaned in approval when your walls fluttered around his digits. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected you both. “Maybe next time, I’ll fuck you with the handle of the knife.”

You keened, starting to bounce your hips against his hand. He obliged with your movements, pressing his palm up against your clit and letting you grind the sensitive bud into his calloused hand. It was just the right amount of soft and rough, making your toes curl in your socks and your orgasm build steadily, a white hot pleasure in your pussy.

“It’s- I need it-“

“God, do you even know what you need?” Seungmin chuckled, kissing your cheek. “I think you need to cum for me, don’t you?”

You nodded erratically, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. Seungmin dropped the knife to his opposite side once more, replacing it with a firm grip to your throat with his spare hand. The sight of his gloved digits around your throat and restricting your airflow had you wailing once more, gripping his wrist and grinding with renewed fervour.

“I think- oh, I’m gonna cum,” Your lips parted, letting out muted moans and whines at the feeling of his fingers inside of you. “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for me then, no need to make a noise,” Seungmin was still amused, and you gasped before you were cumming. “That’s it, there you go.”

You felt your hole gush around his fingers, soaking the material of his gloves with white cum and your clit throbbing through your orgasm. It felt good, not only to cum but to also finally have some tension resolved with such a prominent person in your life.

When you finally came to, you were still gasping, breath heavy and burning your lungs with every exhale. You heard Seungmin coo at you, laying back and dragging you onto his chest.

“Good?” He questioned, and you nodded.

Then, something hit you. “Seungmin?” He hummed in response. “You cut my shirt open. What do I wear for the rest of the party?”

Seungmin stopped breathing, and then he burst out laughing, full body laughs wreaking havoc on his body.

“It’s not funny!” You whined, but you were giggling too, slapping his chest playfully.

“You can wear the cloak, baby,” He kissed your nose. “I have clothes on underneath.”

You hummed, nodding. “You still have to wear the mask though.”

“Fuckin’ freak,” He mumbled, but he was still grinning.

“You like it.”

Seungmin kissed you again, chaste and sweet. “Unfortunately, yes.”

871 notes · View notes

pandora-writes-one-piece · 8 months ago

Text

Mine to Protect Part II

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 7026

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: This is the largest of the chapters, sorry about that but I couldn't find another logical way to split it! I hope you're all enjoying Highlander Kid! I know I am 😎 Also, this part doesn't have a prompt, as it was pushed to part 3.

Part 2 of 3

The days that follow the attack, you don’t acknowledge what passed between you and Kid. Neither does he. Other than building an intricate iron lock for your window himself, and forbidding you to open it at night, which inevitably leads to another argument between the two of you.

“You don’t give me orders! My father hired you!”

“Stop bein’ a brat! It’s a damned lock, and ye have the key tae open it! It’s no’ a prison, lass!”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

“I do when it comes tae yer safety! Between all yer shenanigans and trips tae town, I’m already burdened enough.” You turn sharply away from the window, your gaze burning against his as he purses his lips, realising the mistake he made.

“Burdened?”

“No’ what I meant. Yer just being difficult.” He clears his throat, grunts, and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly a defensive position.

“Aye, I get what you meant, Kid.” You scoff. “Matter of fact, you just earned a night off. I don’t want to burden you. Go away and leave me alone. You're dismissed, Kid.”

He stands in silence for a beat, and you turn back to the window, actually locking it so he does leave you alone.

“Yer no’ the one who hired me, lass. Ye cannae dismiss me.”

“Get out!” You shout, banging your palms against the window, frustrated breaths leaving your mouth in ragged pants. You don’t look, but a shuffle of clothes and the click of the door tells you he’s left.

Good.

Because today, you need to go into town without your shadow, or your plan won’t have the slightest chance of working.

-*-

You heed the advice Kid gave you on your first encounter and cover your face with the hood of a plain, worn-out brown cloak, travelling inconspicuously to the inn on the outskirts of town, where no one will find you.

You arranged an encounter with a laird’s employee from one of the opposing clans. He has vital information that could help turn the tide of the war, and he’s willing to sell it to the highest bidder. With a sack full of jewellery, you’re it at the moment.

Dismissing Kid was either the brightest idea you had or the dumbest. You don’t know this man at all, but you came prepared. Your hands pat the two daggers strapped to your thighs, and you take a deep breath before entering the inn. It’s eerily empty which makes your encounter setup very suspicious.

Except for the fact that the man is young –roughly your age– handsome, and clean. So maybe this can pass as a lover’s encounter instead of a strategic one, and that plays in your favour.

“My lady.” The man drawls as you sit in front of him, pulling your hood back a little but not removing it entirely.

“Sir.” You return the greeting. “Let’s get to the point, please. I must return before my absence is noted.” You think about Kid once more and hope you made the right choice by dismissing him.

“I understand the rush, but I must say I’m impressed.” You raise an eyebrow, your right hand clutching the dagger at your thigh as you hold your breath. “You’re stunning.” A small surge of heat rushes to your cheeks as you were not expecting that.

“Thank you?” You begin, not really knowing how to respond to his compliment. “Now, I have gold and–”

“The price has changed.” He says smoothly as his eyes devour you.

“What do you mean? We had an agreement, I can’t get more gold on such short notice, and–”

“I don’t want gold anymore.” Your breath hitches as he grins, and you understand immediately what he wants, even before he says it. “I just want one night with you.” He says it anyway.

One night? Closing your eyes, you rest your elbow on the table, pressing your index finger and thumb against the bridge of your nose. One night… if one night is all it takes to get information that can free your people, you’re willing to sacrifice it.

It’s not like you’re a maiden anyway. You’ve been with men –scratch that– you’ve been with boys who barely knew how to touch you, but… are you willing to do it for your people?

Absolutely.

“Fine. I accept.”

-*-

Kid can barely believe his eyes as he watches through the window. He rakes one hand through his fiery hair while the other grips the handle of his sword. He followed you to the outskirts of town to a run-down, rickety inn just so you could meet with a man? He lets out a low growl as he clenches his teeth.

That’s why you got rid of him so fast earlier, you wanted to get laid and needed to get rid of him.

He knows he should turn back and go to the keep, he even tries to argue with himself, trying to convince himself that the only reason he’ll stay is because your father hired him to protect you, but he knows he’s lying.

He’ll stay because he can’t bear the thought of you in another man’s arms, but he bears it even less if he has to stay away from you while you do it. It’s the most twisted form of masochism he’s ever known.

At first, it looked like just a meeting, but now you’re climbing the steps towards the rooms and he can barely stop his pacing. The demons in his head fight and struggle against him, as they have been doing since the cursed day he laid eyes on you. Demanding that he split his attention between duty and want, honour and need.

You’re the most beautiful, aggravating creature he’s ever met. And damned if he doesn’t care for you more than he should.

Fuck this.

There’s no way he’ll dig a hole in the floor with his pacing when he can drag you out of that fucking room himself. You can be mad at him for all eternity, if you wish, but he’d much rather have that than see you in another man’s arms.

Kid silently enters the inn, his scowl and weapons prompting no questions from the man behind the counter when he leaves a coin there and climbs up. Upstairs, there’s only one closed door.

Kid seethes and grits his teeth, his jaw nearly snapping from the tension, but as soon as he reaches the door, he hesitates, your voice, coming softly from the inside, stops him in his tracks.

“Can I have the war information now?” You ask, a slight tremble in your voice he’s not accustomed to hearing, which makes him furrow his brows.

War information?

You’re giving yourself to this bastard for information? Somehow, this makes him even madder than the though of you being here willingly just to fuck another man. This is wickedly cruel. Sacrificing yourself for information?

He knows that’s something you’d do easily. You go out almost every night, there’s barely any jewel to your name, and you give away most portions of your own food. He knows how much you’re willing to give and do for the people you care so much about. But this? This he cannot stomach.

“Soon, my lady, soon. Let’s get to this first, shall we?”

Kid clenches his fists and hesitates again. You being mad at him for interrupting a quick lay was something he was fine with. But you being utterly angered at him for ruining your chance of turning the tide of the war… that will get him in real trouble with you. And he’s weighing all the pros and cons of it. Is he willing to risk it? Can he fucking bear it? Because there’s no way he’s going to leave you here alone, even if he has to hear everything that happens in that fucking room.

“Wait, wait. No, stop. I’ve changed my mind, I need more time and–”

“I think not, my lady. You’ve had enough of that.”

Fuck the risks.

-*-

Your hands are still pushing the man’s hands away from your legs when Kid kicks the door open, sending it flying back, broken and splintered. A gasp leaves your lips as he rushes forward, grabbing the man by the collar and shoving him to the ground near the door.

“Get the fuck out.”

Kid doesn’t need to say it twice before the man bolts, tail between his legs. And now you’re pissed.

“What the hell, Kid! I said you were dismissed for the night! That man had vital information about the war front and–”

“And ye’re willin’ tae do what for it, exactly?” Kid roars as he turns to you, his cheeks nearly as red as his hair, but he doesn’t scare you. The only time he did was when you didn’t even know who he was. So you take a step forward, meeting his eyes with the same fire he’s pining you with.

“Whatever was necessary to save my people!”

Kid points at the bed, the veins in his neck protruding dangerously as he steps closer. “Lay with him? Whore yerself for information?”

A surge of heat rushes through you, and his words hit harder than you expected, but you still bite back with equal venom. “I would’ve done anything. My people matter more to me than my body or one measly night. I don’t care.”

“Ya should!” His broad figure towers over yours, and you sense him tense up, the lines on his face sharper, the intensity in his gaze darker.

You shove his chest, but he doesn’t budge an inch. “Well, I don’t! And I could’ve handled it alone.”

His laugh sends a waft of warm air against your hair, and you hiss. “Aye, aye! I believe ye! Like ye’ve handled it all the other times? Little Miss ‘I dinnae need help from anyone’!” He mocks.

The condescending tone makes your anger burn hotter, the air between you dense with tension, crackling with energy. You shove him again –to no effect. “I cannot let my people suffer through this war anymore!”

“What about ye?”

“I don’t matter, Kid!” Another shove. “They matter! The children, the elderly, the sick!” A stubborn tear falls from your eye and you shove him again. “I’m the only one they’ve got! I don’t give a damn about myself, I–” You shove him again but his hands gently catch yours, and you sob. You’re relieved he showed up. You would’ve done anything, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to do it.

“And ye think I give a damn about yer charity? Yer people?” His hand reaches up, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your jaw so you have to meet his eyes. “Lass, I’d rather see the world burn down tae ashes and be ravaged by war, than let some bastard touch ye like that.”

His admission takes you both by surprise, but he quickly masks it with an angry scowl. Your heart, however, gives you no reprieve, pounding violently in your chest. You will yourself to throw back a witty retort, angry words, anything– but nothing comes out except awkward sputters as you struggle to shut your open mouth.

Kid’s words hang in the air between you like a storm cloud, charged and dangerous, leaving you unsure how to act. He lets go of your hand and chin and you step back, dowcasting your gaze and taking a deep breath, your anger subsiding as your voice loses the edge and intensity it had a minute ago.

“I don’t know what else to do, Kid. It’s my people, my responsibility.”

“It’s no’.” His voice is level again, still edged, but much less intense. “It’s yer da’s. He should be the one seekin’ aid and information, no’ ye. There’s always another way, and next time ye want tae get information,” Kid sighs heavily. “Dinnae do it alone.”

You swallow hard. There are no more tears, but the weight of his words hangs heavily on your chest. You can’t rely on your father for help. He doesn’t leave the keep, barely knows what’s happening around him, aside from the warfront. It was up to you. And… and now Kid… put an end to it.

“You ruined everything.” You whisper, not daring to meet his eyes because you’re being unfair. He saved you.

Again.

“Aye. I’d do it all over again.”

-*-

It’s a painful feeling, the one that lingers afterward. You know you care more for Kid than you should. It’s not just desire –but by the gods, there’s so much desire– it’s something far deeper, far more intense. His words resound in your head like a sickly echo.

“I’d rather see the world burn down tae ashes and be ravaged by war, than let some bastard touch ye like that.”

He cares too. There’s really no other explanation. But you don’t know what to do with it, so once again, you and Kid don’t talk about it.

He’s more and more adamant about not leaving you alone and, sometimes, it pisses you off so much that you sneak out, elude him, and trick him so you can just find some peace. He always finds you and you always end up arguing.

Today, though, you manage to buy yourself a decent amount of time by asking the children from the town to distract him, and before Kid even realises what happened, you’ve already given him the slip. There’s every chance he’ll find you soon, but for now, you will enjoy the coolness of the nearby loch. There’s a more well-known, wider area of the loch, where children usually play, but you know of another, smaller bay just a few metres away, and it's perfectly secluded and peaceful. Just what you need at the moment.

Peace.

Because there’s none of that when Kid is around. Not inner peace at least. There’s always a war raging inside you, willing you to push him to his limits, to defy him because you don’t need –nor want– his protection. Yet, the space between the two of you is always charged with raw energy and magnetism, like a storm cloud waiting to pour its deluge on both of you.

Unsurprisingly, now that he’s gone, you miss him.

Fuck me.

-*-

It takes Kid almost an hour to sniff out your trail, and he’s beyond pissed. He’s about to lay all his anger on you, almost wishing you’d gotten into trouble, just for you to realise that you need him and stop doing foolish shit.

The loch?

He approaches silently, always moving like a shadow before making his presence known, and by the gods, he made the right choice in doing that now, because you’re standing naked at the loch’s edge, preparing yourself for a cold dip.

Kid’s heart pounds violently against his chest as he watches you. His eyes devour your body, blood roaring with the desire he’s felt for you since you tried to punch him on that first night. But it’s on your face his gaze lingers unabashedly. You have a look of utter relaxation on your features, and he’s never seen you like this around him. Completely vulnerable, unguarded, and free.

He’s lived on edge since meeting you, constantly tense in your presence, alert to any and every danger that could take you away from him, and even when there’s no danger, there’s always something far more perilous. An unspoken tension between the two of you, anger and desire mingling into something he can’t quite place, but that keeps pulling you to him. It’s maddening.

Yet, what he’s feeling now goes way beyond anything he’s ever felt in your presence. It’s wilder, untamed, and desperate.

Gritting his teeth, Kid knows he can’t stand and watch you forever, but he’s not willing to let you be alone anyway, so he makes his presence known. “Enjoyin’ yerself, lass?”

-*-

You spin around in the water, facing Kid through wet lashes, but surprise is only etched on your face for a split second. You knew he’d find you.

“I was. Go away.”

“I cannae do that. It’s my job, ye know that.” He crosses his arms and leans against a tree near your discarded clothes. “Besides, yer a sittin’ duck right now. Have ye learned nothin’?”

You turn away from him again with a tut, dipping your head back to get your hair wet. “I don’t need protection, Kid. Leave. I want to be alone.”

“I’m never leavin’ ya alone again, lass. Better get that straight into yer noggin.” You can hear him snicker as you splash your hands against the cold water, trying to chase your frustration away. “Enjoy yer little dip, while it lasts. I’m no’ leavin’.”

“Gods, Kid! You’re infuriating! Leave. Me. Alone.” You accentuate every word with another splash, but that just makes him grin more.

“Ye dinnae have tae like me, but I thought ye’re used tae me by now.”

You stop thrashing, and he chuckles infuriatingly again. He thinks he’s won this round, but you’re about to serve vengeance on a cold platter. He doesn’t want to leave? Fine! But you’ll win this argument without uttering a single word.

You turn back to him, defiance splattered all over your face as you gaze into his fiery, cocky red eyes. Without so much as a blink, you strut to the shore, baring your naked body to him without a hint of shame.

You have to fight a victory smirk from gracing your lips when Kid pushes himself away from the tree, his arms falling limp at his sides as he follows you with his gaze.

-*-

You want to kill him. That’s the only explanation he finds for what you’re doing at the moment. Because if it’s vengeance, it’s quite petty. Kid has to fight the urge to reach into his breeches and adjust his cock, which gets hard just by looking at you. The way you’re staring into his soul while baring yourself to him, water dripping over your body, your perky nipples shimmering and slick with water, walking with long, unapologetic strides. It’s too much.

Fuck.

He’s fought all kinds of men and beasts and never once did it occur to him to surrender. But to you, he’d fall on his knees and beg, and that is the scariest thought he’s had in a while. Kid clears his throat as you approach him, your chin raised in that regal way about you that he both loathes and admires.

“What are ye doin’?” He barely recognizes his own trembling voice. It’s like he’s a boy again, pissing himself while facing an enemy on the battlefield.

“I told you I don’t need protection.” You take another step, and it takes all of his willpower not to thread his fingers through your dripping wet hair, grip it and pull it back until your throat is vulnerable, and then crash his lips against yours. Kid bets you’d taste delicious.

“Aye.” Not his smartest answer. Not even an answer, really, and you must know you have the advantage because the smirk that curves your lips is both infuriating and endearing. Then you move closer, almost as if you’re going to whisper something to him, and as all the blood rushes to his cock and his heart thrums in his ears, all Kid can think about is how your soft skin would feel against his rough and calloused hands, or how your moans would sound whispered against his ear.

He holds his breath and you lean in. Your perky nipple grazes his arm and burns like the hottest of fires, undoubtedly etching and scorching a mark on his skin, something that digs deeper than his ugliest scars. It’s like the moment freezes in time, the air shifting into something heavier and more dangerous. His fingers itch to touch you and his hands almost move of their own volition to fulfil a desire fueled by his loins. Then you break the moment by bending and grabbing the clothes next to his feet, pulling the dress over your head and batting your lashes at him innocently.

“Problem?”

His jaw clenches and unclenches three times before he deems it safe to speak. “Stop playin’ with fire, lass.”

Your smirk grows wider as you slowly pass your arms through the sleeves, bouncing your breasts and revelling in the way Kid’s eyes wander and linger. “Maybe I like to get burned.”

-*-

Shit. Where did that come from? Other than the bottomless pit of desire currently fueling your loins?

He takes a step back, raking his fingers through his hair as his hand reaches for the front of his breeches, making you bite your lower lip in anticipation. But instead of unfastening them and slamming his cock into your dripping self, he shuts his eyes and curses. “We’re leavin’. Get dressed.”

Turning to leave, he doesn’t even give you a chance to reply as he walks towards the edge of the forest, stopping and waiting for you with his back turned. You take deep, steadying breaths and will your heart to calm down, lest it jump right out of your mouth.

Does it still count as a victory if you feel like shit from being rejected?

-*-

This party had been planned for a year, back when the war had just started and the vaults were still full. Now, in your opinion, it was a waste of money, food, and time. But your father was adamant about hosting it, as it was meant to serve as a courtship of the lairds and their sons to you.

You had to choose a husband –a strategic alliance– so your father could secure more money and soldiers for the war effort. You knew where your father could shove the potential suitors, but you couldn’t find a way to get out of the party, so here you were, enduring yet another speech about the feats and achievements of another stuck-up man.

You wore crimson tonight. A dark, deep, lavish red gown that matched the intensity of your rage towards this event. A red that coincidentally matched the fiery hair of your guard.

Speaking of Kid, you had yet to lay eyes on him, but you knew he wasn’t far. Your father had given him the day off, but he had stayed true to his infuriating declaration of never leaving you alone again, even when he was blatantly dismissed. So, you were sure he was, or would be, around. The only time he was away from you was when you slept.

You manage to fight yet another urge to roll your eyes as another man approaches you out of nowhere, invading your personal space with what they all believe are charming words. Every one of them makes you want to gag.

“My lady, you look as beautiful as the loch outside.”

Now you can’t stop the eye roll, even if you wanted to. “Truly? Cold, stinking of fish, and green?” The man stammers, a hint of red spreading across his pale cheeks, and you sigh. “Excuse me, I’m needed… elsewhere.”

Anywhere else.

Two more steps, one more drink, and another idiot. “My lady, the skies must have lost a star, for your beauty is far too radiant for mere mortals.”

You raise your brow as the corner of your lips threatens to curve up. “Is that so, my lord? Are you implying that I’m the reason the sky looks so dim tonight?” This man stammers just like the one before and a chuckle escapes your lips before you excuse yourself and turn away, leaving him flabbergasted.

Gods, you just want this torture to end.

“Are you not tired of these fools, my lady? Perhaps a reprieve would do you good?”

Another one already? Is it too much to ask for a moment of peace?

“A reprieve? Are you offering sanctuary in my own home, my lord?” You look him in the eyes as the corner of your lips rises. He’s quite handsome: dark hair, tanned skin and a beautiful smile.

“I was merely suggesting an escape plan, away from all the lochs and stars.” You chuckle, and he seems encouraged to continue. “I assure you, my company comes without any celestial expectations.”

“Aye, I see that. Does it come with that charming wit, or was it a one-time event?” He offers his arm, and you take it, actually impressed by him.

“For your company, my lady? I will gladly put forth my best efforts.”

-*-

You didn’t even realise he was at the party, Kid is sure of it. He’s keeping to the fringes, a mug of ale in his hand, as his sharp eyes follow you everywhere. Just because your father gave him the night off doesn’t mean he’ll skip his duties. Especially when you’re his duty.

He’s been spending all of his time growling into the mug, clenching it so tightly he’s bound to break it before the night ends. These fools keep approaching you with their charming words and honeyed speeches.

He has to admit, though, you’re handling everything quite well, and he’s found himself rather entertained by the look on the face of each suitor you reject. Deep down, he’s hoping that he’s the reason you keep rejecting them, but he quickly dismisses that thought.

Especially because his entertainment suddenly turns sour.

A posh-looking laird approaches you –again with sweet and charming words, things Kid would never say to you– and you have the gall to laugh. To actually laugh at what the bastard said. And then you take his arm as he leads you to a more secluded part of the ballroom so you can speak.

The distinct burn of jealousy courses through Kid’s veins, and he doesn’t quite know what to do about it. It’s not his place to go over there and demand–... what? That the man leave you alone? He’s not even doing anything wrong, he’s just talking to you.

And you’re laughing again. Fuck.

He grips the mug tighter, the ale suddenly much more bitter than it should be. He needs to keep his shit together, though. You’re a noble lady, you’re going to marry, and he won’t have any say in it. Better to keep distancing himself like he was trying to do. Even if it kills him.

-*-

You excuse yourself from the laird’s company after a while. Sure, he’s handsome, witty, a sweet talker, and has the right kind of armies. But he’s not… it.

With a loud sigh, you reach for another mug of ale, willing the night to end quickly so you can tell your father it was a complete and utter disaster. Will he still force you to choose a husband, though? Or will he simply force one on you? That is the real question.

But your thoughts are soon diverted when you feel a prickling at the back of your neck, that tingling, warm sensation you’ve come to associate with Kid.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away long. Free ale and pretty ladies?” You smirk smugly as you turn around to meet the slightly disgruntled gaze of your guard. “I don’t know how you haven’t come down sooner.”

“Lass, I’ve been on yer tail since ye left yer room.” He snickers, but you can see it’s forced. “Havin’ fun?” The way he crosses his arms seems charged with tension, he’s angry at something.

“So much fun, Kid. Something you’re unfamiliar with, I guess. It’s when people laugh because they’re entertained. You know,” you reach and lift his cheeks upwards so his lips curve into a grimaced smile. “Kind of like that, but less scary and… constipated.”

“I laugh.” He grumbles, swatting your hands away.

“Do you?”

“When yer not pissin’ me off.”

Now you laugh. “Right, never then!” You’ve seen him amused, with that annoying smirk he uses and the way his eyes crease a little bit. But you haven’t heard a real, genuine laugh. “I doubt you’re even capable of such a thing.”

You both saunter into a corner of the room, where Kid leans against the wall and you sway on your feet, tired of sitting down.

“Maybe I dinnae have reasons tae smile.” Cryptic much? What’s he talking about? His scowl deepens as he locks eyes with someone and you follow. It’s the laird from before, the charming one. Is Kid jealous? “So, is he the chosen one?”

He is jealous.

“Maybe. He’s charming enough and knows the right things to say.”

“Never thought ya needed tae be sweet-talked.” He crosses his arms and averts his gaze from the laird with a scowl but doesn’t look back at you.

“Sometimes it’s nice to feel wanted.” You tease, but you mean it.

“Wanted? By him?” He pushes away from the wall, indignation written on his face, his intense energy turning the air around you heavier, stifling, and making your heart pound violently with anticipation.

“At least somebody wants me. That might be enough to make me want to marry him.”

“Ye cannae do that.” He growls, taking a towering step towards you and suddenly you don’t know if you should feel aroused by his behaviour or angered that he thinks he has a say in your life.

“I do whatever the hell I want, Kid. You don’t tell me what to do.” You step towards him too, the party fading into the background as if you’re the only people there. The space between you seems small and cramped, tight with tension and need. “You don’t own me.”

The hot puffs of breath coming in ragged feel warm against your face, and you can see just how sharp his canines are as he bares his teeth at you. He’s all growls and grunts, a litany of sounds that vibrate straight into your cunt. Fuck. You need him.

The clenching of his hand is a dead giveaway to how much he wants to touch you, but you can tell he’s holding back. You can count the passing of time by the way his jaw ticks, and the fire in his eyes burns straight into your soul. “Yer mine, lass.”

The words make you gasp, and he’s also startled by them as you both take a step back. The tension flutters and fades, and the noise from the party resumes all around you. What did he say?

“Tae protect. Mine tae protect.” He adds quickly, his voice hoarse as he averts his eyes.

The seconds stretch as you’re left speechless. You can see a war being waged somewhere deep inside him, there’s a fury in his eyes with an intensity that speaks volumes and only adds stiffness to his bulky frame.

“Aye.” You say, voice strained and a sarcastic quip at the tip of your tongue. “Just to protect. Got it.”

Kid grunts, his eyes searching yours again. “I’m yer guard.”

“I know.”

“That’s all.”

“I know.”

“It cannae be more.”

“I know!” You raise your voice as you turn your back on him, dropping the mug on the nearest table and storming out of the room, but not before adding with as much authority as you can muster. “Do not dare follow me!”

-*-

Where the hell did you go? Kid’s heart races in his chest as he turns left and right. You disappeared on him after he blurted out the stupidest shit he’d ever said in his life –even if it was true. You were just there, and then… you weren’t.

Fuck.

He knows well enough that these big parties are the playground of assassins, and your father is a man many people want dead at the moment. For lack of that option, since he’s well-guarded, taking you is the next juicy prize. And now you’re nowhere to be seen. Or protected.

When Kid finds you, he’ll choke you with his bare hands for this stupid stunt.

He scans the gardens since you’re not inside the party, and he feels a mix of relief, anger, and indignation when he sees you at the edge of the forest near the gate. He’s definitely going to kill you if you’re sneaking outside for a midnight encounter with that prick.

Wedding match be damned to hell.

-*-

You just had to leave and get some air. It wasn’t even just the argument you had with Kid, or the sudden realisation that you and he were miles apart, even when you were so close. It was the stuffy ballroom, those insufferable suitors, the loudness of the music, and the expectations on you. It was all too much. You thought about retiring to your room, but there were sure to be guards on the stairs, and you doubted your father would let you leave so early. So you moved to the grounds where it was quiet.

You just want peace. Is it too much to ask for?

“Here you are, my lady. I’ve found you. And look, all alone, the possibilities are endless for our night.” You sigh at the lecherous suitor who followed you –the one who spewed the loch remark. You must have hurt his feelings, because he looks ready to snap your neck, or worse.

Is it wrong that you don’t fear him? Or that you don’t even feel the need to reach for your hidden daggers? You don’t quite know when this happened, but as insufferable as he is, you trust Kid fully, wholeheartedly, and you know, you just know, he’ll never fail you.

“Get the fuck away from her before I make ye piss yer pants, bastard.”

A smirk curves your lips upwards. You knew it. He’s always there. The man leaves with a shriek, and you face Kid, not really in the mood for more bickering, but of course, that’s all he wants to do.

“The hell were ye thinkin’, lass, leavin’ the party all alone and–” You don’t even let him finish the sentence. Fuck bickering, fuck fighting, fuck it all. Your fingers grasp his shirt as you pull him down towards you with all the strength you possess, lips crashing against each other with urgency and desire.

It took an entire evening of wrongs –wrong men, wrong words, wrong faces, wrong accent– just to make you realise that the right one was beside you all the time.

The kiss is unbridled, hungry, and desperate. A clash of not just tongues and lips, but of wills and stubbornness. It’s the culmination of all the little arguments, of all the bickering and of all the tension that enveloped both of you since you met.

You pull him closer, hands climbing his neck and tugging at his fiery hair. He’s so rigid that it’s as if he went into shock when you kissed him. The only thing that proves it wrong is the way he’s devouring your mouth. And then, with a soft thud as he releases his axe to the floor, he moves – desperately!

Kid’s hands grip your hips, and he pushes you against a tree, forcing the air out of your lungs with a wanton moan. His body presses against yours, clinging to you as if you’re about to run away from him again. It’s like he needs you with all his soul, and he’s showing you exactly that.

His kiss is, at the same time, everything you’ve imagined –consuming, heated, furious– and nothing like it. It sends lightning coursing through your veins, igniting them with pent-up energy that demands release. Kid’s hands roam, climbing up your body and cupping your face, deepening the kiss even more, making you feel as if you are drowning in him.

You’ve never been kissed like this before, as if you’re the only thing that matters and he’s afraid to let go. It’s daunting, but also comforting.

Kid pulls back after what feels like too little time, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands still cupping your cheeks as your panting breaths mingle, and you lose yourself in his fiery gaze.

“Ye drive me insane, lass. Ye’ll be the death of me.”

“I could say the same of you.” He doesn’t let you go and neither do you. Your hands press against his chest, nimble fingers untying the strings of his shirt as he smirks at you.

“Needy, are ya, lass?”

He’s not wrong.

“I am. Kiss me again.” And he obeys you. For once since he’s been stationed as your guard, he obeys you. His lips even more urgent than before, his hands groping and feeling every inch of you as you slither your fingers under his clothes, tracing his taut muscles and the roughness of his scars.

“Fuck, ye want me dead. That’s what this is.” But he doesn’t stop. He bites your lower lip and kisses your jawline, moving lower to your neck, his teeth grazing against the sensitive spot there. His mouth parts as he murmurs more words against your skin in his low, rough Scottish brogue that makes you weak in the knees.

You grip his hair, pulling him closer as your head falls back in abandon, and a soft moan escapes your lips when he sucks particularly harshly against the hollow of your throat.

“Do that again.” His tongue licks from your neck up to your ear, and the involuntary whimper leaves your lips again. “Fuck.” Raising his hands, he pulls the neckline of your dress down, baring you to him as he keeps muttering low, a litany of words you can’t make sense of and could very well be prayers or curses. Then he cups your breast, his thumb grazing against your nipple as you arch into his touch, seeking his touch, begging for more.

“More.” You whisper as he leans to roll your nipple against his teeth, making you shiver, a combination of hot and cold, pain and pleasure, that leaves you breathless and dizzy. “More, Kid.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your nails bite into his skin in a desperate attempt to have more of him, like you’re requesting.

“Gods, lass. Tell me ye want this.” He groans, his hands already tugging at your skirts, lifting them up. “Tell me ye want me.”

“Aye, Kid, aye! I want you.” Your words are a mere whisper. They’re as hot and desperate as you feel. You need him now.

It’s all the confirmation he needs because, in the next moment, your skirts are pulled all the way up against your hips, and his rough, big fingers find you wet and wanting, ready for his touch. He parts your lips, inserting one finger with a low, hot groan against your ear, and you arch your body to his touch, a small gasp of pleasure cutting through the silent night. “So tight for me, lass.”

He inserts another finger into your slit and then slides them in and out with slow, languid strokes as you cry out his name. You’ve wanted to feel him touch you for so long, but, somehow, you never imagined it would feel this amazing. “Mine.” He bites into your throat as you arch your head, riding his fingers and feeling heat pooling in your belly. “All mine.”

You can’t even argue with him, all your brattiness and fight lost at the tips of his fingers.

“Gods, Kid, please!” Your head falls forward as you pant into his ear. His fingers feel amazing, but you need more, so much more. “Please!”

Kid uses his weak arm to free his pants and take out his cock, pumping it twice and groaning as he keeps fingering you, his thumb pressing against your clit and sending wave after wave of heat down your legs.

When he removes his fingers, you whine softly, but as his hands grip your thighs and he lifts you up as if you weighed nothing, you gaze into his eyes in anticipation. “Lass–”

“Yours.” It’s all you say before he even asks if you’re sure about this. His eyes darken, and he thrusts forward, inserting himself inside you, stretching you, filling you up completely to the point where you don’t even know how you’ve gone all these years without him to make you whole.

A loud cry of his name leaves your lips as he bottoms out and stands still, waiting for you to accommodate his size. His lips brush against your neck as he feels the way your pulse flutters against his tongue and your cunt throbs around his sheathed cock.

“Easy, lass. Breathe for me, aye?” As you relax in his grip, he pulls back, only to thrust harder, making you cry again. You’re right at the edge, feeling your legs tingling, your coil ready to snap and send you into bliss. “All mine.” He keeps repeating, maybe trying to prove it to you, to stake his claim, but he’s right. You’re his, all his. And you never want to be anyone else’s.

He thrusts harder again, hitting you just right, and you lose yourself in his hold, bare back scraping against the harsh bark of the tree as you cry your release into the night in the form of his name and broken moans. “Fuck, ye feel so good, lass. So good. Scream my name again!” He says, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to do it sooner than you thought, because the warm waves of pleasure are still making you shiver and tingle, and you’re already feeling the build-up of another wave ready to crash over you.

Kid never stops.

“Again, aye? One more?” You nod, your breaths increasing as his thrusts become faster, sloppier and needier.

“Gods, Kid, just like that, I’m–”

“Aye, lass, let it out for me.” He grunts against the curve of your neck as he steadies his arm against your back to hold you with his strong arm, using the other hand to circle and pinch your clit.

Another cry leaves you, the intensity of the bliss much greater than the one before, as your mewls and moans sing into the night. Kid follows you over the abyss right after with a few sloppy thrusts, and you’re both left heaving harsh breaths, tangled in sweaty limbs and bliss.

Why the fuck didn’t you do this sooner?

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @takamimami

|Part 3|

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #kid x reader #reader insert #highlander kid #you x eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustass captain kidd #eustass x reader #eustass kid #you x kid #reader x kid #kid x you #Spotify

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littlebluemoth · 1 year ago

Text

Guilty as Sin

CHAPTER ONE ; azriel x fem!reader

summary: the lost princess of the dawn court finds herself brazenly escaping her own personal living hell. seeking refuge, as well as peace to plot in the city of velaris—she meets azriel shadowsinger and through the throws of disdain and discomfort they are forced to work side by side, intertwined through their shared scars.

a/n: ok so this first chapter is literally all exposition and world building within this world, i’m so sorry :( i promise that it will very much so pick up. this series is mainly about me exploring different aspects of my writing, i’ve never written a long series before. my longest is 50k and each chapter was about 2k words so this is something i feel really proud to put out, even if it is just the first chapter. if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!! this fic isn’t necessarily inspired by, but is a lot like taylor swift’s new song “guilty as sin?”. feedback always appreciated:)

warnings: strong language, mentions of trauma regarding men, heavy themes of ptsd and suicidal thoughts

spotify playlist (unfinished)

wc: 5.4k

Run.

The word cut through your mind, slicing through each and every thought you possessed as you gazed downwards at your bloodied hands. There was so much blood. Hot, thick blood ran down your forearms, coating your face and the inside of your mouth. Your stomach lurched, however by the grace of the Gods, you fled.

In over fifty years, you had not left this camp. Since you were just a girl, at twelve years old, you had resided within the hidden stone of the warrior camp. Now you had no choice but to utter a quick prayer to the Mother and run fast and furiously forward without looking back. Only the knife you had just used remained sheathed at your hip as you felt the ground beneath your boot-clad feet. There was a cloak pulled around you, it covered your face well and kept you concealed.

What was that saying, you thought silently to yourself in between painful dry heaves. ‘Feet don’t fail me now.’

It was nightfall and you ran tirelessly through the forest you had been warned to never brave on your own. As a child, your mother had warned that you must not meet what lurks after dark. She told you that not even those beasts would mind slaying the Princess of the Dawn Court. To them, the title was useless and your blood was just the same. Blood. You reeked of those warriors' blood and sweat and desperation. It was clad to your skin like a layer of oil or grime, the taste of iron making you spit.

A part of you wondered if you would die out in this forest, no idea where you were or what place Cousin Thesan had brought you so many decades ago. Stopping to lean against a tree, you panted and let the silent tears flow at once. Where were you? For all you knew, he had dropped you within the Continents and only used very good wards to keep the camp hidden. Why had you let them take you? What hadn’t you fought harder against Thesan’s word as Amarantha began exercising power among Prythian.

You had no answer, but only began to run once again. There was no choice, unless you planned to slit your own throat and simply give up. No. You are a warrior, you are a fighter and nothing would keep you from finding your cousin and demanding answers for his crimes. That’s what his actions were to you, criminal and inhumane and you would not be surprised if in the end–you adorned his blood on your hands as well.

“Who dares enter this part of my forest?” A voice drawled from nowhere in particular, causing you to flinch and raise the dagger shakily in defense. “What is your name, girl?”

The voice came from the trees, you swore to yourself. It came in whisps and wind, the blackness of the forest making it impossible for you to determine where exactly the source was. If there was a source. It omitted what you swore was a chuckle, an unfamiliar sound to you for so long. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck and temples, hair stuck down to your forehead and your skin blazed as you continued to rotate in full circles with your dagger pointed at nothing.

“Y/N, Princess of Dawn and Bringer of Light. What is your business in dwelling here? This is no place for a young Fae girl. Especially one so sweet as yourself, and you wear the blood of ten men. It is as if you hope to die tonight,” the voice whispered, a hot, invisible breath on your neck. “Do you hope to die tonight?”

“No,” you finally spoke into the abyss. “I hope to locate my homelands, I am in search of the High Lord of the Dawn Court. Show yourself.”

The voice ignored your demand, “leave this forest, Princess. For the ones hunting you are far worse than those warriors you slaughtered miles back.”

The stiff cloth of your dress began to itch beneath your robes and you stood taller than before as the voice surrounded you. Perhaps you would die tonight, at least you would have gone out thrashing and fighting until your final breath. There was a mild ache behind your brow and the night sky showed no signs of daybreak.

“And why have you refrained from killing me?” You finally asked, shifting back and forth and contemplating whether or not to begin running again.

“I possess no body. I am nothing but the wind and the trees and the breeze against your skin,” it hummed, cynically. “Cross the river up ahead and veer left, the path will lead you out of the forest and into the countryside where at least you will not be hunted for sport and strewn up and cut open for the creatures that dwell here to eat you alive.”

A cold chill ran up your spine and left your fingers to form fists.The spirit-like being was gone as fast as it had stumbled upon you. How did you know, you wondered idly for a moment. Its presence was absent, the air feeling more desolate and empty than it had moments before. It could very well be a trick, a way to lure you into its very trap and do exactly as it said.

You continued on to the river and went left, just as the being had told you to, as it had cooed into the shell of your ear. It was only about a mile later and you were coming into a dark clearing where animals lay sleeping along large acres of land. There were cows and sheeps first, then you saw pens of pigs and chicken coops further. Looking back, you saw how truly terrifying the forest was in comparison to the moonlit field.There were a set of yellow eyes staring out at you, but as soon as you blinked they were gone as if they were never there to begin with. While you knew you would never know, you threw a prayer up to the Mother regardless and hoped that the breeze-like thing that had most likely saved your life was at peace.

There was very little you could do besides walk along the outskirts of the land and hope to find some inclination of where to locate your court. Your court. The Dawn Court was filled with your people, people who had not seen you in five decades. The memories of your childhood were like knives in your gut, twisting and turning until finally you expelled them from your mind and breathed in deeply. The trek was long and you walked all through the night with no direction of where to go or what to do with yourself. There were not exactly any signs pointing you towards your home, or once home. Now you had no home, the camp was much more like a prison than a home to you.

“Are you lost?” A little Fae girl spoke, taking in your appearance as she found you still walking along the countryside that next morning. She did not appear to be scared, however she was very young and held a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

“Yes,” you almost cried at the sight of her, another human and a female at that. It had been fifty three years since you had encountered someone of the same sex. “Where am I?”

“I live just beyond that hill. You are in the Dawn Court,” she said wearily, pointing over and beyond the hill that sat a few hundred yards away. “Should I fetch my father to help you?”

“No,” you said, knowing well what you had done the night prior and how you appeared. “I am looking to get to the Dawn Court Palace, do you know where I might be able to find it?”

The girl, no more than nine, looked over you once again and it was as if she was assessing your soul. She drew her lips into a fine line and set the basket down to begin spouting off some directions. You nodded, taking in all of them with careful consideration and noting that the spirit had led you onto the right track for some odd reason. Once the girl had finished, she merely bowed her head and turned back towards her house.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The Palace was nothing like you had remembered it. It was so much brighter and broader than you recalled within the narrow escape of your child-mind. The Dawn Court Palace gleamed under the beaming sun that had been burning your skin for hours as you followed the little girl’s instructions.

It was so vast and yet it seemed to call out to you, there was a long way to get to even one of the many stairs leading up to the Palace and so many guards standing tall at every entrance you could see. There was no way in, you thought. Not when you look as you do. Would any of these men even know who you are, you wondered.

“Who goes there?” A loud voice bellowed, bringing you away from your thoughts.

Who says who goes there, you thought. Prick.

Well it looks like Cousin Thesan spared no expense in making sure no one went in unnoticed, you rolled your eyes internally and spun on your heels to meet the look of the brooding male who wielded his weapon against you. He did not recognize you, as you had expected. His eyebrow had a long scar going through it and he held a blade in his hand, waiting for an explanation.

“Stand down!” You matched his tone, standing tall while the male practically laughed in your face.

“You are lucky that I have not already gutted you for crossing into our territory–”

The sound of you swallowing hard could be heard from even where he stood. You planted your feet and let all of those lessons on looking the part of royalty run over you. The guard was cut off by your sharp and fierce voice, “I am Y/N, Princess of Dawn! Stand down or don’t. I can’t say that I really care either way, but you very well might when I cut out your tongue and feed it back down your throat.”

The man went rigid for a moment and he took in a sharp breath. He seemed to be assessing you, his eyes scanned your frame while his weapon remained as it was. A part of you wondered if he thought you were bluffing, however the dried blood seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. He maintained his authoritative stance, only drawing back to call over some of his men. He whispered something into one male’s ear and his face went blanche. He looked over you with such careful consideration and shock, his eyes wide open and doe-like from where you stood.

“You claim to be the Lost Princess?” He finally spoke, tilting his head to the side to expose a long, fleshy scar across his neck.

“Well the last that I checked–I am the only Princess of the Dawn Court, however I am most certainly not lost, sir. I do wish to speak to my cousin, though,” you requested, earnestly. “As soon as possible.”

The Lost Fucking Princess. Who even comes up with this bullshit?

One of the males who adorned guard-like clothing brought you into the Palace wearily. He did not lay a hand on you, but motioned you to walk in front of him as if you posed some sort of threat. Perhaps you did, killing Thesan had crossed your mind once or twice. The idea of watching him writhe excited you quite a bit. The thought nearly brought a smile to your lips, only managing to suppress it when you began climbing the steps.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The male brought you to a throne room, sunlight dancing along the walls and spilling onto the floors. Everything was so magnificent, the aura of the room was nothing short of golden. Blood boiled within you as you recalled all of the years you had wasted away to nothing, hidden in that rotting, despicable camp where all you ate was leftover meat scraps and watered-down soup for over fifty years.

Thesan sat at the forefront of the room, he wore a crown and spoke to the male at his right in a hushed whisper. It was almost as if he did not know you were here, like he was uninformed of your arrival in his court. When the male who brought you in nearly tripped over his feet to murmur into Thesan’s ear, you had your answer. Your cousin’s eyes snapped towards you in an instant, he rose to his feet immediately and you swore you could feel the blood pumping in your ears. With a hot face and white knuckles, you barreled towards him with the intent to kill.

“You promised me! You promised me!” Your magic rippled across the room as you shouted, pure rage causing the ground to shake. “You left me there to rot like vermin! How could you?”

With tunnel vision, the two men who had been holding you back were nearly invisible as the ground continued to shake violently. Thesan was silent, his eyes were wide with genuine revelation and disbelief. Thrashing and clawing and screaming was all you could do. He had taken years from you, good years that had been ripped away and stolen from you as a child.

“You’re nothing but a fucking liar, Thesan. We share blood! I am your family and you threw me out to the wolves. I was twelve years old and you abandoned me. I trusted you with my life. My life!” you cried and flinched at the guards’ hands. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The two men who held you were sent flying backwards by an invisible force, your magic had been provoked and was now rippling off of you in waves. Thesan approached with his hands out, he still had not spoken a word. With a wave, he cleared the room and it was only the two of you left standing.

“Y/N,” he said in a soft hush. “Please just allow me to explain–”

“Explain? Explain how you brought me to your sick fucking camp when I was a girl and lied to everyone under the guise of my protection? Explain how after three months, your letters and visits stopped? Oh, perhaps you plan to explain how you left me to live with ten cursed warriors for over five decades and I have to find out six days ago that Amarantha was defeated by a human girl years ago as I still sat by idly waiting for my dear Cousin Thesan to retrieve me from my own personal living hell?” The words were like knives, piercing Thesan one after another as you resisted the urge to rip out his throat. “Explain, go ahead.”

Thesan could not believe his eyes, nor the venom spewing from your lips. He surveyed your too-thin figure and cold eyes, how they had changed so much since he had last seen you as a small girl. Everything you said was true, to some degree. He could not deny any of it, however he had not realized how the camp had treated you. He had not banished you, but relocated you for reasons of his own before Amarantha could rise to full power. When Thesan caught word of what had begun under the mountain, he made rash decisions and sacrifices that he was not proud of and would have to live with for the rest of his immortal life.

“Y/N, I did send you away for your protection. Do you believe that my brother would have let me live if I sent his only child away to live in squalor while we all reside in a palace? I sent you away because my people were being ripped from their homes and your mere existence puts a target on your back,” he said, steadily. “A Princess, the sole heir to the Dawn Court. It is unheard of. When my brother’s mate–your mother–birthed a girl, our people were ecstatic. As years passed and Amarantha began her show of power, everyone grew antsy for my heir. I tried, I remain trying to produce an heir to this court.”

You shook your head, hot tears running down your dirt-crusted cheeks. “Not good enough,” your voice cracked.

“Please, just hear my words,” he begged you. “When you were twelve years old, I assumed tensions were at their height and our people grew restless. Amarantha had begun slaughtering innocent Fae across Prythian and with no heir, whispers surfaced of the Princess of the Dawn Court. A female heir, one who reeked of power at that. Males who would never kneel before a female began to place bounties on your head, terrified that I would be slayed and there would be no one but you to resume my place.”

Thesan breathed deep, but continued. “I told my brother that the safest option would be to make you disappear. We would claim that you were hunted by Amarantha’s loyal subjects, nowhere to be found. I gathered some of my strongest men who had committed wrongdoings within my court and banished them to the camp where they would be tied until I liberated you.”

“You locked me away with criminals!” You seethed, already knowing but surprised at his willingness to utter the words freely. “How do you think your filthy, touch-starved, vile men acted once I had first bled?”

“This is where I have committed wrong,” he whispered. “It was only supposed to be a year, maybe two while I gained footing and figured out a way to take back what Amarantha had stolen from me. Three months after I sent you away, she captured the entirety of this court. Every court, save for Spring, went Under the Mountain. You were concealed, hidden so well by my wards, that she never even bothered to go looking for you. She believed that her own subjects had killed and discarded you. That was the extent at which things had gotten, she merely trusted the death of the Princess of the Dawn Court was another insignificant casualty to her reign. Everyone believed you to be dead. My letters stopped because I was trapped, my power basically nothing compared to what it once was.”

The truth washed over you slowly, blinking away tears but staying put and shaking your head at him. It was still not good enough, it would never be good enough. For fifty-three years you had known nothing but scraps and gangly men and the dirt underneath your bleeding fingernails.

“It has been years since Amarantha was defeated,” you gritted out. “Defeated by a human girl–”

“Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and human no longer. Myself and the other High Lords used our power to bring her back from death as High Fae,” he told you. “I know you will never forgive me for not retrieving you immediately, however we entered a gruesome war against Hybern and have only just begun to recover and rehabilitate. It is no excuse, I know this. I hoped by now that I would have an heir, nothing has changed in regards to how your existence might be received by this court.”

He had left you there while everyone rejoiced in their freedoms, fought on the frontlines of battle, and then even still once we had won. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage consumed you and yet all you could muster up was a pathetic noise straight from your throat. He had done all of this because he simply was not capable of bearing a child and assumed that you’re suffering was all the more worth it if he could fuck his way to the ideal future High Lord of Dawn. All men are the same, you thought with a sickness churning within you.

“You are a sick excuse for a man,” was all you spat. “Where are my parents?”

“Dead,” he lowered his head. “They died swiftly, soon after we arrived Under the Mountain.”

The gift that just keeps on giving, you thought whilst holding back a near sob. He gazed upon you with pity, finally taking you in wholly. The blood. There was so much blood and he could tell from the scent that it did not belong solely to you.

“What of the men at the camp?”

“Dead,” you replied, just as he had. “I cannot say they went swiftly, as I slaughtered them all.”

The images of blood spewing and spilled flashed across the forefront of your mind, the way that some of them went quick and others went begging for a semblance of mercy. You looked down at your palms, flexing your fingers and feeling the energy throughout your entire body. It pulsed at the tips of your fingers, throbbed in the heels of your feet, and thrummed at the backs of your eyes. Over the years, there had been no one to teach you to manage it so more often than not it consumed you whole.

You could kill him, you let the idea wash over you. Or at least you could try. In his home with all of his warriors, it would prove difficult. He was the High Lord, your High Lord–no, death was too swift and simple. You would need time to plan out your next steps, you pondered whilst maintaining a stone cold facade. You would have to play your cards right, he would deal with you based on how you acted as you stood before him. Truthfully, the idea of living with him puts you on the brink of physical sickness. You would rather die than be forced to stay under the same roof, lips curling slightly with disgust as he gave you another look filled with shame and guilt.

“I will not stay here,” was all you spat at him. “Not here, not in this court with you, I wish to be sent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? Do you understand what will come of your sudden return to our lands?” Thesan’s eyes were fixed on you, his voice near hoarse. “Y/N, I know that–”

“I will not stay here. I ask this one thing of you. I will not spread word of your pathetic sterileness, nor my title to the Dawn Court if you will simply offer me this one thing. Do you not owe it to me?”

While the immense grief and pain in your voice was authentic, you made sure to create the illusion of your complete and utter wreckage. Mustering up tears, you had to get out of this place. There was no possibility of your survival if not, not even at the hands of these so-called people out for your blood–but at the hands of yourself. Every bit of you was exhausted, conveying complete and utter devastation into your eyes as he debated your request.

Do you not owe it to me?

Thesan rubbed violently at the bridge of his nose and nodded to himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment you remembered the admiration you once felt for him. Admiration turned into blazing resentment and rage that had nearly created an earthquake. He wouldn’t force you to reside here under him, would he?

“I will do my best at making other… arrangements,” said Thesan after a few moments of tense silence. “I make no promises, as we may very well be approaching the brink of another war, however in the meantime you should wash up.”

A breath of relief escaped you, “what of the guards who know who I am? I told them.”

“I should like to call in a favor from Rhysand,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

“Leave me, please” you said to the servants gently, thanking them for the filled tub and fresh gown that was laid out for you within the spare bedroom and adjacent bathing room.

Everything was so prim and proper and doused in sunlight, it made you nostalgic for a life that once was. The water was steaming, layers of blood and grime covering you as you sunk down into the tub. The magic of the tub was forced to refresh itself almost as soon as you sat, growing murky immediately as you began to scrub your skin raw.

Would it be easier to drown yourself, you breathed a shallow breath. No, someone was posted outside of the bedroom door listening in. A guard, most likely. He would hear, putting an end to your pathetic excuse of a suicide attempt and then Thesan would never let you leave. Or maybe he would, perhaps your untimely death was just what he hoped for in order to rid himself of the problems you presented him with.

Getting clean felt impossible, even with the tub enchanted to replace its filthy water. Your hair was oily and your skin remained covered in a film of grease. It took over an hour just for you to feel somewhat clean. At the camp, there had thankfully been a tub with running water and an enchantment of certain supplies so you never went without. Food, however, was hunted for you and everyone else. As the only female, every night you received what was left on the bone of whatever animal they had slaughtered in the nearby woods, eating last time and time again.

One of the servants came in to help you dress in the gown custom to the Dawn Court, it fell to your ankles and glistened with what you could have sworn was pure sunlight. The tall woman braided your hair back and applied rogue to your cheeks and an oil to your lips. As you gazed into the mirror before you, you could hardly recognize yourself for the first time in five decades. There was something so regal about you, a light cascading off of you like an aura of gold. Thesan possessed the same coloring, the light pouring out from him in bouts of power.

The woman knew who you were, you could tell that much from the way her eyes danced across your reflection. She said nothing, though. You thanked her, smiling softly as if she had not just seen you covered in days old blood and filth. The Lost Princess, you recalled what the male had referred to you as outside. She has no idea what to think of you, it seems. Maybe that was for the best, perhaps you were better as the shadow of a girl who once was but no longer existed. Instead, some sort of killer prowled beneath your now eternally crimson stained skin.

“The High Lord has called for you,” the woman said softly, pulling you from your thoughts and causing your eyes to drift to meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

Once you had begun your trek back to the same room as earlier, the sun had begun to fall and the sky was painted endless shades of pink and orange. There was so much open space, all of the windows gaping to allow for as much sunlight as possible during the daytime. You had never felt so exhausted, eyes burning from the lack of sleep you had acquired on your journey and the use of power earlier on in the day.

When you entered the room, Thesan was in conversation with a man that you could only assume was Rhysand. He was attractive in an almost inconceivable way, like one of the Gods. None of the males at the camp had resembled anything like him, no one in the Dawn Court resembled anything like him. Lucky High Lady, you thought mindlessly. Rhysand seemed to chuckle at nothing, turning to meet your gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted you with the friendly upturning of his lips. “Welcome back from the dead is in order, I suppose. I’m Rhys.”

“Funny,” you huffed a stiff laugh at him and extended a hand for him to grasp. Power ricocheted off of Rhysand in a way that caused your stomach to flip. “Y/N.”

His eyes simmered with something like pity mixed with amusement, he was not blind to the fact that you still had not looked Thesan in his eyes. Rhysand had been steadfast in arriving at the Dawn Court, his solemn look told you that he had been briefed on some of what was going on. How much, though? What had Thesan deemed important enough to share and what was determined as insignificant. Clearly as you had been cast away as insignificant, he could not be trusted to relay information.

“Rhysand has consulted with his High Lady and they have agreed to offer you a place to stay in the Night Court for as long as you should require it,” Thesan informed you.

“At what cost?”

“No cost,” Rhysand assured you at once. “Thesan has… told me of your circumstances–”

“What circumstances?” You demanded, cutting him off. “What did he tell you?”

There was a tense silence as you grew flustered and aggravated by your cousin. Thesan knew nothing of your circumstances, he knew absolutely nothing of what you had endured. Rhysand had strangely given you a look of understanding, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he had been inside of your mind, reliving the experiences with you.

“He told me of your power, he told me you have yet to learn how to wield it as well. He says that he senses you may have inherited more than just his healing gifts, but that the nature of your identity is sensitive. I admit that I do have to agree with him in concealing your return, Princess–for now, at least,” Rhyand only looked to you, his words carefully chosen so as not to upset you. “I have a house in Velaris, the city where I live, it houses three people as of late. My two brothers, Azriel and Cassian, and my mate’s sister Nesta. You would stay there, it is secluded enough that you will have as much privacy as you desire. I spoke with my healer Madja, she has agreed to allow you to work under her in an apprenticeship of sorts. She’s one of the best, not just in Velaris but anywhere in Prythian. I feel you both may be able to benefit from each other, her experience and your magic. My cousin Mor has offered to train with you once she arrives home from Vallahan on business, until then one of my brothers–”

You cut him off again, “Training? I do not wish to offend you, but why should I need your family to train me?”

“Y/N,” he began, assessing how honest he should be. “You have no muscle built up whatsoever and considering the fact that you have no hold on your own power–I suspect that your ‘training’ consists of the intent to kill and luck. In Velaris you would learn to fight and hopefully hone some of that power.”

It was this or nothing, you knew that. Either you would remain in the Dawn Court, or you would go with Rhysand and figure it out from there. Thesan’s face was now unreadable as you looked between both of the High Lords.

“All the while I hide away so that no one knows my true identity?”

“No,” Rhysand responded. “You have matured, when you left this court you were only a girl. No one in Velaris will question you once I dim some of that power coming off of you. My inner circle knows your true identity, however to everyone else you will be ordinary High Fae. This is partially why you’ll work under Madja.”

Nodding slowly, you consider your options or lack thereof. Rhysand seemed genuine enough, you thought to yourself and could have swore he smiled slightly. Giving Thesan a once over, you met those violet eyes and nodded slowly.

“Alright, I’ll go to Velaris.”

#azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader

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icarusignite · 11 months ago

Text

An Eye for an Eye Ch.5

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"An eye for an eye. A brother for a brother."

Summary: In return for his terrible crime, the kinslayer's wife gives him an equally terrible gift. A gift with a vow; an eye for an eye, a brother for a brother, a debt to be repaid in full with blood.

Word Count: 4.9k

The room was still cloaked in the deep embrace of midnight, the silence broken only by the occasional whisper of a breeze outside, when Daenys stirred in her sleep, a low rasp escaping her parched lips as she slowly emerged from the clutches of a restless dream she could not recall. The air in the chamber felt thick, suffused with an unspoken tension that seemed to mirror the turmoil within her.

As her heavy eyelids fluttered open, she winced at the stabbing pain in her temples, a relentless throbbing that pulsed in rhythm with the beating of her heart. The room swayed gently around her, and she felt a strange stickiness on her cheeks as she blinked away the remnants of tears that had painted trails down her face. Her vision was blurred, as if the world had decided to don a hazy veil, and it took her a few moments to gather her bearings.

Then the sensation of a weight across her waist caught her attention, and when she turned her gaze downward to the source, there he lay, Aemond Targaryen, clinging to her as if she were a lifeline. His eyepatch had been carelessly discarded, revealing the vulnerability of the one who usually bore the mantle of strength. Moonlight spilled through the jagged maw of the window, casting an ethereal glow upon his tousled hair and smooth features, and even in slumber, his face was etched with lines of worry, a reflection of the troubles that plagued him past his waking hours.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm and Daenys resisted the urge to trace the soft glow that highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes. The arm that wasn't wrapped protectively around her waist rested gently on her neck, his fingers entwining with the tendrils of her hair, while his head nestled into the crook of her throat, finding comfort in the curve of her shoulder.

It made Daenys feel sick. His touch burned in a way that made her want to peel off her skin and leave it out to shrivel and crackle in the sun until she was a version of herself he had never laid hands on.

Determined not to disturb her husband's peaceful slumber, she began the delicate task of extricating herself from his hold. With the utmost care, she shifted her body ever so slightly, attempting to loosen the grip of his arms. However, as she maneuvered, Aemond unconsciously tightened his hold, responding with a reflexive sigh that hinted at the reluctance to release his grasp on her.

For a moment, Daenys paused, her heart pounding with trepidation. The moonlight continued to weave its silver tapestry around them, the room shrouded in the stillness of the night. She took a deep breath, determined to continue her discreet escape.

Undeterred by Aemond's unconscious resistance, Daenys resumed her slow, methodical movement. She carefully peeled his arm from around her waist, feeling the tension in his muscles as he unwittingly clung to her. The sigh that escaped him seemed almost like a lament, the complaint of a man reluctant to let go of an anchor during a storm.

Step by step, she managed to slide away from him, the silk sheets whispering softly in response to her cautious retreat until she finally slipped out, her feet landing on the broken glass that littered the room. She held in the pained whine that threatened to escape her lips and surveyed her surroundings carefully. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for until her gaze settled on the dagger strapped to Aemond's belt. The weapon seemed to beckon to her, and without thinking Daenys found herself reaching for it.

With a deft hand, she unsheathed the dagger, its metallic rasp muffled. The cold touch of the blade sent a shiver down her spine and she held it tightly, the weight of the weapon grounding her as she considered her next move.

She wondered if this was the same dagger Aemond had offered up to her brother. The very same dagger that would have rid Luke of his eye.

Daenys glanced back at her sleeping husband, her hands moving unconsciously again and she didn't even know she had moved until the wicked blade was below Aemond's chin. It would be so easy. One smooth movement, one whispered hush with no one but the moon as her witness and then it'd be over. She could leave him bleeding into his own sheets, in the same bed where he had whispered all the lies to her. She could be rid of him.

Something hungry inside her begged for that crimson fountain to bubble forth and she hazarded pressing the weapon closer, its razor-sharp edge hovering just above his throat. She could almost feel the warmth of his skin beneath the cold steel, a stark contrast to the iciness that gripped her heart. The blade traced an invisible line, too close and too far apart all at once, the distance between two lovers, the distance between a promise and a lie.

Then he said her name.

Not in the coherent syllables of a fully conscious man, but a whispered invocation of her name as a desperate reach from the recesses of his slumber.

Daenys placed a hand over his seeing eye, and the furrow in his brow seemed to melt away at her touch. She could carry out the deed now, in the quiet of the night, and he would not even see it coming. His eyes would fly open, only to be met with an abyss of darkness, a void that would swallow both sight and consciousness.

Darkness and then nothing.

It would be a mercy.

Then she pulled back with a sigh. He did not deserve such a mercy. He did not deserve such a painless death of confusion and darkness. No, he deserved the spectre of fear that must have haunted Luke. She refused to hand Aemond over to the Stranger so easily. She would make him beg for it when the time came.

But now was not that time, and she could not risk awakening the entirety of the Red Keep for the sake of the sadistic desire that unfurled beneath her ribs.

For now, she had to go home and pledge her allegiance to the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Still clutching the dagger tightly, she tiptoed across the chamber, her feet seeking refuge in the spaces between scattered belongings, avoiding the treacherous shards of the shattered debris. Despite her meticulous efforts, the floor betrayed her intentions, and a faint trail of deformed carmine footsteps marked her silent journey across the room.

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the door handle, and to her surprise, it yielded effortlessly beneath her touch. Turning one last time to ensure her husband's continued slumber, Daenys cast a glance over her shoulder.

Then she scowled and stepped outside, flinching when her bruised soles made contact with the cold marble outside.

"Princess?"

The knight from earlier stood sentinel near the doorway, an unexpected obstacle in her path. Ser Percival, if she recalled correctly, the very same man who had shown her some semblance of kindness when she had been ordered to the Queen's chambers to be a part of Aegon's cruel joke, and if she tried hard enough she could remember him asking Aemond to let her return home. She could not say how much of the latter was true though, as much of the events that followed were a blur in her memory, clouded over by her own consciousness.

"Is everything all right, princess?" Ser Percival inquired, his voice gentle.

Daenys nodded hastily, panic tightened her chest as she let her eyes silently plead with her captor to let her continue her escape undetected. Before she could slip away, however, the knight's gauntleted hand closed firmly around her wrist.

"Forgive me, my lady, but you cannot leave. It would be against my orders, and I'd find myself in grave trouble."

Daenys, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes flickering nervously toward the open door of Aemond's chambers, praying that he remained undisturbed in his slumber. Ser Percival, following her gaze, frowned in understanding but maintained his grip on her wrist.

"Pleas—please, I must go," she implored, her voice a quiet plea laced with desperation. Her fingers, concealed around the hilt of the dagger behind her back, tightened instinctively. She wished not to resort to violence, but she would do it if pushed any further.

The knight's gaze softened, a fleeting expression of pity in his eyes. "I understand, princess, but I cannot allow it. I am sworn to keep watch, and letting you go would betray...the king."

Daenys's eyes hardened and she wrenched her hand away from him aggressively, "I would cut your tongue out for being a traitor. Be grateful I do not have more time."

When she turned around to depart, he did not stop her a second time, only watching apologetically as he heard the young prince stir awake in his chambers behind him.

Aemond Targaryen was immediately aware of the absence of the familiar weight beside him, and panic surged through him, a cold realization that his wife was no longer in the bed where he had last seen her before drifting off to sleep. When his hand strayed to his waist where his scabbard was empty of his dagger his heart dropped.

In an instant, he bolted upright, disoriented by the abrupt awakening. His seeing eye darted around the chamber, searching for any sign of her, hoping to see her pacing agitated form. When the truth sank in, a surge of urgency propelled him to the door, and the knight stationed outside looked up with a start as he burst through.

"Where is she?" the prince demanded, his voice edged with a mix of fear and anger. The knight's eyes widened, and he struggled to find the words to convey what had just transpired.

"The princess... she just..."

There was a stammer in the knight's voice, and he was unable to meet Aemond's intense gaze. It was not often that the one-eyed prince walked about without his eyepatch on, and his singular gaze was strikingly unsettling, making it difficult to look at him for too long.

"I will not ask again. Where. Is. My. Wife?" he enunciated the words slowly, as if speaking to a fool, his hands coming up to grab the trembling man in front of him by the shoulders.

"She...she left, my prince."

"Left? Left where? What do you mean? It was your job to watch over her! Where is she?"

Ser Percival, caught between duty and the fury in Aemond's eyes, gestured vaguely in the direction opposite to where Daenys had gone. Still, the prince's sharp gaze scrutinized both sides of the hallway and, to his horror, he noticed the faint bloody footprints that marked her departure. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

"What happened to her?" Aemond growled, his fingers digging into the knight's armour. "Why is there blood? Answer me!"

Now pinned against the wall, Ser Percival struggled to maintain composure, "I don't know, my prince. She just left. I tried to stop her, but she insisted on going. I... I don't know anything about the blood."

"You tried to stop her? And you couldn't have tried harder? You, a knight of the realm, could not stop that wraith of a girl? Seven hells, and you're expected to protect my brother the king?"

If fear hadn't laid siege to his mind, Percival might have scoffed. Wraith of a girl? The princess was a little more than that. Something in her voice reminded him of another who once roamed these halls. He never thought he'd hear that voice again, the dominating tone of the Commander of the City Watch coming from the mouth of the silver-haired princess, and for a moment it was as if Percival's old mentor had returned to life, if only to scorn him for being a traitor. Perhaps that is why he had let her go in the first place, as some sort of penance.

Aemond's eyes flared with anger, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could have transpired in his absence. Without another word, he released the knight and stormed down the corridor, following the bloody trail left by his fleeing wife. His mind threw his way an onslaught of worst-case scenarios. Was she still sick in the head from her fever? Had she thrown herself off some balcony or slit her throat? Or was the dagger meant for someone else? Would he find her standing above Aegon's bed, or worse, his mother's or Helaena's, her hands and his dagger drenched with their blood? He would not put it past her.

He wondered what state he'd find her in. The version of her who dug craters into her arms as if they were graves, whose eyes contained a glint of mania that spoke of impossible actions. Or the version who would plead and cry and allow him to hold her once he finally reached her.

He knew which version he preferred. He knew which one of them was easier to subdue.

Aemond pursued Daenys's trail to a painting on the wall, and he immediately knew where she was headed, even as the footsteps ended with a faint smattering of red in the darkness. It was a path well traversed by both of them, for late-night escapades in Flea Bottom, and he quickened his step.

Eventually, he arrived at a secluded courtyard, where in the dim light, he discerned a figure—limping, dragging one foot behind, and cloaked in the shadows.

Approaching cautiously, Aemond's heart ached at the sight of his wife. She really was a wraith of a girl here, her unbound hair a spill of starlight down her back, and her silhouette, fragile and ghostly. Before he could take another step, she whirled around, a dagger clutched in her hands, poised as a barrier between them.

"Daenys," Aemond called out, his voice gentle and laced with concern. "What are you doing out here? The hour is late and it's freezing. Let me take you back to bed."

Daenys, her eyes hollow and distant, stared at him through the dim light. The dagger remained a silent sentinel between them, the one-eyed prince watched it cautiously, not knowing who she'd use it against.

"You're hurt, Daenys. Let me help you. I'll carry you back if I have to. Just please...let us return."

She backed away, her movements cautious and guarded. The moonlight danced on the blade in her hand, casting glimmers of silver across her face. A fleeting smile crossed her lips, but her eyes remained distant, as if she were standing at the edge of a precipice. The fever that had gripped her earlier seemed to have subsided, yet an unnatural flush lingered on her skin. Aemond, sensing the fragility of her mind, extended a hand toward her.

"Daenys give me the weapon. You'll hurt yourself."

Daenys's gaze, still clouded and enigmatic, flickered between the dagger and Aemond's outstretched hand.

"You know I wondered if you'd come after me," she finally spoke, her voice low and contemplative. "I even hoped for it."

"You wanted me to come for you? Well, you wanted me, so here I am. Let us go back then."

"No that's not why I wanted you here."

"Then...why?" Aemond's brow furrowed, not understanding the game she played.

"I'm not entirely sure."

Daenys paused. She was leaving here tonight, that much was certain. She had made up her mind about it and there was nothing that could keep her from it. She had hoped to slip away unnoticed, but she couldn't deny the thrill that shot through her bloodstream to see her husband's cautious form trailing after her like a shadow. He was asking for it at this point. If he laid a hand on her, she would end him, but if he didn't...then well, it remained to be seen. The night hungered for bloodshed, and perhaps she'd oblige, although she hadn't yet decided who would make the sacrifice.

She raised the dagger, her smile mirroring the sharp edge of the blade, and her husband instinctively raised his hands placatingly.

"Daenys, put the knife down," he implored, his voice a gentle but urgent plea.

"Do not worry, lord husband," she murmured. "It's not for you."

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest, the dread of the unknown tightening its grip. What did she mean? Was she planning to end her own life; did she wish to hurt him by making him watch?

"Who is it for, then?"

"Would you like for it to be for you?"

"I-No, that's not..."

Daenys placed the dagger against her collarbone, and Aemond blanched. Amused by his reaction she cocked her head to the side, as if contemplating a profound question.

"What would you do if I said it was for me?"

Aemond's seeing eye widened, the realization sinking in like a heavy stone in his stomach. He took another step closer and the courtyard seemed to narrow around them.

"Why would you even think of doing something like that?"

"I don't know. Why would you think of doing something like what you did?"

She trailed the dagger up the column of her throat, and then further up until it rested just above her left eye. The one-eyed prince's breath hitched, and something inside of him knew where this was going. He should have surged forward, he should have wrestled the weapon away from her, he should have slammed her head against the stone wall behind her, if only to stop her next actions.

All he was capable of doing at that moment though, was standing still, waiting with baited breath.

"You know I thought about it. I thought about ending myself right here in front of you. Letting you watch as I bled to death here. I wondered if that would hurt you half as much as you have hurt me. But that would be no fun at all, would it? And it would make no difference to you."

She took a deep breath, the slight waver in her lungs being the first sign of real emotion she had shown all evening.

"And besides...why should I die? Why should I be the one to," — another shudder— "why should I be the one to die for your crimes? I have so much left to do, so why should I do you the favour of ending myself, when you don't give the slightest damn about me?"

"That's not true. You know that that's not true. You are the one person I care about most," Aemond was pleading now. In fact, he might have sunk to his knees in front of her, the way she had for him, but there was still too much pride left in him.

"Liar. You are nothing but a fucking liar."

"Daenys pleas-you aren't well...let us..."

"An eye for an eye was it?" her words burned with fury but they remained calm, nonchalant as if she was merely discussing the weather. "Well then, did you get the eye you so desired? Did you pluck out my dead brother's eye? Did that bring you peace husband?"

Aemond was taken aback. Is that what she thought of him then? Someone who would desecrate a corpse like that —not that there was a corpse to begin with. Someone that heartless and cruel? But he supposed he had given her all the reasons to believe him so.

"No! Of course not. Why would I...you have to know it was an accident. I would never..."

"Pity. If you had taken what you were owed, then perhaps you might have given the rest of him to me. Perhaps then there'd be something of him to burn."

"You know I would never do such a thing. To violate a corpse-"

"Says the man who has no trouble at all violating the living. Tell me, is there a greater violation than murder?"

The one-eyed prince was rendered speechless, so his wife continued with a long-suffering sigh.

"The fact of the matter remains then. Your debt has not been paid. We shall have to remedy that. If it is an eye you want, it's an eye you shall get."

Daenys's subsequent grin had an unhinged quality to it and for the first time in his life, Aemond Targaryen found himself afraid of his wife. Perhaps equal parts afraid of her and afraid for her.

"I don't want anything," he whispered, shaking his head. "I don't want anyone's eyes. Daenys please you're scaring me."

"Ah, that's a shame. The debt must be paid after all. Unpaid debts lead to deadly grudges, as you probably already know."

Before Aemond could respond, before he could move a single muscle, she had already lifted the dagger to press deeper into her skin. In the brief second before her skin split, she thought of Luke. She thought of his pale lifeless body floating in the sea, his empty fingers reaching out but never holding. She imagined he'd look something like Lord Caswell, whose bloated swaying form hung from the stone arch behind Aemond.

The dead were all the same, in that they were dead.

Some things were worth spilling blood for. Some people were worth bleeding for.

The blade left a neat, horrifying slash across her left eye, tracing a line from brow to cheekbone. Daenys bit her lip, stifling the instinctive shriek that begged to escape her throat. Aemond, recoiled with horror, feeling the spectre of pain that unfolded before him almost viscerally.

A thin line of crimson welled from the fresh wound, staining her pale skin, but she was resolute, determined to bear her suffering silently, just as Lucerys had. She would carry her silence to her grave, just as her brother had. Still, the twitch in her lips belied her. The dagger dropped from her trembling fingers, echoing against the courtyard stones, and without hesitation, she drove her hands into the bloody aftermath.

Blood gushed over her face, a torrent of red that reminded Aemond so much of his injury. He watched in numb shock as Daenys pried apart the torn skin and drew out her eye, the macabre appendage trailing a bloody root. She cradled it for a moment in her hands as if one might cradle a newborn babe, and though her other eye leaked a steady stream of tears, her face remained expressionless.

Aemond was jolted from his initial paralysis when she walked forward to press the disembodied thing into his shaking hands.

"I always did say I would have given you one of my own, you only had to ask," Daenys's whispered voice was strained as if it took all her remaining strength to keep it steady. "I would have given it to you with my blessing and a kiss."

She grabbed his jaw, her fingers leaving red smears on the prince's chin. Then she pressed a kiss to his frozen lips, staining them too. She tasted of blood, and although her actions were smooth, precise, her hatred felt unfamiliar and hard. Something within her had torn loose. She wanted to devour him. She wanted to chew him up and spit him out so he resembled the mass he cradled so protectively in his hands.

There was no time for that now. She could feel her consciousness slipping, feel her resolve crumbling as more of her flowed out of the gaping wound in her face. If she passed out here, then everything would be for nought, and she'd never make it back home.

"I-I never asked for it."

"You never asked for it, but now you have it."

With a curse and a kiss.

"Here's your debt repaid in full Aemond. An eye for an eye."

"I'm sorry, gods I'm so sorry," Aemond's eye filled with tears, the one that could shed tears anyway.

He had lost his right eye, and she had given him her left. Standing side by side, they might have made a whole person even. He could still feel it, when she had sliced into herself, he had felt the sharpness of his nephew's blade and for a few short moments, he was ten again, except this time there was no thrill of riding Vhagar for the first time humming in his blood. Only guilt and horror.

"Oh, Aemond. Valzȳrys."

The prince's heart clenched at the sound of the words that spilled from his wife's lips. A remnant of another time when they were full of love, but there was no affection in her eyes—eye, for only one of them was capable of emotion— now. There was only emptiness.

"I have paid the debt my brother owed you. But rest assured, the blood of Lucerys will be repaid tenfold. A debt your entire family will pay. A brother for a brother if you will."

Aemond's blood ran cold.

"What are you insinuating?"

"I don't have to insinuate anything. I will kill your brother. A fair trade don't you think, a brother for a brother, especially now that you have my eye."

"I did not ask for your eye!" Aemond raised his voice in frustration.

"And I did not ask for you to kill Lucerys... yet here we are."

"That was an-"

"Do not say accident, you fucking coward. At least own up to it. At least admit to your crime."

She turned around to leave, her tongue heavy and her eyelids heavier. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay on her feet.

"You're leaving?"

Daenys scoffed, her voice barely audible now, "You expect me to stay in this prison then? Play house with the man who murdered my brother, pay my respects to his traitor brother and conniving mother? The family who stole my mother's birthright?"

Something in Aemond snarled at her insult toward his mother, or perhaps it was the panic that reared its head because she was leaving. She was finally leaving, just as his grandsire had warned him. She was going to abandon him.

"You cannot leave. I am your lord husband. If I demanded it, you would have to stay," Aemond snapped.

She could not leave him, she would not. Not her. Not the only thing in the world that he had for himself, the only good thing that had ever happened to him. The only thing his brother hadn't spoiled for him, although he supposed he had ruined it all by himself without any help.

"You really think you can make me stay, because what? The gods say that I must? Abide by your pathetic rules that bind wives to their husbands, slave to their every whim. I did not make vows of obedience to you. I do not have to listen to a word you say."

"No, please. Don't go. Don't leave me here," Aemond's tone shifted immediately.

He inched forward faster now. Beseeching her to let him hold her. To let him keep her. He reached out to snag her forearm but she shook him off just as swiftly. Her skin was burning. She was burning. He could have held on harder, could have forced her but she had picked up his dagger again and he could not imagine where she'd embed it next.

"Would you come then? If I asked you to abandon your family and support my mother's true claim, would you come with me," she meant to mock him, but something in her eyes implored him.

It was a chance. It would not absolve him of his sin, but she shared in his Kinslaying and if he bent the knee to her mother, then perhaps one day she might be able to forgive him, and forgive herself too.

Aemond stayed silent, his jaw clenched, his outstretched hand retreating. That was the one thing he could not do.

"I do not hold a candle to the flame you harbour for your family. Who was I to think that you would choose me."

The one-eyed prince frowned, a tear trickling down his face.

Or I to think that you would choose me.

He watched her limp away, her hand coming up to cup her face only when she had turned around, her back toward him.

He let her go, and when she finally disappeared from view, his attention returned to the carnage he still clutched tightly in his hands. His anger, his panic, had made him ball his fists, and when he separated his fingers, he was relieved to find the bloody sphere still whole, the violet iris wide and unseeing.

He finally sank to his knees, unable to keep down the surge of bile that rose in his throat, and burned his way out of his mouth, depositing the meagre contents of his stomach on the stone floor.

The moon continued its silent vigil, casting a luminous embrace over the troubled prince as he heaved, still clutching the final remnant of what he had lost.

He had always been a better knife than a person and now he had turned the girl he loved into a gaping wound. She hated him, but he knew he'd see her again. It was the law of the world, for a knife and a wound to seek each other out, because they spoke in a language of damage no one else did.

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3 Comment to be added to the taglist

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #icarusignite writes #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #jacaerys velaryon #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #game of thrones #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon aemond #daemon targeryan #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon fanfic #aegon x reader

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koyaildoesstuff · 1 month ago

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Cozy cuddle week 2025

@rivendellwatch

1./ "You’re cold. Get over here." – One character dramatically refuses to admit they’re freezing, until they’re forcibly tucked under a blanket by someone exasperated but fond.

This was legit the first idea I had, and the last I wrote lol

The povs are all over the place sorry. It’s 3rd person, but I kept shifting on whether I was doing it from more Cele or elronds pov in 3rd person.

Bit of angsty feelings. This one kinda got away from me when writing. It ends with so much cuddles tho

Celebrimbor and Elrond

cloaks

“Elrond, for the love of the Valar, will you please put on the cloak.”

Celebrimbor’s voice was lovingly frustrated with the Peredhel. The pair were outside Ost-in-Edhil, riding horses. Both needed the well-deserved break, and they had spent the whole day together, doing a picnic, and exploring Eregion. Well, Elrond was exploring. Celebrimbor knew his own realm like the back of his hands, which were the hands that built the realm.

The wind had picked up, and the pair were losing sunlight. The temperature was also dropping, and it caught Elrond off guard. Celebrimbor had given him his cloak, but Elrond refused to wear it. He had spent the last ten or so minutes trying to sneak it back onto Celebrimbor’s horse.

He was cold, yes, but he didn’t want to have to use Celebrimbor’s source of warmth. He will deal with it. Never mind the fact that his skin was so cold that even the lightest brush of something against it felt like a dagger.

“I don’t need it,” Elrond grumbles back. He did. They both knew it. Elrond was trying not to shiver, but his body chose that moment to betray him.

Elrond hears Celebrimbor sigh next to him. He turns to glare at him, but Celebrimbor is quicker. He puts a hand out to stop Elrond’s horse, bringing his own to a stop as well. He dismounts, and holds his hand out for Elrond to take to dismount his. Elrond looks at it skeptically, and doesn’t move. Celebrimbor sighs again, before pulling Elrond off his horse, who immediately starts to protest and squirm in his arms.

“What are you-, put me down, I’m fine.”

“Oh you’re fine you say,” Celebrimbor says, tightening his grip against Elrond’s wrist. It wasn’t enough to hurt him normally, but with how cold his skin is, Elrond can’t help but let out a pained hiss at the action. Celebrimbor continues, “Well I’m sure my darling wouldn’t mind riding on my horse then, so I can use him for my warmth. Unless he was trying to actively avoid me, of course.”

Elrond looks away, and Celebrimbor pulls him into a hug. “Come on love, you’re freezing. It’s not a weakness, stop treating it as such.”

Elrond grumbles into Celebrimbor’s chest. “It means I’m different. Elves don’t get cold that easily. I hate it.”

“Now now my sweet Peredhel, none of that. It means that you are the most beautiful creature I have ever met. There isn’t a day where I wake up to you next to me that I don’t look at you and think ‘how did I get so lucky? He’s so pretty.’ No elf could ever compare to you, as you have gone through things that they wouldn’t understand. You don’t let that stop you either. You are so stunning and strong, and a little reaction to the cold does not make you less of an elf, less of the ellon I adore. So please Elrond, take the cloak and join me on my horse. We are losing daylight.”

Elrond’s eyes glisten with unshed tears at Celebrimbor’s words. He lets Celebrimbor wrap the cloak around him. It’s a beautiful cloak, green with a Fëanorian star and holly leaves. It was Curufin’s, passed down to his son. Celebrimbor fastened it with a holly brooch he made. Elrond didn’t feel deserving of it, just as he didn’t feel deserving of the cloaks Maedhros and Maglor had given him and Elros. But the Fëanorian in front of him disagreed. Elrond had as much claim to the family’s symbols as Celebrimbor did.

Celebrimbor cupped Elrond’s cheek, looking at him fondly. “Come on melda. Let us return home.”

Celebrimbor ties the other horse’s lead to his own horse. Elrond mounts Celebrimbor’s horse first, and Celebrimbor mounts behind him. One of the smith’s hands holds the reins, and the other rests snugly on Elrond’s stomach, stroking lightly. Celebrimbor’s body heat helped the shivering elf, and Elrond found himself melting into the other’s chest.

The pair arrive back in Ost-in-Edhil just as the sun is setting. They return the horses back to the stables before heading to their shared chambers. Celebrimbor leads Elrond with an arm over his shoulder. Once they arrive to their chambers, Elrond finds himself whisked away to the bedroom. He is tired from the pair’s date, but he doesn’t like where this was going, or the mischievous glint in Celebrimbor’s eyes as he leaves the bedroom.

Elrond struggles with the brooch, trying to undo it with numb fingers. He didn’t realize he had gotten that cold. He was stubborn, but not stupid. He was a healer, and knew the consequences of not taking care of one’s self in the cold. Maybe Celebrimbor was right, he begrudgingly admitted to himself.

Elrond just finishes undoing the brooch and taking off his shoes when Celebrimbor returns. Celebrimbor has his uncles’ cloaks in hand, the ones they gave Elrond. A red one for Maedhros, and a blue one for Maglor. He sets them down on the chaise near the fireplace, before getting to work to light said fireplace. Elrond sits on the floor next to Celebrimbor, who smiles at him. He grabs his father’s cloak from Elrond, and lays it out in front of the fire. He points towards it, and Elrond gets the idea, sitting on the cloak. Celebrimbor grabs the two other cloaks from the chaise, as well as a few pillows. He sits next to Elrond before lying down in front of the fire, pulling Elrond down with him, and tucking him into his side. The cloaks’ purpose is now clear, as Celebrimbor drapes them over the two of them as a blanket.

Elrond snuggles into Celebrimbor’s side, chasing his body heat. Celebrimbor grabs his hands, and holds them to help warm them up.

“I’m sorry for being stubborn. I…I didn’t realize I had gotten that cold otherwise I wouldn’t have been like that.”

Valar, Celebrimbor thinks, Elrond sounds so small. Maybe it’s the memory of being tucked in under the same cloaks when he was younger. Celebrimbor kisses his forehead.

“It’s ok my love. It just means you’re trapped with me in front of the fire for a bit.”

Elrond decides to play with Celebrimbor a bit, and squirms in his arms, trying to get out of the cloak pile. Celebrimbor laughs, and starts to tickle Elrond to get him to stop. Elrond finally concedes in tears from all his laughing.

“Keep that up melda and I will swaddle you in Maitimo’s cloak.”

“No no, I’m fine just cuddling with you.” Elrond curls back into Celebrimbor’s side, who strokes his back. His skin was no longer cold to the touch, and he once again found himself right where he loved to be - in Celebrimbor’s arms.

Celebrimbor chuckles. “Rest now melda. I love you.”

“I love you more,” Elrond sleepily replies.

“I will tickle you again. That is simply just not true. I love you more!”

“No!”

The sound of laughter filled the room as Celebrimbor made true on his threat.

This is my last entry for cozy cuddle week. Thank you so much Bucky for organizing this week, I had so much fun, and it really helped me be more confident in my writing. 6 stories in 6 days. I think I did pretty good for someone who wasn’t planning on participating at all!

All my fics from this week have been posted to my ao3, the_cryptid_witch

Thank you again everyone for all the kind words. Borahae peeps 💜

#elronds family tree is a wreath #elrond #celebrimbor x elrond #celebrimbor #trop #silmarillion #cozy cuddle week 2025

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shadow-djinni · 22 days ago

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The Definitive Case for a Romantic Reading of Manshoon and Fzoul's Relationship

Allow me to preface this: yes, I'm well aware of what the surface reading of the text says, and that on all levels but physical I am this guy:

Memes aside, this is (finally) the ship meta I’ve been threatening my friends with for months and this blog with for the last week, in which I intend to argue that by canonical text across multiple sourcebooks and novels, one can (and perhaps should) read the dynamic between Manshoon and Fzoul as much more intimate, and indeed potentially romantic, than the intended surface-level reading of the text implies. To this end, what follows will analyze both tabletop sourcebooks, including a published adventure module, and several novels and short stories for what their subtext actually says about the nature of their relationship.

Fair warning: this is long, and continues below the cut to spare your dashes.

Introduction: Shadow, who exactly are Manshoon and Fzoul?

For those of you who haven't spent the last year and a half at least marinating at the bottom of a heap of older Forgotten Realms lore, Manshoon of Zhentil Keep and Fzoul Chembryl are the founders of the Zhentarim, the most infamous espionage, covert ops, and (lately) mercenary organization in the Realms. Manshoon is regarded as one of the most dangerous mortal mages in the region, capable of going toe-to-toe with the likes of Elminster and other Chosen of Mystra; Fzoul began as a powerful priest of Bane and eventually was elevated to the status of Bane’s Chosen. The pair of them comprised two-thirds of the original Inner Circle of the Zhentarim, and led the organization from its founding in 1261 DR to their deaths in 1383 DR. They are first introduced in the original Forgotten Realms Campaign Set boxed set for AD&D 1e, making their initial appearances in the DM’s Sourcebook of the Realms from that set, on pages 22 (Fzoul) and 25/26 (Manshoon), and appear as a set up through D&D 3e. Fzoul's most recent appearance in published tabletop material is in the 4e Campaign Guide, which describes him as having been elevated to the status of an exarch (4e’s demipower equivalent) after his death; Manshoon’s situation is more complicated but at least two of his clones are active as of 5e, one operating covertly in Waterdeep (Waterdeep: Dragon Heist), the other a vampire in Westgate. They're among the longest-running NPCs, antagonistic or otherwise, in the setting. Outside of tabletop sourcebooks, Manshoon and Fzoul make appearances together or separately across a dozen or so novels and short stories, with their first novel appearance in Spellfire, originally published within a year of the Campaign Set’s production.

Officially, source texts claim their relationship is antagonistic, describing them as “[respecting] the power each holds, though each despises the other personally” (Ruins of Zhentil Keep, p. 34), or that “[Manshoon was] hated and mistrusted by his ally Fzoul, [while] Manshoon calmly manipulated the priest as he did all others…” (Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting for 3e, p. 283). However, these self-same texts repeatedly undercut these statements, suggesting implicitly a high degree of interpersonal intimacy and no small amount of trust, which I will dissect in the rest of this essay.

We’ll begin with sourcebook material, which I will be taking chronologically in-universe, analyzing the following texts: Ruins of Zhentil Keep for 2e, which is and remains my primary source, Villains’ Lorebook for 2e, Cloak and Dagger for 2e, and what little is mentioned in the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting for 3e, with brief dips as relevant into other sources. After this, we’ll turn our attention to a handful of relevant novels and short stories: “Lord of the Darkways”, “So High a Price” (both the original Realms of Infamy publication and the revised version from Best of the Realms 2), and Spellfire and Crown of Fire from the “Shandril’s Saga” series.

Canon gives us very little on Manshoon and Fzoul's early years. Our original description comes from the article “Something is Rotten at the Citadel of the Raven” from Polyhedron #83, published in 1992, but the information is repeated largely unchanged in Ruins of Zhentil Keep, which being the tabletop supplement takes precedence. We don't even have an official birth year given for Fzoul, but given that he and Manshoon are described as “childhood friends” in both sources, he’s likely within a few years of Manshoon’s given birth year of 1229 DR. Manshoon’s father was First Lord of the Council of Lords, while Fzoul is described as “the only child of a minor noble of Zhentil Keep” (Ruins p. 107), which certainly places their formative years in close proximity to one another despite Fzoul's early entry into the priesthood of Bane. In 1258 DR, as the son of a council lord, Manshoon—along with his brother, Asmuth, and a close friend, Chess son of Calkontor—was dispatched from the Keep to prove himself worthy of inheritance. While the lord-princes were abroad, their fathers were slain, and their seats on the council usurped; one of the usurpers, Ulsan Baneservant, was Fzoul's own high priest. Upon their return to the Keep in 1260, Ulsan attempted to have the lord-princes assassinated, and it is only after this—and despite the risk—that Manshoon reached out to Fzoul to secure his aid in deposing Ulsan so Manshoon could reclaim his rightful seat. I've already gone on about this at length on this blog, because I'm normal about them.

In 1263 DR, Fzoul schismatized the Church of Bane. The orthodox stance of the church is that it exists solely to “do Bane’s will, kill his enemies, and bring more followers into the nest” (Ruins, p. 65). Fzoul, described at the time as “an intrepid young priest of middling experience” (p. 65) held a different stance: that “the proper worship of the god of tyranny was to support a tyrant, and the most efficient tyrant around was Manshoon,” (Ruins, p. 107) and that they might “reap great profits” (p. 65) by allying with him. The problem with this, of course, is that Manshoon was only 34 and had held his council seat for just three years at that point, and wouldn't be named First Lord of Zhentil Keep for another 70 years (1334 DR). Regardless, Fzoul's doctrinal difference proved popular—other Banites recognized the benefits of both doctrine and collaboration with the Zhentarim, and his faction waxed as the Orthodoxy under the High Imperceptor waned. Ruins says the High Imperceptor “tolerated Fzoul and his followers, despite what he considered blasphemy by these Banites” up until 1357 DR, though several other sources (to be discussed in greater depth in the novels section) mention multiple attempts on Fzoul and Manshoon’s lives during the decades between 1263 and 1357.

While Ruins of Zhentil Keep is quick to reassure us that the two of them dislike each other, it also describes Fzoul as “careful to remain necessary to and friends with Manshoon” (p. 107), the two of them as having “thrown [their] lots in with [each other]” (p. 67), and that Manshoon considers Fzoul “invaluable” (p. 107). Additionally, Villains’ Lorebook describes them as “as close as two evil men can ever be” (Villains’ Lorebook p. 26).

With that all laid out: the pair of them ran the Zhentarim together in this way for nearly a century before the Godswar in 1358 DR. Both of them are quite lethal—Fzoul is described as being perfectly willing to wade into combat himself, and Manshoon is, as described above, capable of going toe-to-toe with some of the greatest spellscasters in the Realms. If the two of them genuinely wanted each other dead, they're more than capable of killing each other. Additionally, we have an example of a genuinely antagonistic relationship within the Inner Circle of the Zhentarim: Fzoul and Sememmon, the third member of their trio and one of Manshoon's former apprentices. Fzoul and Sememmon's relationship is best described as contentious—an “all-consuming (and time-consuming) obsession” (Ruins of Zhentil Keep p. 112) which has led the two of them to multiple attempts on each other's life, and led Fzoul to “[work] out contingency plans with Manshoon in case Sememmon ever makes a play to depose his former teacher as leader of the Zhentarim.” (Villains’ Lorebook, p. 26)

This is, of course, the point where anyone familiar with the lore goes “wait, hang on, Shadow, didn't Fzoul actually kill Manshoon at one point?”

And well. Yes. He did. Ches 6, 1370 DR.

However. The same source, Cloak and Dagger for 2e, that describes the event and that gives us our nice, clear timeline on the lead-up to the assassination and the beginning of the Manshoon Wars (wherein many of Manshoon's clones awakened at once, were driven mad by it, and fought each other all over the Realms) also calls into question just how voluntary this was on Fzoul's part.

I am speaking, of course, of Iyachtu Xvim, the demipower son of Bane. In the early months of 1369 DR, after the destruction of the northern half of Zhentil Keep by forces commanded by Cyric, Xvim made contact with Fzoul, leading Fzoul to turn to his worship and begin leading holdout Banites and forcibly converted formerly Banite Cyricists into Xvim’s faith as an alternative to Cyric. Concurrent with that initial contact, Xvim also begins possessing Fzoul, beginning in Ches 1369 (Cloak and Dagger, p. 9) and recurring throughout that year to accomplish Xvim’s goals. Under Xvim’s control, Fzoul locates the High Imperceptor in Mulmaster and publicly decries him as a traitor to the faith (Cloak and Dagger p. 11), establishes an alliance with Teldorn Darkhope of Mintar (p. 12) and begins work on the artifact that will eventually become the Scepter of the Tyrant’s Eye (p.12). And on Ches 3, 1370, “Fzoul receives a vision from Xvim, demanding the ‘death of the failed tyrant more interested in money and secrets than might’.” (Cloak and Dagger, p. 13) That is, to say: Manshoon. Additionally, Cloak and Dagger does not fully detail the clash between Manshoon and Fzoul that resulted in Manshoon’s death at his hands—Fzoul may have been possessed at the time, or otherwise forced or coerced into it.

Regardless, what Fzoul chose to do afterwards is also interesting—he lies to his and Manshoon's subordinates, claiming first that “Manshoon suffered grievous injuries in this long night of attacks and magically travelled to Zhentil Keep to convalesce” (p. 13) while “revealing” to select high-ranking individuals that “Manshoon had been driven mad by unknown forces, and they were not to trust or obey him until Fzoul gets the chance to cure him” (p. 14, emphasis mine). The claim of madness is not inaccurate—the clone debacle certainly did drive a number of them mad—but the stated interest in curing that madness does not match up with the assassination attempt. Nor does it match up with Manshoon’s ultimate return to the Zhentarim in 1372—notably, after Xvim’s death and Bane’s resurrection—which Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting for 3e describes as “some kind of secret accommodation” and “having arrived at an understanding” (p. 282, 283). If Fzoul truly wanted Manshoon dead or permanently ousted, why allow him to return at all, let alone give him free access to the resources of the Zhentarim?

As a final point, which fits neatly in none of the above sections, in the Curse of the Azure Bonds module for 1e, we get a description of Fzoul's tower which mentions a portrait of him, Manshoon, and Chess as young men, which is hanging in his dining room (p. 59). By this point, 1357 DR, Fzoul and Manshoon have long since fallen out with Chess, but the portrait remains. Additionally, Manshoon is notorious for hiding his face and disguising himself at all times, to the point where "only those who knew him in his youth know his true face" (that is to say, Fzoul); yet he sat for this portrait, a process that would have taken hours and several days' worth of sittings, and historically speaking was not done by people who were not incredibly close. Make of this what you will.

Having exhausted our sourcebooks, we turn now to the novels and short stories I mentioned above. My sample size here is, admittedly, small—I’ve only been reading the novels since December, and the pair appear together quite infrequently—so I will accept contributions from people who have read other novels or short stories which feature both Manshoon and Fzoul’s in-person appearances. I am also taking book recommendations. Please. As above, we’ll take this chronologically in-universe, noting gaps in publication; the original “So High a Price” was published in 1994, Spellfire and Crown of Fire in 1988 and 1994, while the reprint of “So High a Price” was in 2005, and “Lord of the Darkways” wasn't published until 2010 and features a radical shift Greenwood made in Manshoon’s characterization beginning in the 2000s (in my humble opinion, to the detriment). This section, unfortunately, will be without page numbers; I have only ebook copies rather than physical ones of the sources I reference herein.

The original printing of “So High a Price” (‘94), set in 1334 DR during Manshoon’s bid for the seat of First Lord, features very little in the way of direct Manshoon and Fzoul interactions, but mentions that the two of them are said to “meet often” in secret. During the climactic scene in the council chamber the two indeed work together—while appearing to not be doing so at all—until the conspiracy is outed by Chess and the scene devolves into violence. Afterwards, with their collaboration revealed, Manshoon is openly seen convincing Fzoul to stand down from further violence, “[leaning] over the priest and murmuring a few words” to bid him cease. The 2005 printing includes a new scene between the two of them at the beginning of the short story, where Fzoul calls on Manshoon in the Tower High to discuss their plan. Manshoon speaks openly and honestly with Fzoul about his aims, and is generally solicitous with him, inviting Fzoul to stay and share a glass of wine, which Fzoul declines. The other added scene to note features a coterie of assassins, sent by the High Imperceptor, to target Manshoon—intending to remove him so he cannot continue to fortify Zhentil Keep against them.

“Lord of the Darkways” (‘10, published in Dragon issue #390) is set later in 1334 DR, and focuses on Elminster thwarting Manshoon’s bid to control a portal network leading between Zhentil Keep and Sembia. Before I go any further with this analysis, I would like to note that Manshoon’s interest in and concerns about this network are valid—a portal network controlled by certain powerful merchants of Zhentil Keep is, in fact, a threat to their security, as well as a means for these merchants to cheat the government of Zhentil Keep of the taxes they would owe on imported goods via smuggling—though his…methodology is dubious (and, in my opinion, out of character for Manshoon as he is otherwise portrayed during this period). However, my primary focus at this point is on the scenes where he and Fzoul are on-page together. In the first, he and Fzoul have met over lunch to discuss Manshoon’s bid for control of the portal network; Fzoul is rightly angry with him for acting without telling him first, while Manshoon reassures him that he didn't mean to do so and intends to make sure Fzoul is more involved with the decision-making going forward. Manshoon is charming and solicitous with Fzoul, yet again, for the whole interaction, and is described as “eager” and with “a smile as bright as it was genuine”. Fzoul, for his part, is quickly settled by the explanation, and the pair of them get quite drunk together. In the final scene of the short story, the pair of them face off against Elminster together, and it's made quite clear that without Mystra’s intervention on his behalf they might well have destroyed him.

Lastly, we come to the novels from Shandril's Saga, Spellfire and Crown of Fire. While notably the two of them do little face-to-face interaction in this series, a lot is said around those spaces—namely, their knowledge of each other's works and the way Manshoon behaves towards Fzoul.

Spellfire is thin on the ground for both of them, but it does set up two interesting points. Firstly, the High Imperceptor makes another strike against Zhentil Keep, this time on Fzoul himself—but, notably, states that “[they] cannot move against the traitor Fzoul with Manshoon in the city, or [they] shall know certain defeat,” and indeed only acts against him while Manshoon is missing and presumed dead after a battle with the protagonists. Secondly, I want to note the lead-up to the said battle, namely because it sets up an interesting pattern in Manshoon's behavior that carries out through the rest of Spellfire and into Crown of Fire. I’ve already discussed elsewhere on this blog how I feel about Greenwood's use of female “love interests” for Manshoon—namely, that I don't find them at all believable, and he mostly introduces them just to kill them off—but the one in this series, Symgharyl Maruel (also known as the Shadowsil), is the only one I find plausible as a person Manshoon actually cares for. His involvement in the plot is entirely due to her death—he’s magically notified of it when the protagonists slay her, and immediately drops everything he's doing and leaves Zhentil Keep to go after her. This is not the only time in this series we see him set out to retrieve someone he considers valuable to him: later in Spellfire he intervenes to prevent Sememmon and Fzoul's feuding (which has already seen Fzoul dropped into his own blade barrier) from proving fatal to either of them, and when Fzoul is slain by the protagonists in Crown of Fire, he bullies one of Fzoul's subordinate priests into retrieving his body to have him resurrected.

The excuse for Fzoul's resurrection is also…incredibly flimsy. He claims, to one of Fzoul's subordinates, that he wants Fzoul resurrected because Fzoul is “thrice the administrator you'll ever be”—when despite the casualties the Zhentarim face in this novel, Manshoon has had no one else raised from the dead. Not one other person. Only Fzoul.

While Fzoul is less overt, his behavior during Crown of Fire is no less interesting. Early in the novel, he and Manshoon negotiate separately with their beholder allies for control of a lichnee (a sort of failed lich) with the intention of using it against the protagonist Shandril. It’s clear the beholders intend to play Manshoon and Fzoul against one another in this—the beholder offering Fzoul the second method states that “[his] identity and mind will be shielded from Manshoon” if he uses it, to give Fzoul opportunity for treachery (a note: at no point do either of them use the lichnee against anyone other than Shandril). Later in the book, after Manshoon is temporarily slain by the protagonists, Fzoul implies to the same beholder allies that it was permanent, and that he had a hand in destroying Manshoon's remaining stasis clones. This is a lie. It’s revealed at the end that not only did Manshoon have four remaining, but that they were in Zhentil Keep, and guarded by a human guard in Manshoon's employ. If Fzoul had wanted, it wouldn't have been difficult to track down said guard—yet the clones remained unmolested.

A final point. In the lead-up to Fzoul's confrontation with Shandril, he makes use of a spell engine Manshoon had set up in the Citadel of the Raven as part of a trap. The relevant passage follows:

Then he descended to the forehall of the tower, stood on a paving stone that had been enchanted by Manshoon years ago, and spoke one of the words the mage had taught him. An almost inaudible singing sound answered him as the hidden spell engine Manshoon had prepared spun silently out of another plane and into solid existence in Faerûn. It could appear only in this place, but Fzoul—being the spellfire maid’s target—was just the bait to bring her here to face it.

Fzoul could not see the spell engine, but he knew that it now filled most of the room behind him: a great wheel that would begin to spin if spells struck it, absorbing the magic to power itself. Manshoon’s greatest work. It drank all magic cast at it.

The purpose of a spell engine is to siphon off magical energy in the vicinity, effectively preventing spellcasting. If Manshoon truly distrusted Fzoul, Fzoul wouldn't even have known it existed, in order to give Manshoon an edge in a fight, should it come to it. Not only does Fzoul know it exists, he’s explicitly been taught how to use it, and is using it to set a trap of his own.

If you've read this far (...over 3,000 words), I think I've made my point clear. While the text claims Manshoon and Fzoul distrust and dislike each other, what it demonstrates, time and time again, is that they do trust each other a great deal, and are more than willing to lie to protect each other. The question remains, then: if they actually do care for each other (or are, indeed, romantically entangled), why hide it? Out of universe, the answer is obvious: the Forgotten Realms as a setting debuted in the 80s, and many of the works I've referenced in this essay were published in the 90s. Queer characters were non-existent in that space at that time; indeed, Greenwood himself makes a dig at queer men in Spellfire. Nowadays, of course, this relationship couldn't possibly be canonized—they’re villains, after all. In-universe, Zhentil Keep is markedly more conservative than many of its neighbors (they didn't have a woman on the Council of Lords until the late 1340s or early 1350s DR), and even if that weren't a factor, Manshoon and Fzoul both have a lot of enemies. An open relationship would be a death sentence.

Fortunately for them, they seem to have done well to hide it.

#forgotten realms #forgotten realms meta #manshoon #fzoul chembryl #zhentarim #...this thing is 3.5k long and it is 1:30 in the morning my time as I post this #anyway I'm normal about them. this is normal and I'm fine #in conclusion: there is no heterosexual explanation for any of this

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