#Beneath The Bending Skies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inknopewetrust · 2 months

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𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.

Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon

“Knee deep in the [throne room] and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

“Do you always look so smug after killing your own blood?”

In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.

Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.

You could see him in the shadows of the throne.

Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.

In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.

The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.

Aemond’s arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.

He wanted to be someone who was remembered.

Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terror—someone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.

In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.

So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenys’ demise and ultimately Aegon’s injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.

But he didn’t answer you—Aemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.

And that enticed him.

You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.

How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?

“Ah,” you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. “You see, My Prince, when you allow a dragon’s head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.”

“Power is power. We needn’t parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.”

“At the ill will of a sacred creature?”

Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.

“It does not take a Targaryen to understand that.”

“What would you know of Targaryen customs?” He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. “You will never know.”

“I apologize… for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.”

You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.

It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.

“His ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.”

“Is that not why there are whispers of what you have done?” You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. “Small folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.”

The omen hovered like the storm above. The God’s were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.

“Yet I speak nothing of it,” he eyed you solemnly. “You talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?”

Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.

He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Vale—to the Greens you were a key.

And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.

“No,” you replied, keeping your head tall. “I live in a gilded tower.”

“That has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.”

“They do not seek me,” your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. “But you know that.”

Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.

You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.

He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brother’s stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.

“Men will seek anything if they are given the chance.”

You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.

“And what is it that you seek?” You questioned quietly. “Is being a ruler not enough?”

In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well… It was a dangerous thing.

Aemond’s hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.

Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.

One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.

Aemond’s other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.

“If someone came looking for you,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. “What would you let them do to you?”

You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.

Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.

“What about me, hm?” There was a faint smile on his lips. “What would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?”

His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.

“I-I-I,” your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands.

“Poised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.”

“I am not a fool,” you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. “I know what I want.”

Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

“I want you to touch me,” you instructed him. “I want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.”

“Oh?” Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. “I may not hold the title of King-”

“You are a King, Aemond,” you said assertively and his hands stopped.

“You rule in the place of Aegon’s incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed at the reality.

Aemond’s power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys.

“I wish to feel your lips elsewhere,” you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours.

Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his.

“I want to see a King on his knees.”

Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemond’s hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.

You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.

You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.

This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleep—sans the King he would never fault himself for burning.

“Aemond,” you spoke with a voice that shook. “What if someone were to see us?”

He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.

“Let them see then,” he kissed the front of your thighs. “If they see, then I will marry you.”

Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.

He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.

If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you.

“Drop your dress,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.

But you could feel him.

You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.

But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself.

Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly.

There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips.

You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemond’s tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements.

“Aemond-” you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed.

The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away.

Aemond wouldn’t marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth.

He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his head—a delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself.

Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth.

“Shit.” The words fell from your lips freely.

“Aemond, I don’t think I will fare much longer,” you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge.

Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder.

In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg.

“Wha-”

You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you.

You wished he would marry you.

“I am not done,” he broke the kiss and admitted. “But I could not hold that in any longer.”

His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest.

Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldn’t marry you.

He couldn’t marry you.

But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner.

He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more.

As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless.

His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release.

“Fuck, Aemond.”

He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush.

It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate.

And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling.

He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should.

“Darling,” he murmured from below. “Let them all see what a King can do.”

And you did.

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.

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running-with-kn1ves · 4 months

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Faeries and Giants

A/N: Thanks that one anon for this idea! took my own spin on it >:DD

Content Warning: Held hostage by a giant, mentioned consumption of humanoid creatures, kidnapping

Synopsis: Life isn’t all great being a faerie in a world of giants, elves and dwarves-- of which, some are keen on plucking you from the forest floor like a berry and keeping you to themselves.

“So… delicate,” plump fingers outlined the crisp glass of your wings, their luminescence almost blinding to the giant. Your teensy, human-like frailty was some sort of evolutionary mistake-- how could you survive in these woods for so many decades, for centuries? You and your kind were mini parasites-- although delicious, and cute to play with, ultimately not meant to survive in this world where big bad wolves and giants ten times your size could pick you up like an acorn and snap you like a tall blade of grass.

“Get your dirty paws-- OFF!” You kicked and bit with feral haste, clothes of leaf and twine breaking each time the giant poked and prodded at your pudgy, elongated features. One wrong tug and your arm or leg could come twisting off, your wings tarnished and ripped to fragments if he so pleased.

“Settle down now, little one,” He let out a roar of a laugh, shaking down through his palms to his feet, making the earth beneath him crumble. “You’ll get hurt worming around so much!”

You shrieked at the gentle touch against your bare sole, the giant playing with your toes and fingers as he stretches and bends your limbs.

“Please--urk, put me down! I’m not meant to be this high, I, I need to get back to the ground-- let me go!”

“Ah, but aren’t you meant for the skies, little beast? What else are these… appendages for. Mere sparkly decoration?”

He runs a finger down the middle of your back, touching the sinewy fiber connecting translucent wings to your spine. You shivered, physically jolting at the uncomfortable, warmly touch.

Your wings were drenched-- wrinkled and sopping from the “quick dip” the giant holding you thought would be a good idea before scooping you up like a pretty pebble. His previous…encounters with your kind must’ve prepared him well for the fluttery agility your poor wings could provide.

“Hm, do you like that?” The giant groans in heightened interest, resting his cheek in his hand as he holds you in the other. “The fairies I’ve met are far less dainty, withholding far more… animosity. Of course, they had been well-versed in magic and spells moreso than you seem to be. Far more appetizing, too. But you… you almost look like a stout sapling, useless in all endeavors besides your adorable little figure!”

….Appetizing?

Looking to the Giant’s pocket, you can see them there….Wings, some crumped to shards, others merely bent, stuffed in his trousers with shimmering pinks and golds and blues-- cleanly picked off of whatever faerie they belonged to.

“You… they’ve been disappearing, because of you! Collecting their poor wings…You’re a monster! My friends, eaten and killed--!”

The giant brought you to his eyes for closer inspection, pools of lake green beneath his moppy silvering and unkempt hair. He observed the river of tears falling from your face, your nose dripping and stuffy as you beat against his hand.

“Why yes! We seem to agree on something; I am a monster of the forest-- as are you, and your thieving little fellow faeries. Stealing from my livestock, shoveling everything they can find into their mouths, attempting to poison and spitroast and maim me--” He brushes a tan knuckle against your cheek, smooshing it in an attempt to wipe away your tears. “And so I eat them-- which ever ones manage to cross me, choosing to arise my wrath. It’s the circle of life, my little winged beast.”

He chuckles at the nickname, gazing at you slumped over on the creases of his palm, calloused from a life of barreling trees and tending to his oversized farm on the outskirts of your fae hamlet.

You were too high to jump from his palm at this height, even with his fingers no longer tightly wound around you. If you tried to fly now-- you’d be as good as dead.

“S..so, what’re you gonna do, with me?”

You wipe away your tears, trying to see the giant clearly this time; maybe you could pinpoint a weak area of his, something to make him drop you-- it’d be better than spending eternity in his palm, or his stomach.

“So precious… What do you think? Should I eat you?” He grins, a large straw of wheat hanging from betwixt his lips.

You shake your head rapidly, attempting to reach for the dagger in your leather boot.

“No, no. Of course not, I can’t rid myself of such a cute fae like you, even if I despise the rest of your species--” He delicately takes his thumb and pointer finger to your cheeks, squeezing them to puff out your lips. “I enjoy your itsy-bitsy presence too much… perhaps I’ll keep you where the birds used to lay; the cage is quite spacious, right in the kitchen. I’ll make a soft bed of chicken feathers for you, a table just big enough to do your faerie crafts and harmless little spells on.” The giant smiles softly, touching the bare of your collar uncovered by leaf and leather cloth. “I’ll bring trinkets from the valley for you to do with as you please, cook hearty meals for us to share, even let you out to be coddled and touched every now and again-- how does that sound?”

You were quick to shake your head, tempted to stab at his palm with your dagger, but an irked expression ran across the giant’s lips as his gaze fell to the grassy plain beneath him.

“Your friend here however, will not be staying.” He holds you tightly again-- squeezing enough to keep you in the dark of his palm. It was warm and of an earthy smell, almost too tight for your cold body. You're abruptly tucked into the giants shirt pocket, a finger over your mouth and eyes that forced you into muted darkness.

Even with your fabricated blindness, you could here the breathy grunts of a familiar voice-- unmistakably from a woodland elf, the glass-shattering vocal chords of a creature who could burst ear drums if he so desired. You didn’t know for sure, but you had a reasonable guess of which elf in particular who seemed to be fighting a mountain of a giant in your honor. An unforgettable, certainly imbecilic ignoramus elf who tailed you everywhere you went in hopes that, this time you would accept his smitten betrothal request.

You swam against fabric tugging you downward to reach the shirt pocket’s opening, wincing as the giant holding you captive yelped out.

“Gah! he stabbed me, the little fucking imp!”

It's the first you've heard him curse with such venom, mouth curling into a snarl as he bends to pick up the wooden sword-swinging elf at his boot.

The elf screamed out your name, trying to cut at the scarred fingers holding him hostage. You reached out to him from beneath your pocket enclosure before the giant flicked you on the head, holding your savior far out by the tips of his fingers.

“Ah look here, your knight in shining armor… hah, too bad, he looks absolutely delectable.”

The giant’s irritation was growing by the second, keeping a hand over you in his pocket as he shakes the elf around furiously.

“No--! please don't eat him, he just-- Let us go, he has nothing to do with this!” You tug against the giant’s button up, watching your elf companion swing around his needle-like sword at the giant holding him up by his collar.

The giant laughed, eyes crinkling as his chiseled chest bumped against your back.

“Don't fret sweet faerie, I’m not so brutal as to consume a creature like this raw; by all means, he’s coming home with us. How long he lasts- that's up to you.”

The giant stood from his crouched position on the grassy knoll, heavy boots digging into the grass to make muddy imprints. He dangled the elf out forward, watching as the poor creature sweat bullets while looking at you helplessly.

“Let my faerie-- go!” The tiny voice felt so far away, different than the usually grating elf’s voice you were accustomed to getting frightened by.

The giant places his fingers into his shirt pocket, nudging you with them in a powerful caress.

“You'll remain my little darling-- while our elf friend here, remains where he belongs-- in the pigpen. Together, we can find a punishment suitable for him.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. With one heavy foot in front of the other, the giant started toward a thatched roof cabin in the grassy distance.

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novaursa · 26 days

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The Last Dance

- Summary: The Dance of the Dragons is over. You and Aegon finally find peace.

- Paring: twin!sister reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin sister and wife to Aegon II, and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. These events happen right after The Searing Flame. To read all of the chapters in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 119

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This is the chapter that finalizes this series. That being said, there will be more twin!reader/Aegon II stories to fill the gaps.

The air is filled with the scent of salt and smoke as you stand on the balcony of Dragonstone, the sea churning below in restless waves. The horizon is cast in hues of deep purple and amber as dusk sets in, but your attention is wholly on the sky, where two golden streaks dart through the twilight. You feel Aegon’s presence beside you, a warmth against the cool stone at your back. His scarred arm is under your hand, his skin rough and uneven beneath your touch, a harsh reminder of Rook’s Rest and the countless betrayals that led you here.

Yet there’s still strength in him, a burning defiance that never faded even after all the wounds. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he seems to hold his breath as he watches Sunfyre and Starfyre circle above. It’s not just the raw power of your dragons that grips him—no, this is something more primal. It's the joy of seeing them together again, as they were always meant to be: siblings, mates, war-dragons forged in the heat of fire and vengeance.

“There,” Aegon murmurs, his voice low, strained. He points to a shadow in the clouds—Grey Ghost. The wild dragon had stayed hidden for so long, slipping through the cracks of Dragonstone’s defenses, but not tonight. Sunfyre and Starfyre had scented him out, and now there would be no escape.

You tighten your grip on Aegon’s arm, feeling the thrill of it, a dark satisfaction blooming in your chest. The shadow resolves into a shape—a dirty, scarred creature with wings tattered from battles long lost. Grey Ghost is no match for your dragons, but he’s quick, darting between clouds, trying to outmaneuver the gleaming pair that pursue him.

Starfyre leads the chase, her silvery form a flash of brilliance in the twilight, her scales glimmering like starlight against the darkening sky. The alabaster undershine of her wings catches the last of the sun’s rays as she twists and turns, a deadly dance that lures Grey Ghost into false confidence. Her movements are elegant, fluid—every beat of her wings purposeful, calculated. The Star Dame, as you’ve come to call her in the intimacy of your thoughts, is a creature born of night and light, her presence both ethereal and deadly.

Sunfyre is close behind her, a shimmering blaze of gold that seems almost unnatural in its brilliance. The awkward bend in his healed wing does nothing to diminish his ferocity—if anything, it makes him all the more terrifying, a creature that defies the laws of nature, a king among dragons that should have been crippled but refused to be. His roar echoes across the sky, a sound of pure fury that reverberates through your chest, making your heart race.

“They hunt as one,” you whisper, awe lacing your words. You lift your head from Aegon’s shoulder to look up at him, catching the gleam of pride in his eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Aegon’s mouth curves into a small, crooked smile, a hint of the man he was before the war marred him. “Beautiful, yes. But more than that—vengeance.” He says the last word with a bitterness that lingers in the air. Sunfyre and Starfyre had been denied their chance to fight side by side for too long, much like the two of you. But now, the skies belong to them again, as they should.

You don’t respond, letting the sight before you speak for itself. Starfyre suddenly plummets, diving at a steep angle that seems reckless until Grey Ghost veers, startled by her speed. It’s then that Sunfyre strikes, a burst of flame searing the air as he barrels into Grey Ghost from above, jaws snapping at the smaller dragon’s neck. Grey Ghost shrieks, a sound full of desperation as he tries to shake free, but Sunfyre holds on, his talons digging deep into flesh.

Starfyre swoops in, her silvery wings flaring as she joins the fray, her jaws clamping down on one of Grey Ghost’s wings. You watch as she tears through it with merciless precision, ripping membrane and bone with a single twist of her head. Blood sprays across the sky, dark and ominous, and Grey Ghost’s struggles grow frantic, but they’re futile. Starfyre and Sunfyre tear into him together, a dance of coordinated destruction that speaks of deep, intrinsic connection.

“Together, they’re unstoppable,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away. You feel Aegon’s fingers intertwine with yours, his grip tight and possessive. He’s watching them too, but you know he’s seeing more than just dragons tearing apart a weaker foe—he’s seeing the future, the strength you still hold, the power you’ll wield together to take back what was stolen from you.

When Grey Ghost finally falls, his body torn and mangled, he drops like a stone into the sea below. You both watch in silence as the waves claim him, dragging him under until he’s nothing more than a memory.

Starfyre and Sunfyre wheel in the air, circling each other before flying back towards the keep. The bond between them is palpable, a mirror of your own with Aegon. Sunfyre’s awkward wingbeat matches Aegon’s own struggles, while Starfyre’s radiant strength reflects the resilience you’ve both clung to, even in the face of loss. The dragons’ victory is your victory, and as they draw closer, you feel a sense of unity, of destiny.

Aegon turns to you then, his scarred face shadowed but his eyes burning with resolve. “We will reclaim what is ours, Y/N,” he says, his voice a quiet promise. “With our dragons, with our strength—we will not be broken.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s a fierce pride in your chest as you nod. “We are not broken, Aegon,” you reply softly, but with steel in your tone. “We are fire and blood.”

As the night closes in, the sky dark and filled with stars, you stand together in silence, hand in hand. Sunfyre and Starfyre land on the courtyard below, their golden and silver scales gleaming even in the dim light. They are kings and queens among dragons, just as you and Aegon are meant to be.

And as long as they soar, so will you.

The dread in the throne room is thick enough to choke on as you stand beside Aegon, your hand resting lightly on Daena’s shoulder while Baelon clutches the edge of your gown. The echo of footsteps and clinking chains resound through the stone chamber as Alfred Broome and his men drag the remnants of Rhaenyra’s forces into the hall. They are bruised, bloodied, and defeated—a pale reflection of the power Rhaenyra once held. Among them, her young son Aegon clings to her, his eyes wide with fear as he takes in the fearsome sight of the dragons looming in the distance outside, their golden and silver forms visible through the open arches.

Sunfyre and Starfyre wait like harbingers of death, gleaming in the twilight.

You feel Aegon’s arm tense beside you, a flicker of pain passing through him from his old wounds. But there’s more than just physical pain here—there’s a deep, simmering rage that’s been brewing since the moment Blood and Cheese ripped your family apart. You and Aegon have been waiting for this moment, dreaming of it in your darkest hours. And now, it’s finally here.

Rhaenyra is forced to her knees before you, her once-proud visage a mask of defiance even in chains. She looks older than you remember, her face gaunt and hollow, but her eyes still blaze with the stubborn arrogance that led her here. Her remaining Queensguard lie dead, slain by your forces as they tried to resist one last time. There is no one left to protect her.

You meet her gaze with cold satisfaction, leaning forward slightly as you speak, your voice sharp as a blade. “We have long awaited this moment, Rhaenyra. Ever since you sent those assassins to kill our sons—two innocent boys, slaughtered because of your ambition.”

Rhaenyra’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t back down. “My sons died as well, Y/N,” she retorts, her voice shaking with fury. “Jace, Luke, Viserys… you cannot know that pain.”

“You dare to compare?” Aegon’s voice cuts through the air like the crack of a whip, silencing her. He steps forward, the limp from his injury barely noticeable as his anger gives him strength. “This war began because you could never let go of our father’s lies. He promised you the throne, and you clung to that entitlement like a drowning woman clutches driftwood.”

Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak, but Aegon doesn’t let her. “You speak of your lost sons as if their deaths were a justification for your madness, but it was your own hubris that led them to the grave. If you had shown even a hint of reason, none of this would have happened. Y/N and I never wanted the crown. We only wanted to love each other and grow old with our children. But the crown was pushed onto us—pushed by your ambition and vanity.”

Your heart twists as you think of the peaceful life you and Aegon could have had, far from the bloodshed, if only Rhaenyra had accepted the reality of your father’s death that relinquished her claims. But that was never an option for her, was it? Pride, ambition, and greed had consumed her until there was nothing left but this hollow shell of a queen.

Rhaenyra’s defiance cracks then, her eyes filling with desperation. “Please, Aegon—Y/N—my son—”

But Aegon’s gaze hardens. “It’s too late for pleas, Rhaenyra. Your choices have brought us to this point, and now they will swallow us all. Even your precious children.”

You see the flicker of fear in her eyes, the realization that there will be no mercy here. This is no place for mercy. This is retribution.

With a nod from Aegon, the great doors are opened, and Sunfyre’s golden form stalks into the throne room, his scales gleaming like molten gold in the torchlight. His eyes are locked on Rhaenyra, filled with a burning hunger that reflects the rage in Aegon’s heart. Starfyre follows him, her silvery wings brushing the stone walls as she moves with lethal grace, her pale blue undershine glowing like moonlight on water.

Rhaenyra tries to scramble back, pulling her son behind her, but she is chained, her movements futile. “No… please… not like this…”

The lords and ladies captured alongside her begin to cry out in terror as they realize what’s about to happen, but their voices are drowned out by the low, rumbling growl from Sunfyre. Aegon takes a step forward, his voice cold and resolute as he gives the command that seals his half-sister’s fate. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre’s roar is deafening as flames erupt from his maw, engulfing Rhaenyra in a searing blaze. Her screams are short-lived, drowned in a cacophony of dragonfire and crackling flesh. Starfyre joins in, her breath cold and silver, mixing with Sunfyre’s golden flames in a mesmerizing yet horrifying display of raw power.

The smell of burning flesh and melting metal fills the air as the dragons tear into what remains of Rhaenyra, their jaws snapping and rending flesh. The lords and ladies bound beside her wail in despair, some of them collapsing to the floor as they are forced to watch the gruesome feast. Elinda Massey’s shrieks are especially piercing as she claws at her own eyes, unable to bear the sight.

But it isn’t over. Not yet.

Young Aegon, Rhaenyra’s last remaining son, stands paralyzed with terror, his small body trembling as he stares up at the dragons. You feel a pang of pity—he’s just a child, after all—but that pity is fleeting. This is the price of war, of ambition that knows no bounds. There can be no loose ends, no heirs to continue the cycle of bloodshed.

You turn your gaze away as Aegon gestures for the guards to push the boy toward the dragons. Sunfyre sniffs him, his nostrils flaring, but it’s Starfyre who moves first. She lowers her great head, her eyes glinting as she opens her jaws wide and snaps them shut around the child in one swift motion. There is no scream this time—just silence as she swallows him whole.

A hush falls over the throne room, broken only by the crackling of fire and the quiet sobbing of those left alive. Aegon turns to you, his expression unreadable, but you see the weariness in his eyes, the weight of everything that’s passed. “It’s done,” he says softly, and you feel the words settle like stones in your chest.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice distant, “it’s done.”

The war may not be over, but this chapter has ended in blood and flame. You can only hope that, when the ashes settle, there will be something left to rebuild. Something more than this endless cycle of death.

But for now, all you can do is hold your children close and hope that the fire will fade, that peace will come in its wake—even if that peace is a fragile dream, trembling on the edge of a knife.

The sun is low in the sky as your carriage finally creaks to a halt outside the Red Keep. The city is cloaked in uneasy silence—no cheers greet your return, no banners wave in celebration. King’s Landing feels hollow, as if the ghosts of those lost in the war still linger in its streets. You step out first, the weight of the crown heavy on your brow. Aegon follows, his limp more pronounced after the long journey, yet he holds his head high, his expression a mask of stoic resolve. Your children, Daena and Baelon, cling close to you, their wide eyes taking in the somber scene as they disembark from the carriage.

Ahead of you, standing at the base of the steps leading up to the Red Keep, is your mother, Queen Alicent, her face drawn with lines of sorrow and weariness. Beside her is Helaena, her once-luminous eyes now dulled by grief and loss. They are the last remnants of your family, the survivors of a war that has cost you all more than you could have imagined.

Alicent's breath hitches when she sees you, her eyes scanning you and Aegon as if needing to assure herself that you are truly there, alive and whole. Tears glisten in her eyes, and she covers her mouth with trembling fingers as her composure shatters. “My children,” she whispers, and it is as though the weight of years collapses in those words—years of fear, of war, of loss. She hurries forward, her regal bearing breaking into a desperate, motherly rush as she throws her arms around you both, clutching you as if afraid you might vanish like so many others.

“Oh, my children,” she sobs, her voice cracking with emotion. “You’ve returned to me.”

Aegon wraps his arm around her, his scarred hand shaking as he holds his mother close. “We have, Mother,” he says softly, though there’s a hollowness to his tone. The joy that might have been there is tainted by the ghosts of those who aren’t here to share this moment. “But we return to ashes.”

Alicent pulls back slightly, looking at the both of you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I prayed for this day—prayed every night that you would survive, that you would come back to us.” Her eyes flit to the children—her grandchildren—and fresh tears spill over. “But at what cost? Daeron, Aemond—” Her voice breaks entirely, and she covers her face, unable to continue.

Aegon’s jaw tightens. You see the storm of guilt and grief flash across his features as he looks away, unable to meet her gaze. You reach out and grasp Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly as you fight to hold back your own tears. “We all bear the weight of those losses,” you say quietly. “But we are here now, and we are together. We must hold on to that, for their sake.” You glance down at Daena and Baelon, who watch their grandmother with wide eyes, not fully understanding the depth of the grief surrounding them.

Helaena, who has been standing silently, finally steps forward. Her movements are slow, almost ghostly, as if she is a shadow of the woman she once was. Her gaze lingers on Aegon for a long moment, searching his eyes, before drifting to you. “The dreams never lie,” she murmurs, her voice distant and laced with sorrow. “They all fade, in fire and blood.” Her words are eerie, a chilling echo of all that has transpired, but they carry a truth that cuts deep. Helaena’s prophecies have always carried an edge of tragedy, and now, you see the weight of them fully realized in her vacant stare.

Aegon steps toward her, gently taking her hands in his. “We’re still here, Helaena,” he says softly, though there is a break in his voice. “You, Y/N, me, Mother—we’re still here. We will rebuild, for their memory.”

She nods slowly, but you see no hope in her eyes, only resignation. “They dance no more,” she whispers, looking past you as if seeing something far beyond the physical realm.

Alicent wipes at her tears, her hands shaking as she does so. “Come inside, all of you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You need rest, and there’s much to discuss. But first, let us be together as a family.”

You nod, though the word “family” feels strange on your tongue now. So much of it has been torn away—brothers, sisters, sons. Yet, you follow Alicent and Helaena up the steps, Aegon at your side, your children between you. Inside the Red Keep, the warmth of the hearth contrasts sharply with the chill that clings to your soul. The familiar halls seem both comforting and haunted, each shadow hiding memories of the past.

Alicent leads you to the council chamber, where a small, intimate table has been set, not for matters of state, but for a quiet meal. Servants flit about with anxious glances, aware of the tragedy that hangs in the air like a storm cloud. You all sit, and for a long moment, no one speaks. The silence is heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Aegon is the one who finally breaks it, lifting his cup. “To those we’ve lost,” he says, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “And to those who still remain.”

You lift your own cup, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes. “To those who remain,” you echo, and the words are a fragile hope, a thread of unity in a world torn apart by fire and blood.

As you drink, you feel a sense of finality settling over the room. The war is over. The Dance has ended. But you know, deep down, that the scars it has left—on your family, on your kingdom, on your very soul—will never truly heal.

The chamber is dimly lit by the soft glow of a few scattered candles, their flickering light casting something akin to ghots long forgotten on the walls. The room is familiar, yet it feels almost foreign after all the horrors you’ve endured—so much time lost to war and death, to bitterness and grief. But now, for the first time in what feels like ages, you’re alone with Aegon, away from the eyes of lords and courtiers, away from the weight of the crown and the ghosts of the past.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing you both within the warmth of the chamber. Aegon pauses by the threshold, his hand still resting on the handle as he takes a deep breath, as if he’s trying to steady himself, to remember that he’s home. You watch him in the flickering candlelight, the lines of his face etched deeper from the burdens he’s carried, but he’s still the man you fell in love with, still the boy who smiled at you with mischief in his eyes.

He looks at you then, and the tension that’s been holding him rigid melts away. His gaze softens, filled with a longing that nearly breaks you. Without a word, he crosses the room and pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your hair as if he needs to feel you, to know you’re truly there. You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight, and for a moment, neither of you speak—there are no words for the relief, the overwhelming need to be close after so much time apart.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice rough and choked with emotion. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

You tilt your head back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are shadowed with pain and fatigue, but there’s a warmth there too, a flicker of the love that has always burned between you. “I never let myself forget,” you whisper, reaching up to trace the scar on his cheek, a mark from Rook’s Rest that he wears like a badge of survival. “Even in the darkest moments, I held onto us. I held onto you.”

Aegon’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that slips free. “I don’t know how we did it,” he admits, his voice cracking. “But we’re here. We’ve made it through everything they threw at us, every nightmare. You were the light that kept me going, Y/N. You always have been.”

His words are like a balm to the ache in your heart, the wounds left by loss and betrayal. You lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his palm against your skin, the familiarity of it. “We’ve lost so much,” you say softly, your voice trembling as memories of those you loved flash through your mind. “But we still have each other. As long as we have that, we can rebuild.”

Aegon’s lips quirk into a faint smile, though it’s tinged with sorrow. “You’re right. We still have each other. And I swear to you, Y/N, I’ll never let you go again. Never. We’ve been torn apart too many times, but that ends now. No more battles, no more wars. Just us.”

He bends down then, his forehead resting against yours as his hands cradle your face. “Promise me, Y/N,” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “Promise me we won’t let anything—or anyone—come between us ever again.”

You close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s tender but laced with a desperation that speaks of all the pain, the longing, the fear of losing one another. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he feels into it—his love, his regret, his need.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise,” you whisper against his lips. “No matter what comes, we face it as one. I won’t let you go either, Aegon. Not ever.”

The shadows in his eyes soften, replaced by a rare glimmer of peace as he rests his forehead against yours again. “Together, then. Always.”

The warmth between you grows as he slowly guides you toward the bed, the softness of the mattress beneath you a welcome comfort after all the cold, hard battles you’ve faced. He lays beside you, pulling you into his arms so that your bodies are entwined, your head resting against his chest as you listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trail lazily through your hair, a touch that’s both soothing and intimate, grounding you in this moment.

You turn slightly in his embrace, pressing a kiss to the scarred skin of his chest, a reminder of how close you came to losing him. “You’re mine,” you murmur softly, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m yours. No one will ever tear us apart again.”

His grip tightens around you, as if the very thought of losing you is unbearable. “I’ll spend the rest of my days proving that, Y/N,” he vows, his voice low and filled with a fierce protectiveness. “I’ll give you the peace we’ve been denied. We’ll raise our children, grow old together, just as we always dreamed.”

In the quiet of your shared chambers, there’s no need for crowns or titles, no need for anything but each other. The world outside is a distant memory as you close your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a protective shield. You let yourself drift in that moment, in the certainty that, no matter what comes, you and Aegon are what remains.

For now, there’s only peace, the kind you’ve fought so hard to find. And in the comfort of each other’s arms, you know that no matter how many battles you’ve fought, the war for your love is one you’ve already won.

From this moment, the histories diverge depending on which account one prefers to trust: the sober record of Grand Maester Orwyle, the poetic tales of Septon Eustace, or the salacious rumors spread by the fool Mushroom. Yet all agree on the most important details: the years following the Dance of the Dragons were marked not by further bloodshed, but by an unexpected peace.

The Golden Restoration

The reign of King Aegon II and Queen Y/N saw a return to stability in the realm, albeit built on a foundation of ash and charred bones. The devastation left by the war was undeniable, yet it was under their rule that the rebuilding of King's Landing began. With Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena ever at their sides, the royal family focused on mending what was broken, both in the capital and within their own hearts.

Many lords whispered that it was Y/N, the Silver Queen, who held the true power in those years. Aegon, scarred both inside and out by the horrors of the Dance, found solace and strength in his wife, who had proven herself his equal in fire and resolve. Together, they were inseparable. It was said that not a single important decision was made without their mutual consent, and that in private moments, they ruled as one, much like Sunfyre and Starfyre—mates in both life and flame.

Their children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelon, grew strong and healthy under the care of their parents and grandmother, Alicent. The two were doted upon, not merely as heirs but as symbols of the future—unbroken despite the tragedy that had marked their early years. As time passed, the bond between Daena and Baelon deepened, mirroring that of their parents. It was said that they were closer than most siblings, so close that when they were of age, they wed in the tradition of House Targaryen, cementing their bloodline and continuing the ancient customs of their house.

The Brood of Sunfyre and Starfyre

In the year 137 AC, three eggs were laid in the royal dragonpit—eggs said to be the offspring of Sunfyre and Starfyre, the twin flames that had seared Rhaenyra Targaryen from the earth. Two of these eggs hatched, producing dragons of extraordinary beauty: one with scales of pale gold streaked with silver, and the other shimmering with blue-tinged starlight. These dragons were gifted to Daena and Baelon on their wedding day, marking the start of a new generation of dragonlords, free from the taint of the Dance.

Yet even in this time of renewal, darkness lingered in the shadows. Helaena never recovered fully from the loss of her own children and her brother-husband, Aemond. She remained a distant figure, often lost in her dreams and visions. Some say she foresaw her own death, whispering of “faded light” and “withered roses” in her last days. When she passed away in her sleep in 139 AC, it was whispered by Mushroom that she had seen a final vision: a land where the dragons had turned to dust, and no kings ruled but the winds.

Dowager Queen Alicent outlived her daughter by a scant two years. Her grief had aged her beyond her years, and she spent her final days in prayer, seeking forgiveness for the bloodshed her ambitions had caused. In her final hours, she clutched the hands of Aegon and Y/N, begging them to remember the lesson learned in blood: that the pursuit of power, when unchecked, only breeds ruin. It was said that Y/N, ever compassionate, was the one who comforted Alicent in her last breath, whispering that peace had been found at last.

The Passing of the Dragon-King and Queen

The final years of Aegon and Y/N’s reign were marked by a quiet contentment. They ruled justly, often seen together in council or riding their dragons above the skies of King's Landing. The scars of war never fully faded, but together they created a realm that prospered. Yet even the most enduring fires must one day burn out.

In the year 151 AC, King Aegon II and Queen Y/N were found dead in their shared chambers, lying in each other's arms as if asleep. Some claim they had simply grown weary, their bodies giving out after years of bearing the weight of the crown. Others, more fanciful in their tales, whisper that they passed together in a moment of shared peace, their hearts giving out at the exact same instant. Mushroom claims that a vial of poison was found beside their bed, suggesting they chose to leave the world together, unwilling to face a life without the other.

When their bodies were discovered, Sunfyre and Starfyre howled in mourning, their roars shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. The dragons, who had never been separated, circled the skies together before landing side by side in the dragonpit, refusing to be parted. In a rare display of affection between beasts, they nuzzled one another and remained in that position until the end of their days.

The bodies of Aegon and Y/N were burned together on a single pyre, their ashes mingling in a final union. Their reign was remembered as the “Golden Twilight,” a time when, for a brief, shining moment, the Targaryens had found peace. But even in this, the seeds of future strife were sown—two children, two dragons, and the legacy of fire and blood that would never truly be quenched.

Thus ended the tale of King Aegon II and Queen Y/N, the last Targaryens to die in each other's arms, bound in life and in death by the fires they had endured and the love they refused to surrender.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aegon #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd reader insert #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x you #aegon the second #aegon ii targaryen

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khaire-traveler · 15 days

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There is a greatness in the names of deities that, when uttered from my lips, fills me with a momentary sense of awe. A quiet and unspoken power that lies within them.

·° ★ *·

Hestia. A humble energy that is both the First and Last of all the deathless Olympians. A welcome comfort in times of trial that brings with her the love of a sheltering home. A soothing warmth that can be found without the presence of a kindled fire, for her arms are open to all and to all she provides an internal flame.

Zeus. An unmatched power that shakes the skies and brings the most indomitable beasts to their knees. A hardy will that bends the sturdy hands of the fates and dishes out blessings and curses in equal measure. A mighty presence that cannot be overshadowed nor overcome by any other, though it is a brief encounter when the name is merely spoken.

Hera. An elegant strength that is carried with the grace of a lioness, royal in nature with a silent yet undeniable authority. A razor-sharp gaze that can cut through the hardiest of stone and pierce the heart of any person who dares to question her rule. A confident presence that knows when to show compassion and when to assert one's power, certain of her worth and limits.

Poseidon. An earthshaking presence that commands the respect of those brave enough to traverse the crashing waves. A nurturing caretaker who oversees the health and wellness of every underwater denizen. A flowing energy that rolls in and out, rising and falling, ever-changing as the tides of life itself.

Demeter. An ever-caring mother of the very land we tread upon, the soil that squeezes between our toes. An unyielding mountain of power that provides for every manner of creature that roams the earth. An ever-changing force with the variability of the very seasons themselves that plants the seed of transformation within every person she encounters, simply by her nature.

Haides. The gentle yet sturdy ruler - the king who rules us all, in the end. The certainty of an ending paired with the uncertainty of the details. The warmth of burying your feet beneath the earth and watching plants grow over them. The curiosity of change in all its forms, and the subtle comfort that comes with its acceptance.

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #devotional writing #hellenic pagan #hestia deity #zeus deity #hera deity #poseidon deity #demeter deity #haides #haides deity #all of lord haides' sentences begin with “the”#because he awaits us at #The End

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daycourtofficial · 2 months

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I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XII

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

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This morning you had been greeted by Feyre, her chirpy voice had a sense of urgency to it as she asked if you had any plans for the day. “We are hosting a very formal and stuffy figure from the Court of Nightmares, and we would feel better if you weren’t around for it.”

Your brows raised, but Feyre quickly cut in again. “Not because we don’t like you or anything, but our visitor is quite.. atrocious. I wouldn’t subject anyone to his presence if necessary.” She spent a moment looking for the right words, but whoever this was clearly was not someone Feyre liked or even tolerated.

You nodded, “I’m no dignitary, I’m not sure my presence would be necessary in the slightest.”

You felt a pang in Feyre’s chest, something quick and gone in a flash. Guilt, maybe. It was getting easier to feel the emotions of the people around you, however it was difficult to distinguish everyone’s emotions. The way Feyre felt happiness was different than how Rhysand felt it, causing it to be more work for you to decipher individual emotions.

But something about Rhys’s emotions felt familiar.

“Was there anywhere you’d like to spend the day?”

You thought for a moment, having spent the past few days exploring the city’s restaurants. “Is there a library in Velaris?”

Feyre’s eyes lit up in delight, “I know just the place. Azriel will lead you there.”

Your heart stopped momentarily, blinking. You hadn’t seen Azriel since your power display a few days ago, and when you had asked, Feyre told you he had been gone on a mission for a few days, having just got back in last night.

But that didn’t mean he was far from your thoughts.

The first night he was gone you were plagued with dreams about him, his shadows cloaking the two of you in a thick darkness as you fell through the skies. As the nights went on, the dreams became more intimate - both sexually and emotionally. One night you dreamt of holding his hand, that dream immediately being followed up with a dream of him bending you over the vanity and forcing you to watch the two of you in the mirror.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew being near him would be difficult, these feelings so new for you.

“Are you unavailable?” Your words came out stuttered, uncertain. She quirked a brow at you before her gaze softened. “I am, yes. So is Rhysand.”

Mother’s tits.

“I am terribly sorry, this was very.. Abrupt.” She chose her words carefully, a mask of politeness on her face. “But I can assure you that you’ll be fine with Azriel.”

Something pinged in your chest, a sharp warmth crawling your skin at her words.

“Thank you for the reassurance.”

She nodded before heading to walk away and your head reeled at the conversation as her steps retreated. Why was it your powers only really worked on males? Were their emotions that much simpler to untangle and assign names to?

You were lost in thought about how unreadable Feyre was to you when a soft breeze carried the scent of pine and night chilled mist.

Azriel.

You turned, his hazel eyes standing out amongst the shadows covering his face. He smiled at you, each day the bags beneath his eyes growing smaller, the crook of his lips getting bigger.

And more inviting.

“Did you sleep well?”

Your face flushed, thinking back to the lack of sleep you had gotten. Every time you had closed your eyes, it was as if your brain were playing a story between the two of you, a moving picture of a make believe life, flashes of joy and heartbreak and domesticity.

You coughed it away, “yes, thanks. Did you?”

He merely hummed in response, deepening your blush. He looked at you as if he knew what you were up to all night - how your sleep was plagued with images of his hands, his legs, his mouth. How in a last ditch effort to find some peace, your hand slipped beneath your nightgown as you thought about the vivid dreams of his fingers, his scarred hands in lieu of your own.

The breath rushed from you. Had you said his name while thinking of him?

You could feel his amusement in your chest, and you pushed him slightly, not moving him in the slightest.

“Can you take me to the library?” You were quick to change the subject, not wanting to know exactly what your neighbor heard you doing. He nodded, his face looking at you with less amusement and more kindness.

It made him radiant.

“Where is this library?”

You grabbed a coat, tightening it around yourself before heading toward the front door. You stopped when you realized he wasn’t following you, turning on your heel to look at him. He nodded his head toward the balcony, moving toward it.

“No.”

He put his arms across his chest, one of his siphons glowing a deep blue on his chest.

“Why not?”

“I don’t fly. Wingless, remember?” You moved your hand behind your head to show the empty space your wings took up. Your words caused a pained expression to cross his face, but it was over just as quickly as it came.

“Yes, I am aware. Are you aware I have two arms?”

You gaped at him, “you can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like an unserious male?”

“You look very jovial to me.”

He scoffed, “will you please come with me to the balcony so I can take you to the library?”

“Why can’t we walk?”

“It’s impossible to get there on foot.”

The surprise was all over your face. “Is this a flying library?”

“No.”

“Then there must be a footpath somewhere.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His shadows peeked over his shoulders, as if they were laughing. “There is, but it’s a 10,000 step staircase. What would you prefer?”

You thought it over, contemplating being in the sky, in Azriel’s arms, or passing out halfway up the steps.

You chose the former, Azriel hoisting you into his arms bridal style. He carried you as if you weighed nothing, walking you to the balcony, each step heating your face. His hands wrapped around your waist and legs, his touch doing something to you that you were praying to the Cauldron wouldn’t shift your scent enough for him to notice.

“Are you ready?”

You swallowed hard, before nodding, face full of heat, “is it too late to say I’m afraid of heights?”

He squinted, “just a little late.”

His wings stretched out behind him, his knees bending slightly as he took off into the skies, his large wings flapping quickly to get you both airborne. You screamed in his hold, causing his grip to tighten around you as he held you. “I’ve got you.”

His voice did little to soothe the panic inside of you. Your arms tightened around his neck, holding on for dear life. You hid your face in his neck as he flew high up in the sky, gaining altitude.

“I always thought flying was a sacred thing.” Your words were meant to distract yourself, but they only caused you further discomfort as he responded.

“It can be. Some Illyrians go on mating flights.”

Your brows raised, moving in his arms to get a better look at his face, but he continued looking forward.

“Have you ever been on one?”

The flap of his wings halted suddenly, his flight pattern stuttering, causing the two of you to dip suddenly before picking back up, a soft scream coming from your lips.

“That is a very private question.” His smile lessened, and you felt like a reprimanded child with his response. Your mouth went dry, desperate to change the conversation and to have him change the look on his face.

“Do you like flying?”

He sighed, happy for the shift in conversation. “I do. I like flying with my brothers.”

“Brothers? I thought you had only one.”

His flight stopped again, and you heard him curse underneath his breath.

“Yes I have two brothers. They’re both a pain in my ass.”

You giggled, your fingers subconsciously playing with the hair on the back of his neck. Once you realized what you were doing, you pulled your hand away, not wanting to see the look of annoyance you thought you would find.

Instead his face was covered in disappointment, quickly covered up with stoicism.

“Why’d you tell me you only had one?”

He shrugged, the movement strange as he held you. You could tell he wouldn’t elaborate more, opting to stay quiet. His shrug was enough of a dismissal for you to steer the topic away from his lie.

“I don’t have any siblings. At least none that I know of.”

He nodded, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, “it’s not your fault.”

You turned away, watching a massive castle come into view. “Wow.”

You took in the stone architecture, the structure built right into the side of the mountain. You could see where the ten thousand steps came from, a direction you’re glad you avoided.

Azriel banked to the right, flying the two of you to land directly on a balcony. His landing was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the landings you had seen in your village.

“Thank you, Azriel.”

“You can call me Az.”

You looked up at him, and you felt something like vulnerability in your stomach.

“Okay, Az.”

Now you felt butterflies at how happy he looked at the nickname.

“I’ll be back for you in a few hours, don’t fly off with any strange bats.”

You giggled, looking out the window. “As if I didn’t fly here in the arms of a strange bat.”

Az smiled, and his emotions felt familiar in your chest as well. Like Rhysand’s, but different. They felt stronger, something inside of you urging you to fix it. His chest felt heavy, but like the weight was manageable. As the two of you spoke, it got lighter and lighter, occasional flickers of joy and amusement slipping through.

He nodded, “yes but I’m the least strange of them all.”

With those words, he turned and walked away, taking off from the balcony, but not before he glanced back at you one last time before he disappeared in the sky.

After he left, you craned your head, looking around the library. You didn’t see anyone, but you heard shuffling and occasional floor scuffing, so you knew at least someone was here. You walked around for a while, your hands feeling the stacks as you searched the titles, pulling anything seeming of interest. You had pilfered through Rhys and Feyre’s library at the River House, but this one was much, much bigger.

After picking a stack of books you could barely carry, you wandered through the floors, looking for the perfect spot to curl up. You weren’t sure how Azriel was going to find you, but he only told you to stay in the library, and you were technically following his instructions.

A few floors below, you found a quaint little corner nook that had a fireplace, a few cozy chairs, some blankets, and the walls were covered in old maps. You smiled, satisfied at how perfect the spot seemed before dropping into the chair, opening the first book in your pile, quickly getting lost in the pages.

You weren’t sure how long you had been engrossed in your book, half of it finished, when footsteps interrupted your reading. You looked up, expecting to find Azriel, but the male before you wasn’t him. He wasn’t even Illyrian. You had never seen a full high fae male before - Rhys was the first wingless male you had ever seen. This male looked… different. He was incredibly attractive, long blonde hair and brown eyes observing you. He had a small button nose that curved up at the end, and you were taken aback by just how pale he was. His skin was practically translucent, the color of his veins visible through his skin.

You didn’t know fae could be so pale.

You smiled in greeting, nodding politely. He looked up and down your body, and you straightened from the relaxed position you had taken while reading, putting a bookmark in your book before setting it down.

“Well, I don’t believe I have ever been so engrossed in a book myself. It must be fascinating.”

You smiled, your lips straining at the action. He made you feel weird, his emotions a confusing ball inside of you you began attempting to untangle. “Oh, yes. I love a good mystery novel.”

His ears perked at your words, his lips quirking in a smile that made him more sinister than attractive.

“I am quite fond of mysteries as well.”

He thumbed through the shelves that surrounded your nook, silent strides across the rug, making his way further into your cozy corner. “And perhaps I have found one.”

You gave a half laugh, confused at his words.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doing away from Illyria?”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, I’m no birdie.”

His eyebrows raised, an expression of faux shock on his face. “Forgive me, I can be insensitive to your people’s ways.” He stopped in front of the fireplace, the light casting his light in shadow. “Where were you from?”

You eyed him wearily before telling him, “Tartu.”

He moved to the left, his gaze set on the map on the wall, his finger tracing around a few spots near your village, creating a line between the spots and your village.

“In such a small village, I imagine Velaris is a fairytale.”

His words held no malice, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of slime coating his words as they hit your ears.

“Yes, I would agree. It’s a beautiful city.”

He walked the room, eyes lingering on the books lining the walls, his entire presence filling you with dread. “Rhysand makes interesting choices in terms of what he keeps close to the vest. Interesting choice for a High Lord to hide the city he spends most of the year in.”

Your eyes widened at the disrespect toward Rhys - in the few weeks you had spent in Velaris, no one had spoken ill of him to you. “I beg your pardon, I’m not following.”

He rubbed the dust away from his fingers, extending a nod toward you. “He’s a man shrouded in secrets, be cautious of what lies beneath the fog.” He walked toward you, picking up your hand in his. His skin felt like ice as he brought it to his lips, his kiss sending chills through your body.

“What a pleasure it has been, finding you here.”

You search his pale eyes for some flicker of warmth, the ice you found inside making your insides burn with cold. “Likewise.”

The lie rolled off your tongue, watching his blonde hair swish as he left. The room felt suffocating in his scent, and you were never quite able to get as comfortable as you had been before his visit.

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#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #azriel series #i got cursed like eve got bitten

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thewulf · 4 months

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Until the Morning Light || Aragorn

Summary: Request - I wanted to see if I could request an Aragorn x reader. You don’t have to write anything! No pressure <3 It is a bit cheesy, so…Maybe something where they started having strong feelings for each other during their travels to destroy the ring and are so desperately longing after the other, just that they never confess and even the encouragement of the fellowship doesn’t help... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just adore this man! Thank you for the request always!!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: Violence, orc violence, death, blood, crying, angst, Battle of Helm's Deep, lotr warnings

Born under the vast skies of Rohan you grew up amidst the rolling plains and the echoing calls of horses. From a young age you were not just a child of the land but its protector, honing your skills with a blade as well as you could listen to the whispers of the earth. Your heart was fiercely loyal and brave and tempered by the tender tales of your mother. She bestowed upon you a rare gift, a deep connection with nature that allowed you to sense and communicate with the world around you in ways few others could.

This unique ability was distinct from the innate affinity that elves hold with the forests and rivers. Unlike the elves whose communion often involves a harmonious coexistence and a capability to influence nature’s growth and health your gift did not extend to bending the will of the woods or the waters. Instead, it manifested as an intimate understanding. An almost magical perception that let you hear the secrets of leaves rustling in the wind and feel the subtle shifts of the earth beneath your feet. It was a communion, but of a different kind. A silent dialogue that did not seek to alter but to understand and empathize, providing guidance and comfort where it was most needed.

Such a profound connection to nature brought with it a heightened awareness of the creeping darkness that threatened to engulf Middle earth. The very land you communicated with now echoed with the distress of encroaching evil. A warning you felt deep in your bones. It was during this time of growing shadows that tragedy struck your life profoundly. You lost a beloved family member to the dark forces spreading across the land. An event that shattered the peace of your world but also forged a new resolve within you. Carrying the weight of this loss, you vowed with a heart heavy yet unyielding to protect your homeland and its people. This vow was sacred and resolute. It sharpened your resolve as much as your blade and became the echo of your every step on the path of the Fellowship.

It was during these turbulent times that Gandalf the Grey came to your village. The wise wizard saw in you not just a skilled warrior but a unique spirit whose abilities were as rare as they were needed. With words as compelling as the winds of your homeland he requested your presence in the Fellowship. "Middle-earth needs hearts like yours," he said. His eyes twinkling with a mixture of seriousness and kindness.

Thus, with a heart full of resolve and a spirit called to a greater cause, you joined the Fellowship. Not just to honor your vow but to fulfill a destiny that seemed written in the very leaves of the trees you so loved. As you set out from Rohan the wind seemed to carry whispers of encouragement and the land itself seemed to nod in approval. Its daughter now a guardian in its most desperate hour.

Upon your arrival at the rendezvous point where the Fellowship was gathering you were immediately aware of the intense gazes of many. Their eyes scrutinizing every new face—evaluating, assessing. Yet, when you first met Aragorn his gaze was different. It was calm, welcoming, devoid of any judgment that demanded you prove your worth. He seemed to see right through the facade that others often expected you to wear. The mask of a warrior constantly proving herself. Instead, Aragorn acknowledged your capabilities as if they were as clear to him as the daylight.

As you both shared the duties of setting up camp that first evening Aragorn asked you about your journey from Rohan. His genuine interest was refreshing, and soon you found yourself teaching him about the unique properties of the athelas plant found in your homeland. Its healing powers far greater when used with the right incantations. A secret you had kept closely guarded. To your surprise he not only listened intently but also shared his own knowledge creating a beautiful exchange of wisdom.

As the journey progressed Aragorn often sought your company for the watch shifts. During these quiet hours under the vast, starlit sky, you both would sit by the fire. The crackling flames casting flickering shadows on your faces. It was here in the solitude of the night that you shared stories of your pasts. You spoke of your family in Rohan. Of the laughter and tears of your childhood and the deep connection you felt with the land.

Aragorn, in turn, shared tales of his travels. The burdens he carried and the hopes he harbored for peace in middle earth. These exchanges that were filled with laughter and sometimes a comfortable silence laid a strong foundation for your growing affection. There was an ease between you. A mutual respect that flourished without the need for words making each shared moment a treasure.

One evening deep into the journey after a particularly taxing day when tensions within the Fellowship seemed to strain the very air around you Aragorn noticed your weariness. Without a word he took up your watch insisting you rest. "We all have our strengths," he said softly with a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Tonight, let me watch over you." It was a simple act. But in that moment his kindness felt soothing to your soul. It solidified a bond that was quickly becoming as vital as the quest itself.

These moments under the stars with Aragorn where you didn't have to prove yourself but were simply accepted were what you cherished most. They were reminders that in the looming shadow of war there existed moments of peace and deep, unspoken understanding.

Aragorn's presence became a constant in your days and you found yourself increasingly seeking his company. Whether strategizing for the next leg of the journey or sharing a quiet moment away from the rest of the group his steady demeanor brought a comforting consistency to the unpredictable days. After a particularly fierce skirmish against a roving band of orcs you sustained a slight wound. Aragorn was quick to your side. His fingers skilled and gentle as he tended to the injury. His touch was always gentle and careful. It sparked an unfamiliar warmth in your chest. His concerned eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

As Aragorn wrapped your wound Legolas strolled over with an amused twinkle in his eye. "I see our esteemed leader has found yet another calling… nursing the wounded with such tender care," he commented lightly. His gaze flickering between you and Aragorn with a knowing smile. Aragorn responded with a dismissive grunt. His cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his eyes remained warm and soft as they met yours again.

Gimli has overheard the exchange and joined in with a hearty laugh. "Ah, but it's a good thing we have Aragorn for both fighting and mending. Saves us calling for Elrond every time someone gets a scratch!" he boomed before clapping Aragorn on the back with such force that it drew a surprised smile from the usually reserved ranger.

This playful banter brought a light-hearted moment to the group easing the tension of the long journey. Later that evening as you sat by the campfire the teasing continued. Gimli’s loud snoring eventually became the subject of jest, and you all shared a hearty laugh. Emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere you nearly confessed your growing feelings to Aragorn. But just as you gathered your courage he turned contemplative, his gaze lost to the horizon.

"I sometimes wonder what lies ahead for all of us," he said softly. A distant look in his eyes. "The weight of this quest, it's much to bear—for all of us." His words were heavy with the burden of leadership and the uncertainty of the future, and they momentarily stalled your confession.

Despite this the bond between you only deepened, strengthened by each shared challenge and quiet moment of understanding. Legolas and Gimli’s lighthearted teasing served as a gentle reminder of the friendship and affection that blossomed even in the darkest of times, adding a touch of warmth to the journey's cold nights.

As you and the Fellowship arrive at Helm's Deep the air is thick with the weight of impending conflict. The massive stone walls of the fortress loom over you, their stark, gray surfaces a harsh reminder of the battle that awaits. Shadows stretch long across the ground as the sun dips below the horizon casting an ominous glow that barely penetrates the gathering dusk.

Around you, soldiers move with a sense of urgency. Their faces set in grim determination. The clanging of armor and the sharp ring of sword against stone fill your ears. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Despite the hustle and bustle a heavy silence hangs over the assembled troops, each person lost in their own thoughts of the coming night. The air is cool and carries a hint of moisture. The breeze whispering through the battlements as if in mourning for lives yet to be lost.

In all of this your gaze finds Aragorn. His expression is one of resolve marked by the burdens of leadership and the knowledge of what everyone is fighting for. His presence is a steady force amid the chaos, and you feel a strange mixture of comfort and unease as you stand beside him knowing the challenge that lies ahead.

In the midst of this anxious bustle your childhood friend, a charismatic warrior named Ealdred from your village, unexpectedly arrives to aid in the battle. His arrival brings a sudden surge of warmth to the cold stone surroundings of Helm's Deep. As soon as Ealdred sees you his face lights up with a wide, infectious smile and he strides over with open arms.

His greeting is loud and joyous in the subdued murmurs of the assembling warriors. "Ah, if it isn’t the bravest shield-maiden of Rohan!" he exclaims while enveloping you in a hearty hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. The familiarity and comfort of his embrace, reminiscent of your shared past filled with training and childhood adventures, momentarily lift your spirits.

Laughter rolls easily from Ealdred as he sets you down. His presence a stark contrast to the tense air around. "I told myself I wouldn't miss a chance to fight alongside you again," he chuckles before clapping you on the shoulder with a warrior's camaraderie. The sincerity in his voice and the joy in his eyes are a balm to the unease that has been gnawing at you since your arrival at the fortress.

From a short distance away, Aragorn watches this reunion unfold with a complex whirl of emotions. He notices the brightness in your smile. A glow he has seldom seen during the long and perilous journey. Your eyes sparkle with laughter, reflecting a happiness that stirs a pang in his heart. The ease of your interaction with Ealdred, the way your body leans slightly towards him in familiarity and comfort, does not escape Aragorn’s keen observation.

Each laugh shared between you and Ealdred, each nostalgic look exchanged, seems to draw a line of subtle tension through Aragorn. He tries to focus on the preparations at hand, but his gaze involuntarily drifts back to you. The way Ealdred's hand lingers on your back, the warm, open smiles, the apparent joy of your reunion… it all fans a flame of jealousy that Aragorn struggles to suppress.

Though he attempts to dismiss these feelings as trivial they gnaw at him with an intensity that surprises him. The sight of your unabashed happiness with someone else plants seeds of doubt and worry that even the din of the oncoming storm cannot drown. The moment crystallizes something crucial within him. The realization of how deep his feelings for you have grown and how much he fears the possibility of not being the one who brings such joy to your eyes.

As you and Ealdred laugh over shared memories such as recalling the escapades of your youth in Rohan, his arm casually drapes around your shoulders in a brotherly gesture. The familiarity and ease between you two are evident. But to an observer like Aragorn each laugh, and touch seem to whisper of something more.

From his vantage point Aragorn watches the interaction his chest tightening inexplicably with each passing moment. The way Ealdred looks at you with such open admiration and joy, ignites a flame of jealousy in Aragorn’s heart that he can neither quench nor fully understand. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. A subconscious echo of the turmoil brewing within him.

Ealdred, ever observant, catches the intensity of Aragorn's gaze from across the way. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. "I believe the great ranger isn't just watching out for danger, you know," he teases nodding subtly towards Aragorn. "The way he looks at you... it’s as if he’s trying to will you to notice him. Quite the admirer, our King-to-be, wouldn’t you say?"

Your eyes widen slightly. The comment catching you off-guard. For a moment you're lost in thought considering Ealdred's words. You glance over at Aragorn observing his now averted gaze, the stoic mask momentarily fallen, revealing a hint of vulnerability. The idea of Aragorn, a king, having such feelings for you seems almost unfathomable. Yet the possibility stirs a flutter of excitement deep within.

Laughing softly, you shake your head trying to mask your sudden nervousness with humor. "Oh, Ealdred, don't be silly. Aragorn and I—we're just friends," you reply though your voice lacks conviction. "Besides, how could a king ever see anything in someone like me? I’m just a warrior from Rohan. Certainly not a lady of court."

Ealdred gives you a knowing look, his smile suggesting he sees right through your casual dismissal. "Well, even the mightiest kings need true friends and perhaps something more," he murmurs while giving you a playful wink before turning his attention back to the bustling activity around Helm's Deep. “Go to him, I will see you around.” He gives you a push.

As Ealdred walks away you're left with a curious mix of doubt and wonder, pondering his words. The thought lingers in your mind mingling with the echoes of what might be unspoken truths between you and Aragorn. The idea feels both impossible and thrilling, setting your heart racing as you watch Aragorn commanding his men with natural authority. Could there really be more to your friendship? The question hangs in the air, unanswered but increasingly impossible to ignore. Of course, you wanted more but when you learned of his destiny not so long ago you let those thoughts fall away.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Gimli, having observed Aragorn’s unusual demeanor, seize the opportunity for a bit of light-hearted ribbing. "Come now, Aragorn," Legolas chides with a graceful arch of his eyebrow, "your warrior's stare is more intense than any orc's glare we've encountered. And far more directed at our friend than any foe."

Gimli chortles, adding his own gruff commentary. "Lad, you're as subtle as a dwarf in an elf’s dance," he laughs before slapping Aragorn on the back. "Even the blind could see the way you look at her!"

Aragorn was caught between his role as a leader and his personal turmoil and offers only a rare, tight-lipped scowl in response. Though the corners of his mouth twitch, betraying a reluctant amusement at his friends' observations.

Once the teasing subsides Aragorn's gaze drifts back to you, now mingling with a quiet reflection. The light-hearted jests of his companions echo in his mind, stirring a resolve. Perhaps it was time to confront these feelings. To explore the truth behind the glances, the smiles, and the unspoken yearning that had begun to shape his heart. As night falls over Helm's Deep, the looming battle stirs a newfound courage within him. A courage not just to fight enemies, but perhaps to also voice the truth of his heart.

As the day before the battle approaches the air at Helm's Deep grows tense, filled with the weight of impending conflict. Soldiers go about their final preparations. Their movements sharp and focused, while commanders issue last-minute orders with stern expressions. In this bustle, Aragorn finds himself repeatedly glancing your way. His usual calm demeanor overshadowed by a restless concern that has little to do with the battle strategies at hand.

Finally, unable to contain the turmoil stirring within him, Aragorn approaches you. His stride is purposeful yet there's a hesitation in his eyes that you've seldom seen. "I need to speak with you," he says, his voice low, drawing you away from the others under the pretext of discussing the morrow's tactics.

You follow him to a quieter part of the fortress where the sounds of preparation are but distant echoes. As you stand there facing him in the dim light of the torches, Aragorn seems to struggle with his words. His gaze intense and searching.

"A moment ago, I was thinking about our positions for the battle," Aragorn begins, his tone tentative. "But truthfully, that's not why I asked you here." He takes a deep breath. His hands clenching and then relaxing at his sides. "I... I've noticed a distance growing between us while we’ve been here, one that wasn't there before. And I fear," he pauses, his voice tightening, "I fear it might be due to misunderstandings... emotions left unspoken." His admission hangs between you, stark and revealing. The air feels heavier as if charged with the gravity of his words. His eyes never leave yours, seeking, perhaps, a sign of your feelings.

You feel a knot form in your throat. Your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and revelation. The thought that Aragorn might share even a fraction of the feelings you've struggled to hide sends a shiver through you. But there's also fear—fear of what such an admission means in the face of the darkness that might claim tomorrow.

"Aragorn," you start, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I've also felt something change. But I believed you saw me only as a… friend in battle, nothing more. With the shadow of war over us I thought it best to keep my feelings to myself." Your confession feels like shedding armor you didn't realize you were wearing, leaving you exposed but strangely free.

Aragorn steps closer. His presence enveloping you in a sense of warmth and safety that contradicts the coldness of Helm's Deep. "I have long admired you, more than as a friend," he confesses, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "But I too feared to speak, to disrupt the bond we have with uncertainties of heart. Yet on the eve of such uncertainty… I find that silence is a greater burden than the risk of sorrow."

The distance between you diminishes with his words bridging gaps formed by unspoken doubts. As you look up into Aragorn's eyes, reflecting both the torchlight and his earnestness, you realize that regardless of what the morrow holds, this moment—honest and raw—has changed something fundamental between you. No longer just allies but something deeper. A connection forged not just in the heat of battle but in the vulnerability of shared hearts.

The emotional confrontation beneath the shadowed walls of Helm’s Deep leaves the air between you and Aragorn charged with newfound understanding and fragile hope. As the initial shock of your mutual confessions fades, the reality of the coming dawn—laden with the uncertainty of battle—sets in, lending a poignant urgency to your words and thoughts.

Aragorn’s eyes that reflected a mix of resolve and tenderness, lock with yours. “We stand on the brink of war, a war that may consume us all,” he says, his voice steady despite the turmoil you know roils beneath. “But this moment… this truth between us, cannot be overshadowed by what tonight may bring.”

You nod feeling the weight of every word. His hand was still holding yours. He squeezes gently trying to ground you. “I have carried this in my heart, thinking it unwise to speak, fearing the complications it might bring,” you admit. Your own voice stronger than you feel. “But now, facing the unknown, I see only the folly in silence. My heart, just like yours, cannot bear the burden of what-ifs.”

Aragorn’s face softens. The warrior’s mask yielding to the man beneath. “Then let us make a promise,” he proposes. His gaze searching yours for hesitation. Finding none, he continues, “If we survive this war, if fate grants us passage through this darkness, I promise to explore this path with you. To see where our hearts might lead us, unburdened by duty.”

Moved by his words you feel a resolve awaken within you. “I promise, too,” you respond, the night air around you bearing witness. “To find you again. In a world at peace and discover the depth of what we might become together.”

The pact, sealed with the sincerity of shared heartbeats, seems to carve out a small sanctuary against the chaos of the impending battle. As you both stand together the day turns to night and the distant sounds of the encroaching army grow louder, yet, in this secluded moment, there’s a sense of peace. An oasis of calm before the storm.

Aragorn gently lifts your hand to his lips. His kiss a feather-light promise against your skin. “No matter what comes,” he whispers, his breath warm against your fingers, “know that tonight has changed everything.”

As you part ways to prepare for the night ahead, each step back to your respective duties is reluctant but necessary. The promise of a future, however uncertain, fuels a quiet courage in your heart. A courage not just to fight, but to survive, to return, to begin anew.

The stars overhead that were witnesses to your solemn exchange, twinkle with a hopeful light. They cast a soft glow over Helm’s Deep. In the quiet before the battle, you hold onto the memory of Aragorn’s words, the warmth of his touch, and the promise of tomorrow. A tomorrow where you might explore the uncharted paths of both peace and passion.

And in the quiet before the storm with the world held at bay, it is enough.

As night envelops Helm's Deep, the distant roar of the approaching enemy fills the air. A grim reminder of the battle that lies ahead. The walls were thick with the tension of awaiting warriors and bristle with weapons as the moonlight casts long shadows across the battlements. You take your place among the defenders. The weight of your armor familiar and reassuring against the chill of the morning.

Across the way, Aragorn readies himself for combat. His eyes briefly meeting yours across the crowded space. In that fleeting glance you find a silent exchange of resolve and reassurance. A mutual understanding that whatever the day brings, you are not alone.

The battle erupts with the thunderous sound of orc drums and the clamor of arms. Waves of enemies crash against the fortress's defenses. Each assault more ferocious than the last. Amidst the chaos you find yourself fighting back-to-back with Aragorn. Each move synchronized with an instinctual precision that speaks of your deep connection. His presence by your side is both a comfort and a spur pushing you to fight with a fierceness you hadn't known you possessed.

As you parry and thrust Aragorn covers your flank. His swordplay a seamless dance of deadly grace. Every time an orc breaks through the line threatening to overwhelm you, Aragorn is there, his blade swift and sure. In return you guard his back with equal vigilance, your own combat skills honed by years of training now coupled with a personal drive to protect him at all costs.

From the corner of your eye, you catch brief glimpses of Legolas and Gimli, their unique partnership effective and deadly against the enemy. Despite the severity of the battle, you see Legolas shoot a quick, satisfied glance towards you and Aragorn, a small smirk playing on his lips as he loses another arrow into the horde. Gimli, engaged in a competition of his own with the elf, nonetheless nods approvingly in your direction after cleaving another orc with his axe.

The battle rages on. Each moment a blur of sound, motion, and adrenaline. But within this turmoil your bond with Aragorn becomes your strength. When fatigue begins to claw at your limbs it is his steadfast presence that reignites your resolve. When despair whispers in the shadows of your mind it is the promise of a future together that keeps the darkness at bay.

As the tide of the battle shifts with every orc felled and every moment you and Aragorn continue to stand, the hope for victory grows. It was fueled not just by the strength of arms but by the power of the unity you have forged in the heart of conflict. The knowledge that someone fights beside you not just for the fate of middle earth but for the promise of a shared tomorrow is more potent than any weapon forged by dwarves or elves. Together, you fight not only to protect Helm's Deep but to preserve the future that you vowed to explore. In the heat of battle that promise binds you ever closer. A promise that against all odds you will survive to see what lies beyond the war.

As the echoes of battle fade and the sun begins to rise over the now-quiet walls of Helm’s Deep, the air is filled with the heavy scent of rain and renewal. The fortress, though scarred by the night’s ferocity, stands resilient. A showing of the courage of those who defended it. Among the weary soldiers there’s a palpable sense of relief mixed with sorrow for those lost. A bittersweet victory.

In the aftermath as others tend to the wounded and recount the close calls you find yourself seeking out Aragorn. You find him standing alone looking out over the battlements at the dawning day. His profile etched against the lightening sky. His stance is one of a man who has carried too much, seen too much, yet stands ready to face whatever comes next.

Approaching quietly, you stop beside him, sharing the view in silence. After a moment he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting the myriad emotions of the night. Without a word he takes your hand. His grip firm and warm, anchoring you both in the now.

“Aragorn,” you begin but he shakes his head slightly, asking you to stop.

“Let me speak before the world rushes back in,” he says softly. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering. “Last night in the middle of this mess I realized something beyond the fear of losing what is precious. I realized what it means to truly love.”

He pauses, searching your face for understanding. “I have loved before,” he continues, “but never like this. Never with such clarity and raw hope. Last night I fought not just for middle earth but for the chance to see what lies ahead with you.”

Tears gather in your eyes as his words wash over you. Each one landing with the weight and warmth of a cherished caress. He continues as he uses his thumbs to wipe away your shed and unshed tears. “You have given me a reason to fight. A reason to return no matter the odds. And if this battle has taught me anything it is that I want to face whatever comes next. Not as a king. Not as a ranger. But as a man hopelessly in love with you.”

Aragorn's confession was simple yet profound. It stirred something deep within you. A surge of love and commitment that mirrors his own. You step closer diminishing the space between you and rest your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “And I, too, want nothing more than to face the world with you, Aragorn. To build a life where love is our strength.”

Aragorn begins to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion, confessing his love and the revelation that had come to him amidst the chaos of battle. But as he speaks, something within you stirs. A fierce, overwhelming rush of feeling, amplified by the adrenaline that still courses through your veins.

Before he can finish you close the distance between you were driven by a surge of emotions too powerful to contain. Your hands find his face pulling him down towards you, and your lips meet his in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It's a kiss full of life, of survival, of shared battles and shared dreams. Your bodies press together, each curve and angle molding into the other, as if you could somehow merge into one being united against whatever may come.

Aragorn responds with equal fervor his arms wrapping around you to lift you slightly off the ground deepening the kiss with a passion that mirrors your own. His touch is both a claim and a surrender. A recognition of the bond that has been forged in the heat of battle and sealed in the quiet of dawn.

As you finally part, breathless and hearts pounding, you rest your forehead against his, eyes still closed as you savor the closeness. "I love you," you whisper. The words barely audible but heavy with meaning. "I fought for this, for us."

"And I," Aragorn replies. His breath warm against your lips, "will continue to fight for every day we have together. For a chance to love you as you deserve, fiercely and freely, without the shadow of war."

The promise hangs between you profound and sacred. As you step back still encircled by his arms the world around you seems to awaken. The sounds of the fortress stirring to life, the calls of soldiers and the distant cries of those mourning their fallen. It all fades into the background as you look up at him, seeing not just the warrior or the king but the man who holds your heart.

The sun was now fully above the horizon. It bathes you both in golden light, its rays like a benediction over your newfound commitment. You prepare to face the new day with him. Not just as survivors but as partners bound by love. Each beat of your hearts proof to the battles you’ve endured and the future you will fight for together.

(Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @dnfhascorruptedme

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captain-hawks · 20 days

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Hoshina, ocean blue~

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

c: 18+, fluff, smut, soft soshiro in love

Clear, bright, cloudless skies after a dull, rainy day.

Rays of sunlight shimmering atop the lazily cresting waves of a vast, open lake.

A bushel of fresh, sweet blueberries in his mother’s kitchen, the first blue jay that roused from the tree in their backyard on a brisk spring morning after a long, cold winter.

It’s these fragments of memories, these bottled up snippets of time that hover at the edge of Soshiro’s consciousness as he stares down at you now, as he drinks in the way the late afternoon sun douses you gold in this vibrant, swaying meadow of forget-me-nots. This brilliant ocean of blue that stretches the entirety of the clearing, quiet and deserted save for the melodic sound of your laughter that he’s drunk on at this point—that, and the incessant beating of his lovesick heart.

He feels a little bad, almost, that all these shades that live inside of him don’t stand a chance. That for all the navy, the cerulean, the cyan, cornflower, and turquoise, vibrant as they may have once been—he knows they’ll all pale in comparison to this.

Soshiro wishes he was an artist, would love to know just how many brush strokes it would take to find you nestled here beneath him again in a field of flowers, if the canvas would give beneath the weight of this moment (if it would bend like his ribcage is now against the swelling of his heart).

Your lips taste like honey and sunshine, like the first hint of daybreak and the last cusp of twilight as he cups the side of your face, thumb stroking the delicate curve of your jaw while his mouth slots against yours.

With your legs wrapped around his waist and your fingers threaded in his hair, Soshiro slowly eases himself the tight, wet warmth between your thighs, reveling in the way your body arches and writhes. The way the flowers that surround you seem to shudder when you moan, heels digging into the small of his back as you urge him to sink his cock deeper, to stretch open every last inch of your pretty, dripping cunt.

And as you climb atop him with flower petals in your hair and his name on your lips, Soshiro knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this will forever be his favorite shade of blue.

#soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #kaiju no. 8 #dee writes

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! Here is another chapter! I did end up splitting it though because it was getting way too long and its my birthday this week so I may not be able to update as much as I would like to because I will be busy with friends and family! Anyways, thanks for all the love as per usual!!! I hope you enjoy <3

Chapter 66: Tides

Tides are something that are never sure.

You could never truly anticipate their movements, whether they would rise quickly or slowly, dragging the oceans swell up the rocks of the shore. Some men could argue that they could foretell the next drag of the sea, determined by the moons waxing or waning. But those men were fools, for the ocean has more than just the skies that guide it. Storms and winds, creatures, and Gods all have a say in what the frigid waters will do.

With each push and pull of the waves came your salvation. With every waxing and waning moon, came your deliverance. People were often like tides themselves, changing each and everyday, with no discernible pattern.

As is knowledge and power.

Power was something that morphed and contorted, bending to whoever’s will was strongest, but even they could not hold that raw force for long. For power would never truly bend, just as the tides would never stay the same.

Always changing.

Always moving.

Always fluid.

Like you.

In the past year, you had changed and just like the tides, morphed and been bent, contorted and swelled, rose and fallen. A metamorphosis like the insects Helaena had always loved. And yet with each passing day, you feel your own tides within, pulling and pushing you. It weighed heavily on your mind, dragging you down beneath the waves, ripping the breath from your lungs as you felt yourself drowning in the torrent.

The task you had been given was no ordinary feat, and if it were anybody else, they would have surely broken by now. Given up, and played their hand too early. Raised a white flag and uttered ‘I surrender’. But you could not give up. You could only give in. And that was a distinction that you continually reminded yourself of.

You were not giving up.

You were giving in.

Giving in to the pressures of a man you were cursed to lay with. Giving in to the role you had said you would play. Giving in to the actions you so desperately wished to avoid, in order to protect yourself.

To give yourself more time.

To not be a steadfast fool and show your hand to the vipers you nested with. If you acted too quickly, they would smell a plot, and any little freedom you had been given would be swiped up, and the reality of death would be far sweeter.

Though every fibre of your being screamed at you to hurt them, to maim them, to act quickly, and keenly with the blade of your mind that you had been sharpening each night since the usurpation, but you knew that it would be foolish. A plot played out too quickly and stupidly. Any fool could have seen that. A patient mind would get you to better results, and you had to a game to play.

Wait and see.

Wait and listen.

Wait and deliver justice with a swift hand and a sharp mind.

If you were to follow your desires, to follow the screaming voice which called at you in your dreams, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena echoing behind it, you would fail, and all of this would be for naught. Your mother would lose everything, and you would lose your life.

The Greens needed to think you were broken, complacent, tired, and troubled, but not too much so. If you were to bend the knee and submit entirely, Alicent and her enablers would know something was afoot. And so you had to play the dangerous game of waxing and waning, pushing and pulling, listening and waiting, until the time was right.

Until the time you could call upon the Gods to give you your strength and deliver a raven requesting star fruit.

But for now, you had to wait.

It was not giving up, it was giving in.

A distinction in which meant life or death.

If you were the tides, then Aemond was your moon. Your temperament depended on the weather that he would bring. Would it be rain? A torrential downpour that seeped into your pores? The water rising until you drowned in it?

Or would he leave you high and dry. A sudden drought that had you thirsting for more, itching for more. Scratching at the earth in search of something, anything, to sustain your frail body, withering in the burning heat and loss of your own essence. Your own being. The very core of who you were.

Or perhaps he would be a lovely summers day.

One where you may bask in the warmth of his light, and feel the soft rays kiss upon your skin, his breath on your face lingering far longer than the storms he would bring. You would forget, for a moment, to give yourself peace, that he had brought any storms at all. That he was not a man who changed with each day, that he was not a man who had brought such destruction.

If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of your sanity.

Or would he freeze you out and let his bitter frost nip at your fingers and toes?

Would his passion burn you like dragon fire? Melting your body into his with every touch.

It was inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable.

Like how the sun slips behind the mountain tops, darkness blanketing the valley below, but you know that it will rise on the morrow. Just how the creatures in the trees and on the ground know, that as the darkness passes, the sun will shine again.

But it is more of a question of not if, but when.

When would it pass?

When will it pass?

The tides come and go with the moon, pushing you away from your desires and pulling you back roughly, dragging you over the jagged rocks and reefs, their sharp edges cutting through you. The tides rage with the storms but they will always rescind back to calm.

Aemond was the moon, and you were the tides, and he predicted and controlled your rise and fall, just how you have grown to predict the uncertainty ahead.

There is only one guarantee in your life, and that is not knowing what is next.

And so you must build yourself a ship, to sit atop the tides, to sail over them with their swell and recession, rather than succumbing to it and sinking into the waves. You needed to be smart, you needed to be patient.

You needed to wait.

What knowledge could you surely give your family to help them? That Aemond resents his brother still, and that the Maester was an ally? But is that all?

That was knowledge that you knew before you were wed to him.

You could not offer that as a sign to strike. For your family to come forth, dragons and fire, for the same standing as you had before. A standstill. Feet stuck in the dirt on even playing grounds, except you had no access to Vermithor. And so the hill sloped upwards towards the Greens.

And so you had to wait.

A letter arrived some few days later from your family, asking for your wellbeing and updating you on theirs. It was comforting to know that you still had some form of contact, and when you had asked Aemond if you were to fly to witness Jacaerys’ union to Baela, he had hummed and given you a non-answer.

You had written back to them and gave them the answer that you had recieved, a shaky maybe to your presence. A subtle, no. No absolute yes. It was all that you could give for the time being, and you would bite your tongue, lest he gouge it out with his talons.

One morning when the maids were readying you for another day by the sea, you had gazed at yourself in the mirror, far more than you had previously, and noticed a change in your appearance. Though the weight you had lost due to your arrival and the subsequent events had come back, there was a hollowness to your eyes.

Your smiles never quite reached them, and the once vibrant violet looked almost dull and murky, as if beneath waters or behind storm clouds. A darker shade sat on the skin beneath them, making them appear almost hollow, but even still, your cheeks held colour, and your lips were less bitten and raw than they had been.

Even your fingers had been given a lull in the usual assault your teeth or nails would give them.

But your eyes were something you could not look away from.

As the girls brushed your hair, you stared at yourself.

Who was she?

She looked like you, but was she really you?

But it was you. And you had changed.

And you would remind yourself of this.

Aemond had spent most of his days with Aegon and the small council, working with them with tasks for the realm, and then bringing his scrolls and tomes back to the chambers, his sharp nose in a book almost each and every night.

After you had last spoken, after he had last told you of this so-called prophecy, there was a shift between the both of you. A stand still of your own. You were in the eye of the storm. The eye of his storm. The winds and rains had stopped, and the sky had opened up to show light. A path out. A way up.

Just as Lucerys had thought he had found.

You anticipated the moment when Aemond would surge up through the clouds and swallow you whole.

You would not tempt him.

That afternoon, you had spent much of your time walking through the garden, looking at the various plants and flowers. You stopped your steps as you looked at a bright purple patch of flowers. It stood on a long stalk with fingerlike leaves, five points to each one, as it stood straight and tall. The flower itself looked almost bell shaped, or perhaps like a hood that a monk from the Sept may wear.

Its appearance alone screamed danger. Natures own warning.

It looked familiar, and you made a note to yourself to look in the library for a tome on florilegium.

When you had returned to your chambers that evening, Aemond was sitting at the table, bent over a particularly large black tome, sharp nose pointed down to the page. He had hummed a greeting to you, not lifting his eye from the script as you entered.

He had not touched you since that night, spending most evenings hunched over the table with piles of parchment and tomes, writing and reading beneath candlelight well into the darkness. You would retire to bed, expecting him to follow you, but he would not, continuing to write and read, shuffle papers and hum to himself softly.

It was an oddly calming sound, a background noise of assurance that his attention would not be on you.

When you had asked him what he was doing, he had told you that Aegon had given him much work to do, and would be spending most evenings like that.

But what had surprised you most was that he had apologised to you about it.

“I’m sorry that I am not more present. Aegon has given me things that he should be doing, but if I don’t, no-one will, and the realm will dissolve into chaos.” He had grumbled beneath his breath, as you stood beside him, looking at his messy script.

You had told him you understood, and went to bed quietly and fell quickly into sleep. But this evening was different, and when he had greeted you with a short hum, you had expected yet another evening dining together on a table which had scrolls and tomes hurriedly shoved to the side to make room for the plates. An evening of his writing lulling you to sleep.

Instead, you sat yourself by the fire, thinking of the flower you had saw in the gardens. It was so familiar to you. You could have sworn you had read about it somewhere, or had been told about it. But nothing could spring to mind.

Was it Hooded-Trumpet? Angels Locks?

What was it called?

“What are you thinking of?” Aemond’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Some flowers I saw in the garden, I have forgotten their names.”

“Hm, one of the Septa’s could tell you.”

If you were to ask them, and it turned out to be poison, they would know of your plotting and report you to the King.

“It will come to me, I am sure.” You replied, tongue in cheek as you thought hard.

“We are to dine with the King again.”

You sighed loudly into the chambers, turning to look at Aemond who was placing his quill in its holder, gathering the loose pieces of parchment in hand to stack them into a pile atop the open page of the tome.

“Must we?”

“We must.” Aemond replied, popping the ’t’ at the end as if he too was dreading the evening.

“Can we not dine here?”

“The King has requested our presence.”

There was the tide again.

“You are more and more a Prince Regent by the day with Aegon too busy in his cups and whores.”

You were testing the waters.

“It is my duty.”

“Is it not his duty to rule the realm, and listen to the people? Is it not his duty to read tomes, and write letters?” You pushed.

Aemond was silent, his eye rising to your face as he looked at you beneath his brow.

A silent warning.

You bowed your head and stood, looking out at the water. The sun had lowered behind the horizon and the chambers began to darken. The tides would shift, you just did not know when.

Aemond came to stand beside you, looking out at the water. The smell of sandalwood and leather curled around you.

It was a familiar smell, and something that you had grown to like. Something you had grown to anticipate wherever you were. The occasional waft of his scent curling up from your dresses, when you would enter the chambers, or when he was nearby. Sometimes you would smell it in the gardens, and you would turn your head to look for him, but he was never there.

“When is my nephew to be wed?” Aemond asked, eye still on the ocean.

You turned your head to look up at him, almost in shock.

Was this his answer?

“Soon I believe. They had written to ask again if we would be attending.”

Aemond hummed.

“Should I write to tell them to expect us?”

“No.”

Aemond turned on his foot to pour himself, and you, some wine, coming back over to hand you your goblet. You did not grasp it as you looked at him.

Aemond pursed his lips as he sipped from his own cup, still holding yours out to you, which you eventually took from him, bringing to your own lips as you looked back out at the water.

“The King will not allow it. I have already asked.”

Fuck the King.

You nodded your head and stayed side by side until you had both finished your wine, and the had knight come to the door to escort you to the dining hall. You were still taken back that Aemond had asked for you to go. Even if it was escorted by he himself, but still, he had tried. And Aegon had said no.

You sat in the seats that you always did, with Aegon opposite you, and Alicent and Otto on either side of him, whilst the rest of the council filled the empty chairs. The food was placed upon the table and Alicent spoke a small prayer to the Seven.

You often wondered what she prayed for when alone, did she pray for vengeance? Penance?

The council had seemed to grow more relaxed around your presence, as though they were finally accustomed to you being there, or they were assured that you would not be a threat. Larys spoke of whispers with no meaning and even offered to go on a walk with you again. You had responded politely and said that you would surely take him up on his offer.

The night continued with conversations that held no interest to you, and so you listened in to words here and there, hoping to hear something, anything of use.

Your patience was rewarded.

“There is some troubles down in Flea Bottom, but nothing our guards and knights cannot handle.”

Your ears pricked up.

Trouble in Flea Bottom?

You reached to grasp your goblet of wine, feigning that you had not heard Lord Wylde speaking to Grand Maester Orwyle.

Orwyle was a Maester who had served your Grandsire, and turned cloak against your mother. He was an old man, with dark skin, and eyes blacker than coal. In his youth he could have been a handsome man, but now his hair had receded, and his years on earth had wrinkled him.

Otto and Alicent spoke across the table to Aemond with Aegon, and you strained to listen to the other two whispering.

“…Rhaenyra…if she…supporters…laws…”

Your name pulled you from your eavesdropping.

“I asked how it is to have your husband back.” Aegon smirked, cheeks flushed from wine and crown crooked on his head.

His hair looked unkempt, unbrushed and oily, tucked behind his ears and out of his face, with smaller strands that had escaped crossed over his forehead. For once, his coat was buttoned up to the top, coming just under his chin, high on his neck.

It looked as though the coat was holding his head upright.

“A relief, though he spends most of his time reading and writing the nights away. I fear I have lost him to the book.”

“Aemond you must find time to rest.” Alicent softly cooed, head tilted as her hands came together in front of her, elbows on the table. Maternal instincts alight.

Here was your in.

“I have told him to no avail.” You began, looking at Aemond before back at Alicent, “He rarely comes to bed, and spends much of his time hunched over the table by candlelight for all hours of the night.”

Aemond hummed beside you, “Merely performing my duties.”

“Are they your duties, or the Kings?” You questioned.

“My duties?” Aegon cocked his head to the side, looking at you, “Do you question my rule?”

Otto shifted, and you saw Larys lean into the conversation.

“I merely question if my Lord Husband should be burdened with playing the role of Prince Regent without the title.”

Aegon laughed angrily, pushing his tongue into his cheek as he looked at the both of you.

“Is this because he is now too busy to warm your bed? Do you sit and wait for him wanting as he neglects your needs?”

Heat rose in your cheeks.

“Aegon.” Aemond said lowly.

“Merely a question.” Aegon leant back in his chair, the one larger than the rest, “Is your cunny missing my brothers cock?”

“You are a spineless little worm.” You sneered, leaning forward towards the table.

“Tell your whore to watch her tongue.”

The sound of a chair scraping the floor cut across the room as Aemond jumped from his seat, watching Aegon like a hawk. His brow was drawn and eye narrowed, jaw set tightly into a line as he clenched his teeth.

Aegon however, looked up at his younger brother in vicious delight.

“Aemond.” Alicent uttered, desperate to cool the mans temper and ease the tension.

The King laughed.

Aemond breathed heavily, and you craned your neck to look up at your husband as he towered over the table, hands bawled into tight fists at his side. His knuckles turned white and you watched as he shifted on his feet, one inching to move behind him.

A fighting stance.

“All in good jest, brother. No need to get your breeches in a knot.” Aegon smiled cruelly.

You whispered to your husband, looking up at him as he did not take his heated gaze away from Aegon.

“Besides,” Aegon continued, tone teasing, “We all know that her mother is the Whore Queen…Perhaps her blood runs thick in your wife.”

You dug your nails into your palm and stared at Aegon.

Would he be able to scream if you dug out his throat with your hands?

“Say it again.” Aemond growled quietly, looking at his brother.

“Enough.” Alicent commanded, looking between her two sons.

Aegon lifted his hands in mock surrender, but Aemond still did not seat himself, standing impossibly stiff as he kept his gaze on the King.

“Sit.” Aegon smirked.

Aemond did not.

“Your King commands you.” Aegon grinned, watching as Aemond’s face twitched, and moved slowly to sit back down in his seat, hands on his lap as his fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs.

“Aemond.” You whispered again, and yet the Prince would not take his brother from his sight, staring at him like a predator waiting to pounce.

You pulled one of his hands from his lap, holding it in both of yours as you began to lift it. Aemond’s head turned, taking his eye from Aegon for one moment to look at you. You brought his hand up to your lips, calloused and scarred, fingers warm but stiff, and placed a soft kiss to his knuckles. Trying to soothe him.

Trying to soothe the storm that brewed.

A puff of air left Aemond’s nose as he looked at you, and his fingers squeezed your own. You let a tiny smile grace your lips, an assurance that it was okay, an assurance that you were fine, that he was fine, and released his hand.

For the remainder of the night, you and Aemond both ate in silence before excusing yourself to your chambers. Alicent and Larys watched you both closely as you looked up at Aemond to see if he was to turn back around and slide a knife between Aegon’s eyes.

He didn’t.

The walk back was tense but not in a way that you were used to. This time, Aemond’s animosity was not pointed towards you, and instead his brother. For once, you did not fear this anger.

You realised that Aemond could help you.

You needed to get him to help you.

You needed to convince him that you loved him.

When you entered the chambers, Aemond barely said a word, looking at the pile of parchment on the table waiting for him, but moved to pour himself some wine at the side of the room. He had sat at the fire and drank, and you had joined him, allowing him to his thoughts and you to yours.

Aemond could be swayed to you.

He could.

You needed to use his hatred towards his brother carefully.

Like a cleverly spun web, it needed to have no faults, and needed to be made with precision.

What was the name of that flower you had seen?

Wolfshood? Snakebean? Bells of Triumph?

The maids came to ready you for the evening, and once you were in your chemise, and your hair had been released from its braids and brushed loosely down your back, you had made your way to bed, watching as your husband moved to sit back at the table to continue his writing and reading.

A man truly dedicated to his duty.

“Aemond.” You called out to him softly, sitting up in your shared bed.

The light of the chambers was low, and only few candles were lit, most of the light coming from the dwindling fireplace. Aemond looked up to see you, a vision of beauty, all soft and Valyrian, silver hair warmed by the light of the fire, and eyes sparkling in the dark.

“The hour is late.”

Aemond continued to stare at you, stood beside the table which demanded his attention, but as did his wife.

“Come to bed.” You cooed, reaching over to pull the sheets back on his side.

Aemond looked at you and then down the the table beside him. Eye roaming over the tomes and parchment, piles of scrolls with ink pots and quills. A large candle sat in the middle of the table, its flame flickering and dancing, wax slowly melting down its sides.

In a split decision, Aemond leant forward and blew out the candle on the table, making his way across the room to crawl into bed beside you.

He came when you had asked him.

The heat of his body radiated beside you as he moved to blow out the candles surrounding the bed, his long hair laying down his back, brushed and silky, tickled your shoulder as he leant over you.

Darkness covered the chambers and you settled into the pillows beside him, laying on your back as you blinked in the dark up at the ceiling. Aemond did the same, the both of you lost to your own thoughts and worries.

As sleep slowly began to pull you under, a name popped into your mind.

Monkshood. Wolfsbane.

You had to hold back your grin.

You knew you had recognised the tall plant.

You hummed a tune inside your head, a song the Septa had sung once, long, long ago, in the gardens when you were young, and Lucerys was only three, and she had warned you of plants to not touch and just see.

Monkshood, Wolfsbane, Devils Helmut, three,

Five fingered leaves with sharp teeth on me.

Beware my root, my stem, my leaves,

My pretty head of flowers tease.

A seed or petal, a touch or sip, will leave a man without his wit.

Within the hour, a day or so, my poison reaps what has been sowed.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat @hc-geralt-23 @daenerys-supremacy @rabbit-reveries @mari0302 @fallinglikeash

Bold is who I cannot tag!

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thatonebirdwrites · 4 months

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Favorite Korrasami Fics

I'll include word counts for those that want to start with shorter ones first.

At the end of this post, I'll drop a few of my own fics as an addendum for anyone interested. I like to think my work is good, but well, you'll have to read and let me know what you think. :) If any of you have recs for good Korrasami fics, feel free to drop it in the comments.

Bird's favorites:

Lovedeathcats's It Belongs In A Museum (186,403 words) This is an Indiana Jone-esque AU, where Asami Sato a professor seeks the long-lost Elements of Eternity, relics rumored to grant the power of the Avatar over the four elements to stop them from falling into wrong hands. Korra and Krew joins her on this adventure.

Lovedeathcat's Beneath the Surface (still ongoing as of today 5/13/2024 and currently at 67,231 words) Premise: Set in a Modern Day AU where bending is a hidden art. "When Asami accepts a job at an isolated, hidden boarding school, she finds more than she bargained for - as well as everything she's been searching for."

Shigan's Such Essential and Invisible Things series: * Stake in the Pond (3,158 words) * Bedrolls (4,120 words) * When Meelo Brought the Porn (6,443 words) * All These Tiny Moments (772 words)

Progman's Repairs, Retrofits, and Upgrades (part of the Spin Your Rails series). (220,963 words) *Note the series as a whole as seven works in it that range from 3k to 220k in length. The other stories sort of serve as gap fillers for the main series, and the series as a whole is fairly close to canon. (The comics do not filter into this series).

FuzziFox's South (Currently 185,235 words, though it is still being updated as of today 5/13/2024). Premise: what if when Asami asked if Korra wanted company going South, Korra said yes instead of no?

Islandofme's Korra, not alone (35,080 words) -- Premise: what if Asami came and visited Korra while Korra was recovering?

RainbowRosie's Restoring a Frozen World series *The Girl in the Iceberg (352,793 words) Premise: Asami Sato uncovers a girl frozen in an iceberg, who turns out to be Korra the Avatar. Set in a 1920s version of Avatarverse, where bending doesn't seem to exist anymore. *The Church of Raava (still being updated as of today 5/13/2024 and is currently at 58,977 words)

@asamiontop's Where the Snow Takes Us (283,139 words) Premise: Korra is a ski instructor and Asami is a student. They meet. (It's a very cute tale that takes place in a Modern AU.)

@korrasamibottles's Under Me, Over Me, Any Way You'll Have Me (5,098 words) Premise: Height difference shenanigans.

Vetofan's Balance of Power series, which dives into Korra not realizing she is the Avatar (growing up thinking she's a nonbender) but having to face all the same challenges while she figures out what to do about this newfound Avatar powers. While falling in love with Asami Sato. (Currently 289,062 words with five works, though the fifth work is still being updated as of 5/13/2024).

Paxbanana's Place In This World (303,813 words) -- sticks with canon and chronicles the period after the show ended.

Valkrez's A Second Glance series (186,877 words and five works) This is mostly canonical, and it chronicles the times between episodes. It's all about Korra and Asami's off and on again relationship until they finally get together at the end of the series (the last fic is them in the future after years of being together). This one is heavy on the smut.

mustangsgloves's Falling For You (13,977 words) Premise: the four times Korra ignored her feelings for Asami when sparring and the one time she doesn't.

Tempest (sniperct)'s The Avatar and the Inventor Series: * There's nine works in this series that range from 700 words to 82,000. I really loved the "A Thousand Ways to Love A Woman the most), but all the fics are good in their own ways.

GallifreyanFairytale's with every drop of rain, singing (i love you) (1,385 words) -- it's a cute one-shot of a rainy day.

wegglebots's The Engineer's Guide to Dating the Avatar (17,989 words) -- it's just an adorable collection of ficlets that are extra silly and details Korra and Asami's relationship.

gayestcatra's The Path to You Series (2 works that total 194,288 words) It is canon-compliant, and just tells the story of how Korra and Asami fell in love. Includes the events of Turf Wars too.

Just_Addie's Uncivil Wars (3 works that total 88,737 words) Premise: The Winter Soldier but set in the Avatarverse.

The Road Trip Universe has a bunch of fics by the following authors: BarbWireThong, L2_BBOC, lanagotconed20, OccasionalWriterHD, Volchise. It's a modern day AU. (34 works that total 190,809 words. Each fic various in word count from 747 words to 36k words)

SifuTurtz's The Calm Before the Storm (2,978 words) A canonical fic that takes place the night before Kuvira's army reaches Republic City.

ADDENDUM:

My works:

Korrasami Adventures Series (All works in this series are canon-compliant) *How Was Those Three Years (21,397 words) Premise: How Asami handles those three years without Korra. *Spirit World Vacation (currently on hiatus but will finish soon, at 20,769 as of 5/13/2024). *Asami's Hidden Box of Poetry's And Letters ( 2,274 words ) -- a short, completed fic that's just fluff of our two favorite gals. *Is This a Romance? (14,411 words ) -- a silly retelling of the Asami's attempts to date the Avatar and the three year gap from Asami's perspective.

Shared Moments Series (Currently 6 works totalling about 960,009 words)-- this is canonical through Book 1.5. *Book 2 is my rewrite. Civil War turns into a World War, and Korrasami happens by end of Book 2. *Book 2.5 covers the aftermath of the World War in Book 2. *Book 3 is canon-adjacent as in same villains with similar plot beats. It has the repercussions of my Book 2 and 2.5 cascading through it. *Book 3.5 is my current project and I'm still updating as of today 5/13/2024. It sets the stage for Korra and Asami's healing journey, Bolin spy shenanigans, Blue Spirit Rises Again, and Earth Kingdom Civil War. *Book 4 and 5 are in note stage still. These two books will detail the repercussion of all prior books, the Second World War, and its Aftermath.

Enjoy!

#korrasami #legend of korra #the legend of korra #tlok #asami sato #avatar korra #writing #fic recs #fic recommendation #my works #my fics #ao3 fanfic

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talesofesther · 9 months

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under the sunlight

Summary: After 200 years of darkness, Astarion feels the sun on his skin again.

A/N: It's been quite a long while since I've enjoyed a game the way I'm enjoying BG3, a feeling I've missed all too much. And of course, this pretty, charming boy has secured his place in my heart fairly quickly. I love him, he deserves all the warmth and softness in the world. And this is a moment I've been wanting to visualize for a while. So, here's a small drabble about Astarion's first time back in the sunlight.

Requests for Astarion are open, if anyone wants more of him here. <3

Masterlist

The world around him smelled like smoke and burnt flesh, the air stung as it ghosted over his dry lips. Dust and remains of rubble clung to his skin, his body felt heavy and sore all over. Each movement more painful than the last, for seconds that felt like hours.

The pale elf didn't know how it happened, all he knew was that the mind flayer ship he had been trapped in had started to fall, and fall, and fall; until it crashed, and he crashed with it. He also had no idea how he had survived, but he wasn't about to complain.

A deep groan escaped Astarion as he steadily regained consciousness. He kept his eyes clenched shut, a headache pounding his head and making him wince.

He scratched the dirt and grass beneath him, grounding himself. His muscles complained as he slowly started to push himself up, and as he tried opening his eyes, a hiss fell past his lips and he blinked several times. Squinting, he tried to adjust his sight to the bright sunlight.

He stilled. Hand frozen midair as he was about to shake the dust off his hair.

Sunlight.

Moving faster than he probably should, given his state, the vampire crawled backward until his back hit the trunk of a tree. His skin only partially hidden from the warm glow.

He tucked his knees closer to his chest, eyes wide as he watched the soft slivers of sunlight that sneaked between the leaves dance on the tip of his fingers. With a trembling hand, he gingerly curled a finger around one strip of sunlight, as if the light would bend its rules for him to hold it.

Sharp fangs dug into his lower lip, scratching and drawing a drop of his own blood. There was a tightness in his chest, clawing at his throat; whether it was fear or hope he didn't know. Maybe a bit of both.

A soft breeze flew by, carrying away the stench of smoke and bringing a distinct perfume, no doubt from the berry bushes nearby. The skies cleared, welcoming, beckoning him under.

With his palm up, Astarion eyed the stripe of sunlight resting on his hand. The soft glow had a gentle warmth to it, kissing his pale skin ever so tenderly. It was enough to blur his sight, tears brimming on the bottom lid of his eyes.

Could it be?

Wobbling in his stance, feet unsteady, Astarion pushed himself up. He took one, and then two steps forward—resembling a wild cat walking into a cozy home, after sleeping countless nights out in cold streets.

When the warm light of the sun embraced him—without pain, without burning—a quiet whimper fell past his lips, and Astarion closed his eyes. He angled his chin up to the sky, pleading for the sun's attention. For it to kiss his cheeks and dry the drops of blood on his clothes. For it to shine on his silver hair and warm up his cold skin.

He blinked his eyes open, lower lip trembling when his sight was temporarily blinded by the light. He looked around him, to the bright greenery and the blue skies and the mountains far away.

It was so warm. After 200 years of cold nights. He felt so warm.

Tears fell down pale cheeks, glimmering, under the sunlight.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion imagine #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #astarion fanfic #my story

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

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Jungkook

𝐄𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Best Behavior

Every year, he joins the old tradition of traveling, where his ancestors have once ruled the skies. Every year, he meets familiar faces and new ones he's never seen before. Every year, he watches how his brothers find their mates, build their families, and introduce new generations to stories as old as time. But this year, something might be different. This year, there's you - a treasure worth more than he could ever offer.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon!Jungkook, strangers to lovers/mates, mentions of folklore and traditions, modern fantasy, romance, human?Reader, Fluff, Courting, MC kinda wary of kook at first, but he's cute give him a chance pls

Additional Chapter Warnings: Steamy JK, Spicy reader, Horny fluff

Length: Short (because tumblr eats long drafts these days)

-> Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Jungkook is.. unique.

You've been courted before- bit never truly like he's started to do it. While on the past and usually, you see dragonkin men run around trying to make it a spectacle to fuel their own status, Jungkook seems to make a spectacle out of it purely for you.

It's like he wants people to know who he's aiming for. Like he wants them to see. Like he's proud in his attempt at sweeping you off your feet-

Or bite your neck rather, in dragon terms.

And he's also very obviously trying to see how far he can push you, in a more.. well, intimate sense. He's clearly aware that he's an attractive guy, and at this point, you're not sure how you're supposed to handle that. It's not like it's a bad thing- you believe him in his words when he told you you could always tell him to back off if he became too much.

But you don't want him to back off. You've simply never received attention like that.

You're unaware that you're staring at the way he swings the axe time and time again to chop down the large logs of firewood, used later for cooking. It's hard to take your eyes off of him- the way his muscles move underneath his partially inked skin, giving you nothing but a mere idea of what he's capable of if given the chance to show it. It makes you wonder. What kind of lover is he? Is he a dominant guy, calling the shots and bending you to his will? Or is he simply all bark and no bite, no need for anything out of the ordinary? You don't know him- but you know guys who look like him.

And they're typically a disappointment, all their worth pushed into their looks and nothing else.

It's when he puts the heavy axe down and smirks impishly into your direction from beneath his hair, halfway tied up to keep it out of his face, that you realize he's noticed you watching him. Instantly you turn, walking away from his sight.

How embarrassing - but you won't let him get under your skin without fighting back.

He watches later on how you take a nap in the shade of the sun, dress having moved up to your thighs, wind occasionally giving him a glimpse of even more skin, like nature is teasing him. And it becomes worse when he notices the wyvern tooth necklace he'd given you resting on your chest- warmed up by your skin, a piece of him touching you where he'd like to have his hands as well.

And then you turn over, laying almost on your stomach, face on your arms-

An impish little grin sent his way, well aware that he's watching.

Jungkook takes the challenge as he licks his lip, walking closer to you before he sits down near where your bare leg is placed, close, but not touching. His eyes wander over your entire body for a second, before he leans back a little, crossing his arms, sleeves of his shirt barely containing the straining muscles.

"What do you want?" You mumble, voice a bit raspy from having actually slept, and his instincts to protect you in your state knock on the back of his mind.

"Nothing." He shrugs, chuckling at your slightly accusatory tone. "Just saw you had no one watching over you while you slept. Thought I'd take on the job." He offers, voice playful as he looks down to you.

"Hm, there's nothing to guard though." You tell him, noticing how you feel a bit more at ease around him for reasons you're not sure of.

"I can see a treasure right next to me, and treasures need to be kept safe." He tilts his head, making you roll your eyes.

"Your flirting is horrible." You say, playfully kicking against his thigh- though his hand wraps around your ankle, a firm grip with no strength, oddly enough. His thumb moves a little over your skin, eyes glimmering with something as they look at you intently. "And you're greedy, touching random treasure that's not yours." You tease.

"Yet." He smiles. He's got all chance to move his hands, trace your skin with his fingers and more, but he doesn't, and you don't know why that disappoints you a little.

"Make your move then." You challenge. "See where it gets you." You say, and his smile turns into a grin, head shaking at the way you verbally bite at him, trying to lure him out from his self-control. You're playing a game he's for sure happy to get lost in, instincts calling out to him to put you in your place and show his strength, offer you a taste of his worth and power over you. He wants to prove himself to your doubting mind, wants to give you evidence that he's aiming for a love raw and passionate, a future life where you can and should rely on him to protect and provide.

But he's not that easily bewitched, even by someone as tempting as you.

"Not yet." He simply grins, hand leaving your ankle to instead turn the pendant of the necklace he'd given you, knuckles faintly brushing over the softness of your cleavage for a second, before he stands up. Even just a fleeting graze of his fingers heats your skin up, turns the tips of your ears red as you fail to conceil the effect he has on you, and its clear that he feeds off of it.

"I want to play with you a little more." He simply teases, before leaving you alone again.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader

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nightsfeelheavenly · 1 year

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yk what i’m not done thirsting after arthur morgan. i want to ride with this man out through each region of texas. i wanna sit under the starry skies of the plains with him, our horses grazing nearby. i wanna explore hill country and big bend, set up camp by the river and fish into the evening, crawling back into camp with sunburnt cheeks and tired smiles. wanna sit low and deep in his lap, breath comin out fast, hands laced behind his neck.

wanna decide to head back east, set up on the cusp of the prairies and piney woods, and make a little home for the two of us. want him to slide his hand beneath the waistband of my pants ‘cause skirts weren’t great for riding astride after we’re done fixing the fence, want to feel the smooth press of the wood porch against my back. no one’s around for miles, why not have a little fun?

#yes im back on my bullshit #also its an excuse to wax poetic about how pretty texas is #arthur morgan x reader #x reader #gn reader

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hanahaki-disease · 15 days

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Choke Myself on Sacred Vapor

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“An ache panged in his chest when he saw the child. A banging in his head, a vague yell within the confines of his own mind. There was something in his head screaming that the child looks familiar, that he’s seen a little boy with green eyes and curly black hair before. Whose skin bronzed in the sun and freckles dotted their cheeks. And a contagious laughter that had dragged him into its of laughter as well. But where had he seen that boy before? Who was that boy?”

***********************************************

All he could see was green. There was no up or down. His fingers never touched the sides, toes never hitting the bottom. The air in his lungs burned, demanding for more, but the green kept him down. Suffocating him in the viscous liquid unlike anything he’s seen before.

What was here anyway? Why was he in the green? He could feel it sew his body back up, lacing itself in the skin and muscles of his limbs, crawling in his veins. It tugged at the loose flesh that littered his body, pulling it closed and leaving not a trace behind. The green was itchy. Like ants in his skin, nipping and biting at the tissue beneath. Scratching and poking in his head, mending whatever was broken.

The ache in his chest was hurting more now, like a fire it climbed up his throat and lodged itself in the middle. He needed to breathe, he needed air. He kicked the liquid and made his way to where he thought ‘up’ was. It was hard to tell. He could be dooming himself by swimming deeper into the pool, all the way to the bottom where his chances to rising to the top were slim. But something told him that the green wouldn’t kill him, it’d keep him alive and it’s hurt like hell, but he’d live.

How was this living? It seared his skin from the inside out, burning his eyes, and made his stomach churn with every aching push against it. There was another liquid he liked better than this one, it was calm and cool against his skin. Clear and blue and traveled the earth with nothing to go against it. He could live in that one. That one didn’t hurt his lungs, it didn’t send waves of fire in his veins, but that doesn’t mean it was the total opposite of the green.

He’s seen the devastation it could bring, the terror and death. Soaring into the skies, taking bits from the domain above to crash down and wipe out whatever was below. That one was an unstoppable force with winds fast enough to sweep one off their feet and power to flatten civilization, it was able to carve the land if it so wished. Splitting the earth, bending it to its will over years and years.

That’s the one that thrummed within him, it pushed against the green, fighting it to remain in control.

His lungs grasped for air when he surfaced, greedily swallowing it like a man deprived (which he was.) His eyes were blurred by the green, clinging to his lashes and covering the eyes like a membrane. Tinting the world in the same color below him. From what he could see, in the thinner parts of the film, the walls surrounding his were rock. Carved and cut into the earth by hand, with pillars eyes polished keeping the roof stable high above his head. Torches hung against the wall, the flame a green like the pool he was in, and at the far shore were people.

Elegant robes and uniforms lined with gold that reflected the glowing light of the green. Two people stood in front of the rest. A woman, tall with a solemn expression on her sharp features and tanned skin. Her hip cocked to one side, a hand resting on her hip inches away from he gun strapped to her thigh and the knives sheathed at her back. The man wore plated armor, black and gold, draped in dark greens and armed with a sword on his hip. His hair had streaks of white and his eyes reflected the green of the pool. Glowing the same color and just as deadly.

“The detective will have fun solving this little mystery, wouldn’t he?” The man said, his chuckles reverberated in the room and brought back the nausea in his stomach. “See to it that he is trained. He will be of no use should he not be able to survive again.”

“Yes, father,” The woman nodded her head as the man and most of the group left with him. The remaining people held cloths and towels, most likely to wipe off the green that still clung to him. One, however, held a pitcher. Brass and polished and painted with a mural he couldn’t quite tell of what from where he stood in the green. But he could feel what was inside, it was a pull in his gut, a call from somewhere within that wanted to reach out an grasp it. Pull it to him and heal what the green could not.

“Tayir. Come this way.” The woman held her hand out to him, stepping at the edge of the pool, letting the beads of green slide off her boots and into the rock beneath her.

Tayir? Was that his name, is that who he was? He didn’t know why but the name was wrong, it didn’t ring in his ears the way it should if it was his name. Wouldn’t he remember it if it was, and if it wasn’t, then what was it?

He could not remember his name nor who he was before the green. It was as if he had not existed till now, born in the green (yearning for blue. But why blue? What was special about blue?) She spoke his name gently, beckoning him closer. Was she his demise? A savior? He didn’t know, and he had no choice but to follow her command. The look in her eyes made it seem as if she knew him, how her green eyes racked over his body like a predator and it’s prey. Cunning, vicious, with a deceitful smile and cold hands.

“We must being your training,” She said guiding him out the green. His body felt different. It was bigger, denser, his muscles pulled him down more and his eyes looked at the world in a different angle. He was looking down at people, not up or eye-level. He didn’t know why it was different, just that it was. “We mustn’t waste any more time than we have already.”

The days pass in a blur after that. He can’t really recall much after the green. He knows the woman doesn’t hurt him if he listens, her cold hands pressing white cloth to the wounds and speaking in a hushed voice, her sympathy and gentleness forced with every action, as if she was not one to do such a thing. Tayir doesn’t like the man, hasn’t since he first seen him. He was cruel and vile and Tayir always had a new scar when he left.

There were days that were spent with non stop training. When the dawn broke, so did he. Hours spent under the morning sun refining the muscle memory of defense before reshaping his attacks in the afternoon. Nights forced outside the comfort of the compound for survival training only to have his continue his schedule the following day like normal.

The woman tended to his schedule, shifting the classes to suit her needs rather than his own. But he rose in the ranks as an expert marksman, bested his opponents in sword fighting, and was brutal when it came to hand to hand combat. It was as if she had an ulterior motive for him, what it was he didn’t know. His mind mush and responses mindless as he went about his routine like a puppet on a string. He didn’t think for himself, obeyed every command, and never once spoke. But there were days when that green would encapsulate his vision once again.

It’d stretch across his eyes and bathe the world in the neon color of his mysterious rebirth and fuel the anger bubbling within him. It was as if he had developed during then, his mind wanting nothing but the blood of his enemies on his tongue and dripping from his hand. To attack and satiate whatever was within him. But he didn’t know where that rage had come from, didn’t know where it originated or why it was there. The woman didn’t give him answers, and it wasn’t like he could ask her anyway. If anything she seemed to have a love-hate relationship with the green. One Tayir didn’t understand.

“Follow me. You have a new assignment.” The woman turned from where she stood of to the side of his class. Her green robe billowing as she walked down the cold stone halls, heels clicking with each step only because she wants to be heard. “Damian,” She called when they reached their destination.

“Hello, mother,”A small voice spoke from somewhere in the room. He didn’t turn to look at them, eyes following the woman until she spoke hi next command. “Who is this?”

“You may call him ‘Tayir,’ ” The woman motioned for the other to move closer to her and he watched as she lower herself to the floor. The fabric of her robe pooling into gentle waves and soft mounds at her feet, contradicting the sharp edges of her tongue and blades. “He is to be your guard. He will follow your command and protect you should I not be there.”

Tayir followed the woman’s gaze, turning his head to where her eyes were pointed and something…happened. An ache panged in his chest when he saw the child. A banging in his head, a vague yell within the confines of his own mind. There was something in his head screaming that the child looks familiar, that he’s seen a little boy with green eyes and curly black hair before. Whose skin bronzed in the sun and freckles dotted their cheeks. And a contagious laughter that had dragged him into boughts of laughter as well. But where had he seen that boy before? Who was that boy? It was on the tip of his tongue, the letters for the name bouncing off his head like an old DVD loading screen.

“I don’t need a guard mother,” The child, Damian, looked back to his mother.

“I understand that, and while your skills are formidable for your age, you are still a child,” The woman rose her position, turning to face him. Green eyes the same color as the child but oh so very different in a way Tayir couldn’t explain. “You are to obey his orders now. Protect him with your life, understand?” He nodded and she looked down to her child. “Good. Do with him as you please, but do not kill him for amusement. Now, continue on with your studies, Damian. I shall see you again as the next assessment.”

“Yes, mother,” Damian responded watching as his mother left the room, leaving Tayir and Damian alone. The child made no acknowledgments towards him, simply moving towards the low table where his books had been laid open. “Guard the perimeter.”

Tayir and Damian had fallen into a new routine after that day. One that passed with a bit more memory recall than before. Every day Tayir would accompany Damian to his own training and classes, sparing with him in needed by instructors, guarding him from any and all threats. In the evenings though, after supper and afternoon classes, Damian would talk to Tayir like a child would. Rambling about anything that came to mind in the orange light of dusk of in the steady accompany of rain. He would speak about what he’s learned in his studies, all the places his books describe, indulging in the fantasy of what it would be like to travel there. To see the world beyond the mountain peaks and centuries old walls of Nanda Parbat.

The fuzzy image, the faded and hard to grasp picture of that other boy in his head had begun to meld with the image of Damian. And while they might not act or spoke the same way, Tayir couldn’t help but bend to the will of the green-eyed, curly black-hair child. Something was important about it, something he should know by heart. Something that was just known about it that he couldn’t quite place. Like the inherent knowledge that his blood was red and his eyes were green (but that felt wrong too, why did that feel wrong?) the child in his head was more than just vague memories and a lost name on his tongue.

It came back though. The name. His name as well. In a wave that drowned the green for a moment and quieted the voice in his head.

It was cold and rainy and they were covered in mud and dirt and bloodied to all hell. Tayir had taken Damian out of the compound in the middle of the night, his intuition waking up as the first feeling of sudden wrongness. Damian was asleep beside him, tucked under the covers with a hand holding the hilt of a blade under his pillow. He shouldn’t technically be in a deep sleep, league training having them be alert enough while resting to anticipate an oncoming attack. But Damian had found himself falling into REM sleep more often with the knowledge of Tayir guarding him while he slept.

Tayir rolled out of bed, Damian in his arms, when the near inaudible whistle of a tranquilizer dart shot towards them, embedding itself in the headboard when Tayir had been. He followed the sight line of the dart, shutting the window shutters closed before the next dart followed. There were three assassins in the mountain face near by. The speed of the dart and the distance ruled out a blow-tube so it had to be a riffle of some kind. One, he could see, had a radio. They were telling others about their failure which meant there were more around the compound or inside. They had to get out.

There were tunnels beneath the compound, ones connected to the apartments belonging to the Al Ghuls and other very important people. Tayir gathered his weapons, made sure Damian had his shoes and his own blades, before making it to the tunnel entrance. Cold wind nipped at their skin when they entered, the light of lantern doing little to help them see. Their shoes growing wet and damp as the tunnel merged with a freshwater channel that opened into a basin for the village below.

Something about the cold water felt off to Tayir. It was that same familiar pull in his stomach that happened when he emerged from the green all those days ago. A sense of rightness that calmed his nerves and steadied his mind. The freshness of the water held back the burning of the green, replacing the itch in his veins and soothing the aches and pains he’s endured from the ruthless training. He didn’t have the time to enjoy nor question why when the edge of a blade was pressed under his chin.

An ambush had been waiting for them when they left the tunnel, five men and an archer in the treeline at the end. Two of them restrained Damian, a gag over his mouth and a smaller knife held against his own neck. The leader of the small squadron spoke to them, his voice grating in his ears, but he was focused on Damian. He could hear him struggling in the assassins grasp, feet splashing in the water, growling at them as they tried to pull him out of the water. Out of his line of sight. Tayir couldn’t have that.

He ducked under the blade, sweeping the man’s feet from beneath him till he landed in the basin. Tayir stood, placed his foot on the man’s neck and threw a knife at the assassins holding Damian. The blade piercing him in the eye. The man beneath his foot, grabbed and pulled at Tayir’s robes, struggling for breath beneath the clear water. He heard Damian’s battle cry as he lunged at the other man with him, his knives clashing against the older man’s as they went back and forth. When Tayir looked back to the leader, he nearly missed the swipe of the man’s sword.

Back and forth they went, Tayir’s thinner katana against the other’s bigger short sword. Sometimes when they clashed, if it was at a certain angle, sparks would ignite. Fading back into nothing just as soon as they appeared. The water was holding the leader back, his movements slightly sluggish against the sloshing and splashing water, but Tayir had no issues. He moved through the clear liquid with an ease he’s never had before. He was sure that if he stepped out of the basin, exhaustion would drag at his limbs, a weight on sore and scrapped muscles. Tayir speared the blade in the leader, watching as the red of his blood stained the clear water.

There was a shout from the tree line and the whiz of an arrow. How had he forgotten about the archer? Green began to creep on his vision as he followed the arrow to it’s target. The tip impaling Damian in the thigh, a straight shot through and Damian’s cries of pain snapped the band of tension that had been growing in the pit of his stomach since he stepped foot in the water.

His voice scratched at his throat when he yelled in anger. Who knows how long it had been since he’s spoken, the sensation a familiar unfamiliarity, one that hurt and pulled at vocal chords that had been laid dormant since his awakening in the green. His gaze shifted to the archer in the tree. He was too high up and too far away from Tayir to reach him in time, the archer would be gone and lost in the thicket, but he needed to be stopped. The archer could call for backup, notify the enemy of their position, and gain access into the compound via the water tunnel.

Tayir looked to Damian, hands working on a tourniquet with what little he had, dripping red into the grass. He couldn’t leave the child either. It was his job, his new life’s meaning to protect him and keep him safe. And that damned archer shot him.

There was a rush in his ears as his green-tinted eyes focused on the archer. That tug in his stomach grew and the feeling of the cool water beneath him receded. It curved and wrapped around his body like a second skin, washing the green from his veins, from his sight, from his mind. Extending like an arrow towards the remaining enemy, it ran through him and twinged red as their blood melded with the water. The shock of the cold against his skin as the water returned to the basin made him gasp, clutching his throbbing head like a vice.

“Tayir!” Damian had called from outside the basin but that was not his name. It wasn’t the one his mother had given him or the one his little brother laughed. And Damian was not his little brother, no matter how much they looked alike, they could never be the same person. How could he have forgotten his little brother? How could he have forgotten Percy?

His mind came back in a tidal wave. Flooding the green and revving the once fractured mind that no human medicine could even attempt to heal. He looked at his arms, ones littered with wounds from the fight, and saw the clear water run up his limbs and mend the torn flesh. Healing him and leaving not a scar. The soreness of in his limbs had vanished, the heavy breaths in his chest gone, the blood lust and rage within his mind quieted fro just a moment as he sat in the swirling vortex of spring water.

What was he? Was he meta, some kind of water-based magic user? He would know if he was one, the signs would’ve been there since chil—they were there. All the indications of some sort of inhumane that separated both him and Percy from the others. They never got sick from the rain nor whenever they had fallen into the harbor. They would refuse to leave Bruce’s pool in the summer, spending the whole day submerged beneath the chlorine blue water, their skin never once pruning. And the most damning of all, the few times they’ve been to the aquarium, all the sea life just seemed attracted to them. Strutting form their attention, coming to the glass for them two to notice. And Jason remembers(his name was Jason! How could he forget that?) the one time he swore he could hear them talk. Their voices clear in his head, speaking with such joy and reverie that the “princes of the sea” had come to visit them.

Jason sat back on his feet, watching the water swirl around him with stripes of red from the blood of the assassins. It seemed to reflect his spinning head. His memories battling against the barely-there ones of his time spent here in Nanda Parbat. Slowly he staggered to his feet, the exhaustion finally hitting him like a truck and made the water drop back down to earth. Damian clung to the edge of the basin, little bloody hand prints dotted the gray rock and green eyes stared at him win a mix of shock, terror, and fascination.

Carefully he made his way to him, the water not affecting his stride like earlier, and inspected the wound. With one hand he helped Damian over the edge, watching the already copper tinged water develop a more red hue from the child’s’ blood. Jason snapped the arrow tip off the bolt, wincing as Damian cried out in pain as he removed the (thankfully) not splintered shaft of the arrow. He watched as the water ran up Damian’s leg, soaking the trousers as it climbed.

The kid’s breath slowly went from ragged and fast, in pain and trying to breathe through it like his lessons had taught him. But as the water mended the wound, sewing closed and running through the gap to numb the pain, his breath evened out. Dry gulps of air and a still racing heart, Damian looked at him, “Tayir? How are you able to do that?”

“I…don’t know,”he answered, inwardly chuckling as Damian’s eyes grew wide and mouth agape at his response. “And my name is Jason.”

***********************************************

HE’S BACK >:)

Did you like it? I hope you liked it.

The next time we visit Jason and Damian is gonna be fun, trust.

Thank you for reading!! ❤️❤️

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#percy jackon and the olympians #dc comics #pjo x dc #batman fanfiction #percy jackson fanfiction #jason todd #talia al ghul #batman #percy jackson #damian wayne

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novaursa · 10 days

Note

Can I request a Jacaerys Velarion x sister?

where she follows her brother Lucerys against her mother's orders

Seeing Aegon on Vhagar she intercepts her beloved younger brother in the storm and orders him to hide, saving his life. she on her dragon attacks Aegon and Vhagar. They fight in the fierce storm injuring them forcing them to escape. She and her dragon were so tired that they fell.

The next day Lucerys finds her badly injured unable to wake up. with her dragon growling at Lucerys and trying to calm him down to try and get her sister to safety with the maesters. She is in a coma due to the blow but not bad enough to die. but when she wakes up she remembers nothing, not even her brother, mother, and brother/husband. Just remember that his dragon is always with him, he always escapes from his chambers to be near him and when they want to take her to his bedrooms she doesn't want to and when he sees that they are forcing her, his dragon tries to unfederate her. Please

Between Sky and Sea

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You disobeyed your mother and went after Luke. You wake with no recollection of it.

- Paring: (wife) sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: The reader is bonded with Vermirhor. I had to bend this request really badly so I can make a plot of it in just 1000 words. There is too much going on.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The ache in your body feels like it belongs to someone else, foreign and distant, tugging at the edges of your awareness. You stir in the silence of your chambers, eyes fluttering open, the world slow to come into focus. The first thing you notice is the weight of the blankets wrapped around you, heavy and stifling, your limbs weak as you try to shift beneath them. The air is filled with the smell of herbs and smoke, a scent you recognize but can’t quite place.

You blink slowly, confusion clouding your thoughts. The room is dim, lit only by the faint flicker of candlelight. Shadows stretch across the walls, their movement almost hypnotic, as if swaying to a rhythm you cannot hear. Your head feels heavy, your mind sluggish. Something is wrong—something happened.

But what?

A sudden warmth at your side pulls you from the fog in your mind. Turning your head, your gaze lands on him—Jacaerys. His dark curls fall in disarray around his face, his features tight with worry, the strain of sleepless nights evident in his expression. He sits close, his hand clasping yours, as if he’s afraid to let go.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, raw with relief and something deeper. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, your voice nothing more than a rasp. “Jace…”

His hand tightens around yours. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ve been… asleep for some time.”

As his words sink in, fragments of memory begin to stir, faint and elusive. You remember Vermithor, his powerful roar as it echoed across the skies, the feeling of his scales beneath your hands, the steady rhythm of his flight. There was fire—so much fire—and a rush of wind, the sensation of falling…

But that’s all. Beyond Vermithor, everything is a haze.

“I… I don’t remember,” you murmur, frowning as the strain of trying to piece the broken memories together makes your head throb. “What happened? Why… why am I here?”

Jacaerys looks away for a moment, his jaw tight, before meeting your gaze again. “You don’t remember anything?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling in your chest. “I remember Vermithor. I remember flying with him. But after that… it’s all gone.”

A shadow passes over his face, something dark and painful flickering in his eyes. “Storm’s End,” he says quietly. “You flew to Storm’s End. Mother—she told you to stay here, but you didn’t listen. You… you went to save Luke.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Luke, and for a brief, dizzying moment, images flash through your mind—Luke, small and fragile in the stormy skies, the massive form of Vhagar looming over him, the thunderous beat of wings. You gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for your chest as the memory claws at you.

“I—” Your voice breaks, the words caught in your throat. “I remember… Aemond. He was going to—” Your breath hitches, panic beginning to rise as the pieces start to fall into place. “I tried to stop him. I had to stop him.”

Jacaerys' grip on your hand is firm, grounding you. “You did,” he says, his voice steady but strained. “You fought him, Y/N. You and Vermithor… you fought off Vhagar. You saved Luke.”

Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived as Jace continues, his expression darkening. “But… you fell. From the saddle.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, the memory returning in a rush—a violent jolt, your fingers slipping from the reins, the ground rushing up to meet you. The sensation of falling, of helplessness, seizes your chest, and you feel your stomach twist.

“I… fell?” Your voice is small, disbelief and confusion lacing every word.

Jace nods, his jaw clenched. “Vermithor tried to catch you, but it was too late. You hit the water hard. They pulled you from the sea, Y/N. You’ve been unconscious ever since.”

You close your eyes, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. You should have died. By all rights, you should be dead. But here you are, alive, your brother at your side, the weight of the world suddenly so much heavier on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I disobeyed mother. I should have—”

“Don’t,” Jace interrupts, his voice firm, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that quiets the guilt swirling inside you. “Don’t apologize. You saved Luke. If you hadn’t… I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened.”

For a moment, the room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire and your own uneven breathing. Jace’s hand never leaves yours, his touch warm and steady. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that you’ve rarely seen before, a rawness that makes your heart ache.

“You scared me,” he says finally, his voice soft. “I thought I’d lost you.”

You meet his gaze, your heart tightening at the weight of his words. You’ve always known how much he cares for you—Jace, your brother, your husband—but seeing the depth of his fear, of his love, laid bare before you now, it’s almost overwhelming.

“I’m here,” you say softly, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales shakily, and before you can say anything else, he leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. The gesture is simple, but it’s filled with a quiet desperation, a need for reassurance that you’re still here, still his. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you, grounding you in the moment.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours. “I won’t let you go again,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear it.”

You smile faintly, your heart full despite the lingering pain in your body and the confusion in your mind. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As the silence stretches between you, the only sound is the steady rhythm of your breaths, syncing together in the dim light of the room. The weight of the past fades for a moment, and all that matters is that you’re here, together, safe—for now.

But even as you rest in the comfort of his presence, a part of you aches for Vermithor. You can feel him, somewhere far away, restless and agitated. You will have to see him soon.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen

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drgngutz · 3 months

Text

5 - Coast - Luffy x f!soulmate!reader

Chapter Five

Taglist: @mystic60 , @louisechec , @pinksh1t

Masterlist!

Happy reading!

Bit of angst in this bad boy.

I don't love making things so back and forth, but trust that it's for a good reason. We need that character development yk yk.

Also, the story takes place right after Alabasta.

---

It's a gorgeous day out on the sea. The skies are clear, with the rippling water shining and glittering in the sunlight, calm as can be as the wind brushed softly against my skin.

Nami was looking out at sea with the spyglass, ensuring that the weather wouldn't change on us, as well as keeping an eye on the horizon for any ships or islands we might be approaching. After all, the Log Pose had been pointing in this direction for a little while now.

Zoro was exercising at the top of the flagpole, using only his thumb to do some kind of upright push-up. I had sat there and watched in amazement as he never faltered, up until he had reached the eighteen-hundred-sixty-eighth push-up; by then I was just bored.

The three teenage boys all stood next to each other with their fishing poles in the water, still having yet to pull up any fish for dinner. I stood beside Chopper, watching the little bobber float in the water as we lazed over the railing, waiting for something to happen. Robin sat reading the second book in her series, not far from us.

Finally, it dunked beneath the water, Chopper and I perking up.

"I got one!" He shouted, before yanking the stick backwards and nearly smacking me in the face with it. The fish wriggled in the air as it was plucked from the water, before Chopper dragged it on board and carried it by the lip.

"Look!" He showed it off to Luffy, who was all smiles in return. Crouched next to Chopper to observe the first catch, I peered around the reindeer up towards my soulmate, who seemed to vibrate with excitement. I could feel the blush creep up my neck by just looking at him, still dressed in the white cloth from the crew's previous adventure. He never looked at me, though.

"Amazing!" He praised Chopper, who giggled happily in response. Snapping my attention back to the youngest, I smiled and praised him as well.

"Good job, Chopper. That's a big one!" He grinned with pink cheeks, before trotting away to put it in a bucket that Sanji had placed for each catch. He was planning on making some sort of fish stew, or chowder, which I was pretty excited for.

In a moment, Chopper's line was baited and back in the water, waiting patiently for the next fish to bite with excitement. A minute passed, and then another... then five, then ten. I was wilting with boredom.

"Um... Hey, Usopp?" I asked timidly, twiddling my thumbs as their lines lay vacant in the ocean.

"Yeah?"

"Any chance you have another rod?" I turned to look at him as he perked up, "I kinda' wanna' try it. I've never gone fishing before."

"Really?" Chopper asked, sounding surprised.

"Here you go!" The rod was shoved in my face and I took it into my hands. Looking back up at Usopp, he had a proud grin on his face, his eyebrows furrowed in confidence.

"You're in luck, missy; It just so happens that I'm an expert fisherman, and an excellent fishing instructor! In fact, I was the greatest fisherman on my island! I even held the record for a five-hundred ton Sea King!" He boasted. Chopper and Luffy looked at him in awe, stunned words like 'awesome' and 'so cool' from their lips. I was not so easily swayed, though. One thing I had learned was that Usopp loved to make up stories.

Surprisingly, just in time for his show, Usopp's rod began to bend and creak as something big tugged on the other end.

"This is big! This could be the guardian fish of the sea!" He grunted, pulling back against the weight of the fish on his line.

All three of us looked over the edge with baited breath, excited to see what he was going to pull up. The sight had me doubting my previous thoughts. Maybe he actually was a good fisherman, and this wasn't just one of his exaggerated stories...

"Really?" Chopper delightedly asked.

"That's amazing!" Luffy was thrilled as well.

Usopp wrangled the creature from the water with a great splash, yelling in excitement once he finally felt it lose the fight. The boys yelled with him, not yet seeing what was on the other end of the line as I had. I pursed my lips, waiting for the disappointment to ensue when they saw the fish.

The smiles did indeed fade after seeing the baby swordfish, no larger than the size of a finger, squirming like a worm on the hook.

"'Guardian fish?'" Chopper deadpanned.

"It's not even a good snack." Luffy sighed, dissatisfied.

I shook my head with a grin. I should've known that Usopp was only talking big game. Still, he looked pretty upset.

"It's... cute." I shrugged honestly at him, meaning it as a compliment. He didn't see it that way, apparently.

"That's real nice coming from you guys!" He barked at me and Luffy, who stared at him in shock as I backed away at his abruptness.

"Have you two ever even caught anything?"

"Woah," I tried to defend, "I didn't mean it like that--"

"You'll see!" Luffy shouted back, tossing his line into the water with confidence.

"Watch this!"

Again, a few minutes pass, and nothing happens. Usopp begins cackling at his captain while Chopper stands there and pouts at the water, standing on tiptoes to look over the edge. Luffy begins bickering with Usopp about how his fish wasn't any better, before an argument starts to ensue.

Throughout this, I had managed to sloppily put some of the bait on the end of the hook, struggling not to pierce myself in the process. They still hadn't stopped yelling at each other even as I put my own line in the water.

"You sure you can even get one?" Usopp taunts.

"Course’ I can." Luffy grunts back, eyes furrowed in concentration.

My bobber stayed floating gently in the water, ripples bouncing from its surfaces and reflecting the white color with each movement. I kept my eyes locked on every sway, not sure when I would know if a fish was on the line.

A while passes, and the bickering has mostly subsided, save for the few times it swells back up again as Luffy still hasn't caught anything. As Usopp teases the boy that he should 'just give up,' a dark shadow begins to form in the water beneath me. The rod jerks for a moment, before stilling again.

"Um... guys?" The two fighting with each other don't hear my words, but Chopper does.

"What's the matter?" His concern matches my own, seeing my wrinkled brow and beginning to trot over.

"I think there's something on my--'' The bobber shoots beneath the surface so quickly that I don't have time to finish my sentence, nearly losing the rod from my hands as the line goes taut with a drawn-out twang. Gripping as tight as I can, I felt my knuckles ache from the pressure. Whatever was on the other end of the line tugged hard, nearly sending me overboard as I’m yanked forward and slam my ribs against the guardrail. The spot aches and I choke on a whine at the pain, then pull backwards as forcefully as I can, arms shaking. I don’t get very far, practically hanging over the edge of the ship.

"Oi... oi!" Sanji shouts from somewhere behind me, Nami joining him and yelling my name in shock as I brace myself as best I can, but it's not really working. The rod bends harshly, and I can't muster the strength to pull it up any farther. Chopper is at my leg, holding on and doing his best to help, but his small form wasn't doing much help.

"Do you have one?" Luffy asks, excited, and apparently not paying much attention.

"Let go!" Nami screams before I can answer, "Or it'll pull you overboard!"

"But what about the rod?" I cry back at her, voice strained, "I-I don't want to lose it!"

My palms burned, feeling the wood beginning to slip from my grasp; but I couldn't let it go yet, not after Usopp had let me borrow it. We used them to get food, after all.

"Just let the damn thing go!" Sanji shouts angrily, "We can get another rod; you can't pull that up on your own!"

"Hold on!" Usopp begins to make his way over, but is ultimately shoved out of the way by Luffy, rod clattering to the ground and laying forgotten as he bounds over.

"Lemme' help!" It's swift, but I can feel the warmth of his arms wrap around me, leaning so close I can feel the muscle of his chest pressed against my back. He reaches down and grabs the rod with his own hands, skimming over mine before clenching his strong fingers around the pole.

Feeling goosebumps rush down my skin from his closeness, I nearly let the rod go as his arms squeeze at my sides; then he’s backing both of us up and away from the guardrail, and I go willingly, limbs weak from the feeling of him all around me. Safe and away from the edge, I hear him grunt in my ear as he gives the rod a harsh yank, and the giant thing comes out of the water with an enormous splash.

Both of us fall backward onto the deck as it flies over us and slams on the floor. I’m laying with my back on his chest, feeling dazed as the mist spreads over my heated skin.

I tilt my head backwards, matching Luffy as we both look at the creature he had fished up; some kind of shellfish-squid-looking-thing, which landed a few feet from our heads.

"What the heck is that?" He says, the words rumbling beneath my head that, and the sound seems to soothe my aching muscles. For once, I feel fine. It's... comfortable.

Then, he rises, and I go with him as he tilts his head to look down at me. I feel my cheeks burn bright red, head still angled backwards, looking up at him. He's smiling, for some reason.

As soon as that fact registers, my face lights on fire. I scramble up and away from the boy, every nerve alight with the realization that I had just been laying on top of him.

In the background, the rest of the crew begins to gather around the strange object, voicing similar concerns to Luffy's earlier question. I put my hand down to get up from the floor trying to properly hoist myself up, but stop and hiss at the burn that follows. Quickly flipping it over, I find that they're raw and red; skin peeling and blistering, with a few splinters dotted along my skin that sting every time I move my fingers. The other doesn't look much different.

"You're pretty weak, huh?" I wince at his condescending tone, before glancing behind me. He's grinning, hands propping himself up from behind as his legs lazily sprawl around me.

"Yeah. I guess I'm just... not cut out for fishing." I respond quietly, eyes tracing over the frayed skin of my hands and deflating.

Once again, I wasn't up to par. At least for the person who mattered most.

"Huh?" He sounds bewildered, and I look back at him. His brow is creased with a frown, coal eyes looking at me like I was crazy.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I--" I began to stutter out, trying to look anywhere but at him. I hated when he looked at me like this.

"You got the biggest catch of the day!" He leans forward, pointing at the creature behind us, which topples over with a metallic clang. I blinked at it, then back at him. I could tell there was a pained expression on my face when his frown deepened.

"But... you caught it," I started, looking away again, "I wasn't even strong enough to pull it out of the water."

Suddenly, he's in my face, a big smile splitting his cheeks. Merely inches away, I barely registered that he must've leaned forward to make eye-contact again. I could feel his body heat radiating from his chest against my arm.

"Whatever! So what?" He started, scanning both my eyes as I did the same. My brows were still cinched, confused if I should be upset or happy about this scenario.

"Huh?" Was the only thing that could form in my stupid mouth. He laughed.

"So what if you weren't strong enough?" He continued, pointing a thumb toward the squid-thing, which seemed to begin opening via a hatch on its side.

"As long as you can get them on the hook, I can just pull 'em out of the water for you!" So... he wasn't annoyed, or disappointed, then. At least, that's what it seemed like. Why did this boy give me such whiplash?

"Oh." Is all I can muster, softly. He snickers as I look all over his expression for some sort of fault, some sort of trick. Maybe he was just playing with me? That didn't seem like something he would do, though. Then why was he so back and forth?

It's like he liked me one minute and then didn't the next.

"Well," I sighed out, sounding more disheartened than I would've liked.

"If you say so."

"Yep!" He grins, satisfied to have 'won' the conversation, "I say so, now lets do it again!"

"Wait--" I falter, putting my hands in between us as he stretches to grab the rod he had previously left forgotten. His arms whips back, fishing rod retrieved and smacking into place as his face falls into a neutral stare.

"Woah, what happened?" He's looking down at my splayed hands, wounded and ruined, but it's like there isn't a single thought behind his eyes.

"...I messed up my hands trying to keep the rod on board." I spoke dimly, pulling them back into myself as his continued stares made me uncomfortable. At their removal, his eyes snapped back up to mine.

"Oh." His tone is one that I can't place, and I feel something flip uncomfortably in my gut. His face was still blank. Had I ruined his mood? Probably. He didn't look excited anymore, so obviously his mood was ruined. But, what was that expression? Why was he so passive about my hands being wood-burned? Why did he look so... bored?

The panic button in my brain was going off.

"Chopper!" He had turned to shout across the ship, "Come fix her hands so we can fish again!"

"Right!" The little deer came rushing over to me, still sitting, as Luffy got to his feet and walked away. No goodbye, no wave, not even a glance. It was like I was useless to him now because I couldn't contribute to the one thing that he was set on doing.

I felt the twinge of annoyance begin to stick to my skin, but I didn't bother trying to quell it at that moment. After all my efforts, shared food and all, I was back to square one.

God. It was like taking one step forward and two steps back.

My hands were swiftly wrapped in a salve and bandages, Choppers medicinal abilities would have them healed in about a day or two. Then, he trotted back over to the others who were talking to a mysterious man in an orange suit. With each object each crew member had plucked from his stash, he went on a long-drawn-out speech about it being their top-product, before naming some ridiculous price. A con-man, or a salesman, working to get the highest pitch he could get; either way, I had seen many of these crooks in the city. I wasn't interested in seeing anymore of them.

I made my way towards the nearest door on deck, the storage room, for some peace and quiet. Anywhere that didn't involve my soulmate trying to talk to me for the moment.

---

I perked up from where I had my head rested on my arms on the table, hearing the door opening after some commotion outside.

It was Nami, carrying an assortment of parchment, quills, inks, maps and books. She looked just as interested to see me there as I was to see her.

"Hey, (Y/n)." She made her way over to the small table, and I moved my arms so that she could place her things down. She put the parchment paper, ink and quills there, but the books and maps were laid on a barrel nearby.

"Hey." I said softly, playing with the bandages on my fingers, which were falling off from the constant fiddling. Chopper wouldn't be happy.

"What's up?" She asked, but only after giving me a once over, obviously noticing my down-trodden appearance. I shrug, before clenching my fingers and forcing them onto my lap. I needed to stop messing with them, anyways.

"Nothing. What are you doing?" Avoiding the topic, I didn’t want to bother her so much with my soulmate-problems. We had little talks here and there about the topic, and I wasn’t about to disrupt her focus.

"I was gonna' start working," Nami replies, sitting on the other stool, "that salesman ran off and left some paper that I think will be perfect for my map."

"He ran off?" I asked, tilting my head as she grabbed her quill and began sketching.

"Yeah, after he found out who Luffy was." She grinned, before continuing.

"Sanji threatened to give him to the marines so that we could cash in his bounty and buy the paper for me." I snorted. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

My gut twisted uncomfortably as soon as the thought ran through my mind, and my skin vibrated in disapproval; a physical reaction that I assumed was from the soulmate bond. Inwardly, I wondered if Luffy could feel it, too.

I shook it off, watching as Nami continued to scratch notes and vague images of past islands onto ragged sheets of paper. When she decidedly moved onto the white, clean surface of her new parchment, I spoke up again.

"Your dream is to make a map of the world, right?" Nami hums a confirmation. Analyzing her finely drawn lines, I find myself impressed.

"I think your map is going to be really well-done," I start, "You pay such attention to detail, it's insane."

"Aw, don't make me blush!" Nami coos, and I grin a little at her mock-bashful tone, listening to the soft scrape of ink on paper. She was making the grid lines of her next map, now.

"In all seriousness, it's been my dream ever since I was little. It makes me happy to hear you say that." I give her a little 'mhm,' for a response, feeling a little bashful myself to hear her so gratified.

Some time passes as she begins to sketch out the bulk of the island, before she speaks up once more.

"Well, what about you?"

"Hm?" I blink, drawn from my haze, "Me?"

"Yes, silly. Don't you have a dream?" She laughs, still drawing.

The question makes me stop. I knew the answer. I had always known the answer, but to voice it out loud? Not once had I been asked what my dreams were, what my goals were.

It was quiet, save for the scratch of the quill.

"For a long time..." Voice quiet, Nami stopped moving. The air suddenly shifted to something less carefree.

"I just wanted a family. But, after a while, I realized what I really wanted was a place where I belonged. Where I would be loved, cherished, accepted... all that corny stuff." I chuckled, though it lacked a lot of emotion. Annoyance plumed in my chest once again.

"Then, my soulmate-mark appeared, and that was that." I sighed, feeling despondent, and Nami held a regretful look in her eyes. That made me feel worse.

"That's just it… Yeah, my dream was to find my soulmate. I guess it came true, right?" I gave her a comforting look, though I'm sure the smile didn't reach my eyes, and I couldn’t help the irritation that seeped into my words.

"Right." Nami confirmed, though she didn't sound confident in her words.

Then it was quiet again. We both stared at the paper in a reflective silence.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make it so serious." I said, sincerely.

"...did you not have a family?" She finally squeezed out after a moment, seeming hesitant. My heart clenched in my chest.

"No.” A deep breath, and then I continued.

“I lived in an orphanage for a long time and helped take care of the other kids once I was old enough. I did have one... for a while. But…” I stopped. Speaking the words out loud was difficult. Speaking the words only reinforced what had happened. They served as a reminder.

“They didn't want me." I bit back the tears, stubbornly refusing to let my sadness free. The words weighed heavily in the room as the past reared its ugly head within them.

"Oh." She whispered quietly.

"It's fine," I quickly tried to remedy, shaking my head to get rid of the bad.

"I have you guys now. I have you, I have the crew, and I do have Luffy." She must've been able to see through the mask of a smile splayed on my face, because hers reflected that she didn't believe me.

I didn't blame her, it was hard to believe myself; I had just laid out one of my biggest insecurities and pretended I was fine.

"It's fine, really, Nami. Everybody moves on at some point or another." I shrugged, twirling a quill in my fingers at her silence.

“Have you told Luffy, yet?” She asked, eyes squinted in disbelief.

“No,” I rebutted quickly, “I don’t want to.”

"...I could talk to him, y'know." She said slowly.

"I know." I started, "And I appreciate that you would... But, that's not what I want. It shouldn't come from anybody else other than him; if he changed because you talked to him, it wouldn't feel real... You know what I mean?"

"I understand." Nami looks at me, "But, you should talk to him.”

"...I know I should, I do. I just... I'm honestly scared, Nami."

"What?" She's taken aback, palms flat against the paper as her quill is dropped.

"I'm just-- Think about it like this," I turn fully towards her, "What if I do talk to him? I say what I want; be honest about how I feel, tell him about my past, all that jazz… and he just thinks I'm annoying or boring. And then, what if he loses interest? Just like he did today after we spoke for like, not even two minutes..."

“He’s just so… uninterested.” I sigh, tracing over the soulmate mark and biting my lip, feeling my throat clog at the words that I want to say. I just needed a moment to say them. The mark tingled uncomfortably.

"Nami, what if he just doesn't want me?" I frown, feeling like I could vomit at the idea. I was just feeding into the unending spiral that grew each time me and Luffy had interacted in the past few days.

"Then my dream is ruined." I finish, feeling defeated and empty at the ideas running rampant in my head.

It’s quiet, so I decide to risk a look at Nami, and nearly jump back as I look over. The woman is seething, fire nearly replacing the bright-orange of her hair as flames dance in her irises.

"How about I kick his ass for you, huh?" Nami snarls, "Treating his soulmate like that, making you feel like this... He's an idiot. Who needs boys, anyways?"

I sweat a little at how scary she had become in under a minute, a stark difference from the melancholic state she was in before.

"I'll kill him."

"...You can't, then I'll probably die, too."

"I'll almost kill him, then." She looks rearing to go, practically rolling up her sleeves.

The sight has me smiling, and then giggling.

"Sure, I won't stop you," I'm still laughing, and it's contagious as Nami joins soon, "Maybe it'll make me feel better or something."

We just sit there, giggling at each other by ourselves in the storage room. We chuckle until I wipe tears from my eyes, feeling a lot lighter after ending the conversation on a good note. Then, it's quiet again. A comfortable quiet, this time.

"He does want you, y'know..." Nami tries to comfort, and I find myself not believing her, this time around.

"Before you showed up, he would talk about his mark, from time to time, and about how 'cool it was to have somebody that matched him.'" She sighed, putting a hand on her head, probably remembering the scene and thinking about how dumb he sounded at the time.

"He just... doesn't know how lucky he is to have you, yet."

"I'll try to take your word for it." I ended, not wanting to think about it anymore.

"Okay." Nami responded, before she picked up her quill.

"Anyways, you told me a little bit about your story, so I'll tell you mine! Sound fair?"

"Sure, but you don't have to." I was just happy that the topic had changed.

"Oh, please. It's my turn to guilt trip you now!"

"Nami! I wasn't trying to--"

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up and listen to my sob story, girl."

Chapter Six (Coming soon)...

#luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #one piece #one piece luffy #monkey d luffy

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