#He had so much trouble just getting them to allow him to say the marriage oath | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnamonest · 4 months

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Uhtceare

Yandere Ayato x Reader - "Failed escape attempt" series

(I still cannot publish posts that have people tagged. I don't know why, it just gives me an error popup saying it couldn't be processed. Apologies to those in my taglist.)

Warning: DARK CONTENT, noncon/dubcon, implications of forced/coerced marriage, masturbation voyeurism that’s also kinda forced, manipulative use of mental health and problematic way of addressing it, gaslighting and psychological manipulation, implied future forced drugging, there’s just a lot of my man being awful here

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“Ah, there you are.”

Of course. He would be right there at the entrance waiting, wouldn’t he.

You were hoping to get a few more seconds to put off the inevitable, but the reality of your situation was not so kind as to grant you that. It was all far too fast — the full events of the night before, the journey of being dragged back here — flanked on all sides by doushin all the while — all went by in a blur, leading up to this very dreaded moment.

You kept your gaze turned to the ground, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact. Your fingers curled, digging into the fabric around your thighs.

Nonetheless, without even hesitating nor willing it, you found your feet moving on their own. Perhaps it was instinct, to get away from the unfamiliar men that made you so uncomfortable and uneasy, and into the arms that, despite everything, were at least familiar, and thereby a comfort at the end of your long trial of distress and misery. Maybe you knew it was expected, and feared some consequence for not acting as you knew you should. Or maybe some of both.

Regardless, your feet shuffled forward, any thoughts muted in favor of instinct as you bounded over towards your husband — as much as you hated to acknowledge it, your one source of comfort. As you grew close, he reached an arm out, hand firmly planting itself on your back and pulling you in. Perhaps out of that same sense of fear at the thought of disobeying expectations, perhaps out of pure exhaustion, you allowed it without struggle coming to stand directly by his side, grasping at his clothes, burying your head against him and squeezing your eyes shut as if it would obscure the others’ view of you.

“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how worried I was about her,” he spoke to the arrangement of men now standing a ways away, moving his hand on to rest atop your head. “I apologize for the inconvenience. The poor thing gets a bit irrational from time to time. You know how it is.”

The other men only gave a brief, curt sound of acknowledgement. One, the own standing closest to the two of you based on how close the voice sounded, seemed to deem it appropriate to give at least some response. “Of course, sir.”

Not that that actually made any sense, that such a bizarre thing to say could ever warrant an ‘of course’ as a reply. But they weren’t there to be sensible, to assess the situation and act according to any supposed principles. To help. They were there only to follow through with an assigned task, one that they had not even tried to conceal in their expressions and tones towards you was an unwanted inconvenience, and to turn a blind eye to any conclusions they might draw.

Maybe that too was intentional — the estate lord could have easily sent his private forces to be the ones to escort you back to the estate, yet he chose to allow the public law enforcement to return you. Perhaps he knew you’d grown to resent the family’s private forces, and thereby had no issue inconveniencing them, whereas he knew you’d feel more embarrassment and guilt having strangers be forced to bring you all the way back… yes, the more you thought about it, that certainly seemed like that was his intent.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Ah, I see, that’s good to hear.”

Your hands balled into fists.

The whole show made of it all was utterly humiliating — that too no doubt the intention — but you had no choice but to stand there. Doing something rash like running off to hide yourself from the embarrassment would only meet a worse consequence later.

The burning, bitter anger only made said embarrassment that much worse. It was consuming, maddening. Everything — this place, these people, their words and their attitudes, their dismissal of you as if you were a child or an animal — it made you so damn mad, and yet, you could do nothing but endure.

Your eyes burned. You blinked a few times in rapid succession. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you actually cried in front of these strangers. The back-and-forth between the two parties continued, but you did your best to tune out the words, knowing that listening would only hurt you further.

It wasn’t until there was movement that you returned your attention to them, pulling your head away from him to look — now they were turning, walking away.

Leaving you alone with him.

You then dared not avert your eyes from the ground, watching the men from your peripheral vision as they made their way down the path, growing smaller and smaller and they moved further away, until their footsteps were no longer audible.

All that remained was a heavy, palpable tension.

Avoidance was the easiest path — a foolish choice, of course, which you knew full well. It wasn't as if you could avoid the present reality forever, but nonetheless, you found yourself clinging to each precious second that ticked by, body growing stiffer as you braced yourself for the inevitable. Perhaps you could trick yourself into believing that if you just kept your gaze turned to the ground, nothing would happen.

But sure enough, you clenched your jaw as his hand moved upwards, and came to rest on your shoulder.

“Come on now. You're certainly tired. Let’s get you to rest for a while.”

His voice only made your stomach twist further. It was calm and gentle, not explosive or infuriated. It would have felt more assuring that way, if your fear could just be easily confirmed, rather than a calculated calm that felt far more dreadful and foreboding than any rage.

His hand moved from your shoulder, coming down to grasp your wrist. It wasn’t a sudden, harsh motion, nor was the grip itself strong enough as to be painful — but it was noticeably firm.

And then, he pulled. A soft tug, pulling you in the direction of the doors.

Your resistance was not a conscious choice, not something you thought about nor had any time to do so; it was only a reflex. Instinctively, your body stiffened, your feet dug into the ground, and thus his pull was met not with the meek obedience that was expected of you, with footsteps that followed where you were guided, but instead a firm resistance.

Your own realization of that resistance, what you’d just done, sent a sharp rush of fear through your veins.

And thus, for the first time since arriving, your gaze tilted upward, and your wide, frightened eyes met his.

His expression shifted. The amiable, pleasant smile half-faded, still present, but only barely.

“…Don't be difficult. Come on.”

Likewise, his voice dropped far lower, a dark and foreboding tone far removed from the one he’d spoken with just moments ago to the other men.

Your mouth opened, instinctively wanting to reply, but you couldn't summon a coherent thought. You were afraid, you were angry, you were so, so embittered and ashamed and wanted nothing more than to run to your room, close your eyes and burrow into the bed.

And for a moment, you considered the compliant option. If you just lowered your head and followed along, apologized and insisted you were just being petty or immature or whatever he would call it this time, and took whatever consequence was handed out, then you could do just that, confine yourself to your bed and try to forget it all.

But the shame only fueled the fury, like gasoline to a fire. It was his fault. As scared of punishment as you were, your pride could not stand for simply bowing your head, and as your mind raced, the sheer fury you’d been stewing in all throughout the night before, all the angry words you’d monologued in your head and vowed to spew at him when you saw him again, all came rushing back.

You swallowed, fingers curling even harder around the fabric around your thighs. Now that it was just the two of you, although you still fought it as best as you could, you couldn’t help that your eyes watered, burning as your vision blurred out of pure frustration and misery.

“I… I know you did all of this on purpose! I only got all the way out there because you let me, a-and…”

The words came out in a trembling, wavering voice, far weaker than intended.

He exhaled a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in frustration. His voice was still characteristically gentle, but you could hear his patience waning. “We can discuss this inside.”

“But I—”

“Inside.”

You stiffened, freezing in place. That was not a tone you heard often in your married life, more firm than normal.

You swallowed, gaze darting to the ground again, unable to summon a reply and not wanting to make eye contact again. With another heavy exhale, he pulled at your arm with a gentle tug, and this time, you followed, feet quickly shuffling behind his.

You didn’t say a word, though, through the full minute or so of walking across the courtyard, through the front doors, down the hall, only dimly lit today due to curtains hanging over the windows lining the walls. It occurred to you with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you were headed straight for your shared bedroom, rather than one of the estate’s many drawing rooms and lounges, which meant the anticipated conversation to come would be one you’d both want kept in privacy. Your stomach felt as if it were turning in knots, your chest compressed by an unseen force, each breath feeling strenuous and weighted.

And then, finally, you both came to a halt as you reached the last room at the end of the hall. You felt helpless, unable to do anything as you watched the handle of the door turn, stumbling in as you were guided forward by the hand that came to gently press on your lower back.

Likewise, equally pitifully, you could do nothing but stand there and wait as you listened for the door to close behind you, clenching your jaw at the trepidation in your chest from the footsteps on the floor behind you, but made sure to not let your fear swallow your fury.

“Now,” he began slowly as he moved around you to the other side of the room, voice now back to its usual tone, but still firm nonetheless, “I can tell you have a great deal you want to get off your chest, but you’ll have to forgive me for a moment… your well-being is my primary concern.” He looked you up and down, and his voice took on a note of concern that admittedly sounded sincere. “You aren’t hurt in any way, are you, dear?”

You bit your lip at the affectionate term, and more importantly, at how unbothered he came across. Granted, you now knew just how much of the past twelve hours or so had been entirely within his control, so it made sense that he was never genuinely distressed, but admittedly, it was also disappointing. Part of you wanted him to have been panicked and worried, to get the satisfaction of knowing you’d successfully gotten under his skin.

Still, you shook your head, keeping your gaze to the ground as you gave a curt, frustrated reply. “No.”

“Good,” his eyes closed for a moment, taking a heavy breath of pause. “Well, in that case…” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “I believe this would be the best time to give you a moment to explain yourself.”

You couldn’t miss the obvious foreboding in his voice, nor the way it made your body stiffen.

But you had already prepared for that — you knew it would be intimidating, that it would be awkward and shameful, but you had spent the previous few hours trying to preemptively harden your resolve against that. Besides, after it was interrupted earlier, you now had the chance to get back to what was essentially the pre-written script you’d memorized in your head of exactly every little thing you wanted to say to him.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the you that was standing there in front of him was significantly less brave than the ‘you’ in the scenes you’d played out in your head on the journey home.

Still, you clenched your hands into fists, thinking you had to at least force him to acknowledge the one point you’d deemed most important.

“You let me leave.”

In your mind, you’d spoken with a bold voice and looked him directly in the eye… and while the same words came out of your mouth, they were instead said with a weak, shrill attempt at an accusatory tone, pathetically looking to the wall as you found yourself unable to summon the gall to look up, once more lacking the firm accusation and self-assuredness your imaginative self had had.

He tilted his head. “That’s not a very accurate way to put it. I never granted you any such permission… I was simply aware of your intent to run off, and didn’t stop you.”

For a moment, you contemplated asking how he knew — but you had a feeling the answer would only make you more upset. His voice was laden with a faux sincerity, a sort of disingenuousness that made your blood boil, enough to embolden you further as you continued.

“And you… you had people following me the whole time, I know you did!” Your voice began to get louder as you grew bolder, bitter anger strengthening you against any trepidation. “They didn't even do a good job! I started noticing them towards the end of it!”

"Well, that would be because they were specifically told that concealment was not necessary.” He kept up the dry manner of speech, seemingly unbothered by your fury. “They deserve a break from high effort jobs every now and then, surely you understand. Besides, they didn’t directly interfere with your little outing, yes?”

He was so calm in contrast to your visible irritation, no doubt at least in part deliberate. It only served to make you even more mad.

“They told the local doushin to — no, you told them to tell them! There’s no other way that could have happened! I-I, I got," in sheer frustration, you jerked your fists in a sharp downward motion, "arrested!"

“I’m very well aware.”

“They put me in jail!”

“I do believe that is the standard process for an arrest, yes.”

“I was all by myself for hours!”

“Naturally. I couldn’t allow you to be placed with any dangerous persons, that’s why you were put in a solitary space.”

You clenched your fists so hard they trembled. “You, y-you let me get that far in the first place, and, and…” A lump formed in your throat again, which you did your best to suppress. “…Just to make me go through all that… I was there for hours before they came for me…” Your face scrunched up as you fought the urge to cry.

You hung your head, shoulders falling as you let your body relax, the fuse of anger burning out as it turned to a quiet bitterness swelling in your stomach. What was even the point? You knew better than to think your emotions would be given any weight, treated as anything beyond trivial.

A few moments of quiet passed, perhaps to see if you would say anything more, or perhaps just to force you to wait in uncomfortable uncertainty. After a moment, he shifted his posture slightly before unfolding one arm, holding out his hand in a standard gesture of speech.

“And what have we learned?”

You never would have thought one question could send such a spark of fury through your body in a single moment. Everything, from the wording to the timing to his tone, felt utterly mocking, infantilizing in a way that made you seethe.

You swallowed, practically trembling. “That you’ll go to any lengths to humiliate me?”

He returned the extended arm to its former position, exhaling heavily, straightening his stance. “It's rather unfair to assume I had such malicious intent. Stopping you early on in the past has clearly not worked in the long term, so further measures were necessary.” He tilted his head to meet your averted gaze, reflexively turning your attention back to him, eyes connecting with yours. “My only intention was that you would have some time to reflect on your series of decisions… and hopefully return with a change of heart. These episodes of yours are worrisome.” He gave a brief pause before finishing, “claiming I had cruel intent when you know in your heart that I only arranged this because I care for you… that's rather harsh, isn't it?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to acknowledge the notion that the words were genuine. Admittedly having fallen for the words die a moment, you mentally shook off the momentary feeling of guilt.

These situations always went the same way, you'd be driven to apologize and feel bad about your choices. You had never met anyone else in your life with such a mastery of speech-craft as to be able to control your emotions and actions with words as easily as if it were pushing buttons on a machine. The first few times, you'd actually fallen for it, found yourself completely malleable, psyche bending and shifting to another's whims. At least with time, you'd become more resilient, had learned to notice and recognize the attempts… so you believed.

You opted to avoid answering the quesiton. Instead of acknowledging his own words, you turned to another matter that had come to mind during your escapade.

“Aren’t you abusing your authority? How are you even allowed to do this to begin with?!”

He took another deep breath, as if it were a trivial matter, or one that shouldn’t necessitate explanation.

“It’s… complicated, but the law does fully permit estates to employ local forces to locate any missing property belonging to the estate… people employed or bound to it are a sort of grey area in that regard.” After a moment of pause, he added, “besides, I also made it very clear that you were not in your right mind at the time, so your wellbeing was of immediate concern, and they were happy to help.”

“What?” The anger in your tone only rose. “I was perfectly in my right mind, you, you… a-and I’m not…”

A few moments passed as you trailed off, having to pause to collect yourself, blink away frustrated tears.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to decide against whatever he'd considered saying, closing his eyes and taking a breath before finally replying in a more exasperated tone.

“You're making yourself upset needlessly. I can only do so much… in the end, I only wanted to keep you safe. You have to be the one to accept the grace you're given. Wouldn't that be easier for you?”

There was still unease to his tone, but the way he said it was nonetheless indicative of a sort of tiredness, as if not wanting to carry on about the matter anymore. It almost sounded like he was saying that you “accepting” his “grace” was all that was required to bury the matter entirely.

You spoke slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not… mad?”

“…I never said that.” He shifted away from leaning against the wall, standing upright. ”Of course, I can’t allow this to go entirely unacknowledged.”

He took a few steps towards you, and you fought the urge to step back, keeping your arms rigidly straight at your side as he continued.

“Normally, a proper form of consequence would be in order… however, after consideration, I realized that this was in large part my own fault, and I owe it to you to take responsibility for that.”

The words took you by surprise. The idea that he was in any way acknowledging that he had any responsibility for what you did was baffling, all things considered. He had never once even acknowledged that refusing to let you leave the estate was essentially holding you prisoner, and usually insisted that everything he did was what was best for you, even if, as he seemed to believe was the case, you did not understand that.

You hesitated before replying. “What… what do you mean?”

He flashed you an amiable smile. “A lesser person would only act on their momentary frustrations, but I’m not the sort of person who acts without understanding the situation. Luckily, I do understand you.” He looked off to the side, holding a hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, before adding in a quieter voice, “I made the mistake of getting too caught up in my work recently. Acting out over feelings of neglect is entirely different from misbehavior out of sheer petulance.”

He turned his head back towards you again before finishing,

“It would be cruel to respond to a cry for attention as if it were ordinary disobedience.”

The words took you aback, and you hesitated in your response, but as it fully registered in your mind, the momentary surprise was replaced with shameful fury. You held your arms firmly at your side, hands balled into fists as you replied.

“What?! I didn't— I didn’t do it for attention!”

You felt foolish for thinking for even a second that he might actually empathize with you, might finally come to enough humility to realize that much of your perceived disobedience was due to the sheer degree of meticulous, total control he held over everything you did. But no, instead, your attempt to run away was being treated as attention-seeking. It felt belittling, degrading.

He took a short breath, as if about to say something, but as his gaze fell upon you again, he simply exhaled, an amused smile forming on his face, replacing the former exasperation — and only infuriating you further, realizing even your anger wouldn't be taken seriously.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He made no effort to hide the dismissive amusement in his voice, either, but cleared his throat before returning to a more neutral tone before you could give any retort. “Regardless, you've been through a lot already. If you can be mature and calm down, make some acknowledgement of the trouble you’ve caused and show some remorse, then, I'm willing to somewhat overlook this.” Making direct contact between your eyes and his, he finished, “Won’t that be easier on us both?”

The obvious dismissal of your statement and implications of what he thought made your face feel hot. The embarrassment that had already been weighing down on you now became suffocating, and the utter arrogance of the presumption of your willingness to comply made you so upset it felt nauseating.

“What does ‘somewhat’ mean?” You tried to suppress the irritation in your voice.

He gave another heavy sigh. “Should you really be asking for specifics? It’s your best course of action regardless.”

You opened your mouth and inhaled as if to speak, holding your closed fists up to your chest, ready to spew every ounce of vitriol you’d been building up, and then, you fell silent as your eyes met.

His expression grew dark, eyes half-lidded and features blank — not contorted with anger nor curiosity, but merely waiting, watching, warning. Anticipating your defiance, prepared to react accordingly.

You looked down, hesitating.

Was it really worth it…? A few moments of lashing out, at what cost? ‘Consequences’ hurt, in one sense or another, they always did, no matter what form that word took.

You swallowed. He was right — one path before you was wiser.

You hung your head.

“…I’m sorry…”

Even with your gaze turned downward, you could see his eyes widen just a bit in your peripheral vision, not having expected such quick compliance — understandably so, based on your past incidents. But after a moment, his expression softened. He took another step, closing the gap between you, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to lift your head back up.

“Mm. I’m glad you understand. You know, you've matured quite a bit recently.”

You almost, almost found yourself feeling happy at the praise, but then pushed that feeling away. It was part of the way he did things, part of the process, so you'd slowly come to recognize, putting the pieces together over and over until you became aware of how he managed to bring you down to submission each time. You refused to be swayed by that. You were only giving it up and apologizing because it was the was the easier, less painful choice… so you reminded yourself. Now, at least, you'd be done with this, could move on and quietly begin plotting again.

But then, as you felt his hand move down to your shoulder, then to your waist, you remembered the ‘somewhat.’

Yes, of course it couldn’t be left at that, wouldn’t be so simple as forcing you into humility just once.

You knew that full well. These checks of obedience after an act of disobedience never came solitary, and the desire for that subservience to be affirmed was not easily satiated. It would only grow deeper, an increasing hunger for your subservience. Pushing your pride further and further down, carving into your personhood and whittling away anything deemed unfitting. It would only go further, debasing you in increasingly violating ways.

You felt a gnawing in your stomach. You hadn’t thought of that part, in the moment, but the realization now made your heartrate begin to accelerate once more.

His eyes drifted downward.

“…Ah, right. The clothes you’re wearing, we need to have a servant wash them for you. Just set them by the door for now.”

You looked down. You hadn’t even bothered to think about it until now, having been so preoccupied with other thoughts, but indeed, the oh-so-nice and expensive clothing you’d been so lovingly lavished with, was now fully coated in grime and dirt.

At the same time, your immediate instinct was to protest the idea, knowing the intent. He wasn’t going to get you a replacement — which he himself would need to do, seeing as all of your clothing was, no doubt deliberately, kept outside the bedroom itself, and it had been established early on that you were to rely on him or servants to fetch whatever he would have you wear that day for you. Was the command too, then, intentional?

The very moment you even asked yourself the question, though, came the immediate answer, making you feel foolish for even questioning it. Of course it was intentional, planned — what wasn’t, anymore, in your life? You remembered looking back, on the day you were brought here, thinking over the past with borderline horror at the realization of how intricately detailed and precise every detail had been in his effort — what you now were certain was a premeditated plan — to get your family to call off the years-long betrothal you’d already been in, and marry you off to him instead. That realization of it all had kept you rightfully afraid of him, knowing he was always one step ahead of whatever you might attempt.

The corners of your mouth pulled taut with embarrassment, and you pulled your hands in towards your chest again, elbows pressed firmly to your sides. “That’s…”

He caught a glimpse of your face, and in turn smiled, an amused sort of expression. “Come on now,” he took a step towards you, reaching out and grasping at your hands, pulling them out of their defensive position, “even now, you’re still so shy over this?”

“I— no, I’m not—” you cut off, teeth clacking together as you snapped your mouth shut when his hands released yours, instead moving around to the binding ties of your outfit, pulling the knot apart.

You held your hands up to the level of your shoulders, bent at the elbow, fingers curled as if preparing to reach forward, to grasp at his hands, to do something.

But you didn’t.

The exchange was itself a means of conversation, communicating something not fully articulable by word alone. Violating your comfort and dignity, baring you to him, those things themselves were an assertion, a statement. To interrupt would be to challenge that assertion, to deny him. And perhaps it was, in part, also a test, a question of whether or not you would dare to deny the unspoken statement.

As the silk strands came undone, the first layer gave way to the second, and pulling apart that knot caused the fabric bound by it to slide apart, exposing your bare skin to the cool air.

An unspoken reminder that your body was not your own, that any right to autonomy and privacy you might have beyond this room, no longer existed within it. Access to you was not a privilege granted by your permission, but an inherent right, provided by the very contract that legally bound you to him.

The casual, unhesitating manner with which you were stripped down only emphasized that that very reality itself was not something to be regarded as of any great significance, but a fact accepted as readily as any other. Exposing you, touching you, exercising that unconditional access to your body was given no greater thought than utilizing any of one’s possessions.

There was nothing he could ever say to you, nor adequate words to even exist, to fully encapsulate the degree to which you were owned — but with that gesture, you understood all the same.

And even though the humiliation of the reminder made your eyes burn, made you bite your lip, you lowered your hands to your side. An admission of defeat, surrender.

It did not go unnoticed. He smiled.

“Very good. You’re behaving much better today than I anticipated.”

Another moment of praise. He was genuinely pleased. You could see it and hear it through his face and voice.

Were it on any other matter, you might have felt proud to be praised in such a sweet, charming voice. If the praise were on something you actually wanted to achieve.

And then, his eyes trailed downward, running over your body, taking in each detail. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze settled on one particular spot.

“You really shouldn't lie to me,” he spoke in a quiet, low voice.

At first, you felt a momentary panic, not quite sure what he even meant, thinking you had somehow made a unintentional transgression. It wasn't until you looked down that you saw the scrape just below your collarbones from your, admittedly unsightly, vigorous resistance upon initial confrontation with the doushin the night prior, having essentially had to have been wrestled down to the concrete street. In hindsight, you were even surprised with yourself for putting up such a fight, but at the time it had just been the instinctive reflex, fueled by desperation.

It all felt distant now, as if further back in time than it was, the memory all blurring together. It was only a very small mark, and had now scabbed up as part of the natural healing process, but as his fingers brushed over the spot, you still tensed at the slight lingering sting.

“It doesn't really hurt,” you replied nonetheless. “It's fine…”

He only straightened back upright, closing his eyes momentarily.

“I suppose I shouldn't have expected common doushin to be able to follow instructions… just so you know, I did specifically say to ensure you weren't hurt in any way.” He turned his gaze downward, hand held to his chin as he added in a low mutter, “I'll be sure to only use private hands in the future, should I need something like this again.”

You shrugged, turning your eyes downward to the floor once more. Really, you wanted to not have to think about the incident any further, the mere memory stirring up embarrassment, which did not combine well with your already vulnerable state. “It's fine. It's not a big deal,” you grumbled. After a moment of hesitation, feeling another urge of spite, you added, “it wouldn't have happened if you didn't… do all that.”

He huffed in exasperation, but was quiet for the moment, seemingly composing his thoughts before replying.

“Don’t be disagreeable. We've discussed this. I care for you dearly, but that does not mean that you are exempt from expectations to behave.”

He always gave you that line — that a behavioral matter of yours had been previously ‘discussed,’ which merely meant he'd told you not to do something, or behave a certain way. That was the end-all-be-all — whatever you were told was set in stone the moment it left his mouth, and transgressing against the standard that was set was often treated as if you’d forgotten, as if it slipped your mind, the idea of intentional and deliberate disobedience being something unthinkable to such a degree that simply having done so by accident were more believable to him — and perhaps you ought be grateful for that.

You clamped your jaw shut, turning your head downward.

His gaze turned back to your body.

“…Your nerves are unsettled.” His hand slid it's way down your side, the feeling of touch lingering in a trail behind as his palm brushed over the curvature of your waist. “See, that's what causes these irrational episodes of yours. Stress, overexcitement. It just… builds naturally for you, over time.” After a moment, taking in your expression, he added, “it's nothing to feel bad about, dear. I don't mind helping you with it at all… I'm glad I can do so, really. I worry about how you'd manage without having me to help.”

You hesitated before giving a response. “What… what do you mean? I'm not… irrational…”

It was as if your words went in one ear and out the other, continuing on without responding to your objection. “But again, I failed to keep it in check this time, so this was ultimately my own fault… I'll have to make a note to be more thorough.”

His hand grasped at your waist, pulling you close. His other hand reached up, cupping your breast. He looked over towards your shared bed.

“Come on. Let's get you in bed.”

“Huh? But—”

His grip tightened. “Don't be difficult.”

Your stomach began to churn. You were still angry. The last thing you wanted was to go through what was essentially a humiliation ritual. There was something about the act itself — at least, between the two of you — that made you feel embarrassed and ashamed. The inherent vulnerability, for one, but moreover, because you knew the intent, you knew the way he viewed it in his mind, could practically feel the sentiment. An act of claiming, an exchange of power in which your loss of dignity became his gain of pride and control. Carving into your very personhood, marking you as something belonging to him.

Your opened your mouth, but whatever you intended to say was cut off by your small noise of surprise as you were pulled forward, in a manner that was somehow so gentle in touch, yet forceful enough to move your whole body towards his. His arm wrapped around your frame, the other positioning itself underneath your thighs before lifting you up and moving down to sit.

You fidgeted, tried to pull away — but his grip tightened, as much to secure you as it was a warning, telling you to hold still.

“It's for your sake. This will help you… you may not realize that yet, but you’ll thank me, I promise.”

His hands moved to your hips and turned you so that your back rested against his chest.

“As I was saying, you simply… build stress and neurosis, naturally. It's not your fault, really. You're just sensitive to changes, stressors... Every individual has at least some… defects in their nature.”

His hands retracted, and there was a brief rustling sound before they returned to your skin, now ungloved, flesh on flesh. The contact sent sparks through your nerves.

“That's why people pair with those they are compatible with. They fill each other's needs, compliment each other’s natures… I’m obligated to take those defects and resolve them.”

He gave you a smile — you couldn't see it, but could feel it as his lips pressed softly against your neck. Warm, full of sincerity and adoration.

“I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t out of care… and you in turn provide me with something that needs care and guidance. I enjoy having that.”

For all his attempts at soothing words and the gentleness of the touch, you knew in your heart that there was no doubt that that was part of the intent — to humble you, to tame you and make you docile, to make you submit. Forcing you to such a vulnerable state and inflicting reactions of pleasure was itself an act of exerting power and control.

It was, in a way, remarkable, that the human spirit could not only be broken by both brutal cruelty, but equally — or, perhaps even more effectively — eroded away with a gentle voice and touch, humiliation so deeply intertwined with affection that they became impossible to distinguish from each other, forming a unique sentiment that was both one and the other.

You were endearing to him, but that affection for you was like a venom that ran through your veins — an affection that diminished you, reduced you to some inhuman possession, a toy to be manipulated in any way he desired.

It made you feel sick. It made you feel angry, it tormented your psyche—

Your thoughts were turned to a haze as his fingers rolled your nipple between them. You inhaled a sharp gasp, back arching forward.

Processing your own reaction, embarrassment took place of the momentary pleasure, and your face felt hot. You reached an arm up instinctively to cover your breasts, pulling away from the touch.

“…We've had this conversation before, haven't we?” He reached up, grasping your jaw with a grip just firm enough to communicate a warning.

You swallowed and, albeit not without just a moment of hesitation, lowered your arm. You looked down, breasts now exposed fully. “I'm… sorry…”

He gave you a hum of approval, returning to the former fondling, fingers playing with the sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, breathing growing labored.

After a few minutes, his hands wandered downward, slowly, softly, down to your thighs, then back up over your hips, where they finally settled.

“Touch yourself.”

The command caught you off-guard. Your eyes widened. “…What?”

“Before I help you,” he murmured, “I want to see what you will do for me. That's only fair, don't you think?” He squeezed at your waist.

“Prove to me…” he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear, “that you know your place. Do as I say.”

You swallowed.

It was in your best interest to obey.

You reached down slowly, shivering as your fingers brushed over your clit. You pressed down, beginning to rub your outstretched fingers back and forth. With your other hand, you reached up, tweaking your nipple just enough to send pleasure through your nerves.

“There you go.” He pulled you a bit closer to him, so your bodies were firmly pressed together. He craned his neck, no doubt catching your abashed, embarrassed expression.

Not that he would give you any words of comfort on that matter, tell you not to feel embarrassed. He only smiled, grasping your hair and forcing your head to turn, pressing your mouth to his. It was only a short contact, parting with the softest of sounds.

His grip on your hip tightened, and you realized why he’d pulled back when he spoke.

“Don’t stop.”

You hadn’t realized you had, too focused on the slight surprise to being kissed. You took a shuddering breath, and resumed the motion. Your eyes closed, heightening your senses — the sensation of each touch and the shockwaves it sent through your core to every nerve in your body.

Your breathing quickly became labored. Even if you were inducing the sensation itself, it was good. You bit your lip as a soft, weak little sound came out of your throat, unable to refrain from vocalizing at the intensity of the feeling.

“Not just like that.” One of his hands reached down to your thigh, hand wrapping around the underside of it and pulling it to the side, spreading you open further. “Go on.”

“Mm…” You couldn’t summon any particular words, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations — the heat to your face and knot in your stomach at the shameless way your body was so exposed, at the feeling of being watched as if the act were a performance, and the haze of arousal that rapidly began to cloud your judgement, obscuring the feeling of discomfiture, drowning your inhibition.

Even without the pleasure compromising your hesitation, you didn’t want to think about the alternatives if you refused to obey — this was thus far, comparatively, far from the worst consequences you’d ever received for acting out.

You reached down further, pushing two of your fingers past the slick coating your flesh and inside your body, curling them into the spot that made you tense, made your muscles spasm, over and over, each movement sparking a rush that surged throughout your body.

Each breath was a deep gasp. Your toes curled, your muscles went taut and your insides clenched around your own fingers.

But something was missing.

It was pleasurable, but there just wasn’t enough to push you over the edge. The sensations were too weak.

Your body had been conditioned something more, and this was not comparable.

Sweat began to accumulate on your skin as you kept curling your fingers, desperately chasing a high. His arm moved from your hip to wrap around your waist, pressing another kiss to your neck.

You tried. Frustration began to build. Your eyes watered as you curled your fingers as hard as you could, pressed as far in as they would go, down to the knuckle.

It wasn’t deep enough.

It wasn't what you were used to. Your fingers were too short, just short of reaching that one perfect spot that made you lose yourself in pleasure, melting to a mewling mess.

You shuddered. You couldn’t reach a climax, no matter how hard you tried to focus. Even without orgasm, though, your exertion reached a peak you couldn’t carry on further from, and your fingers stopped moving as you went limp, trying to catch your breath, frustration and desperation nearly enough to make you cry. Your head fell back, eyes closed as you panted.

You could feel the corners of his mouth upturn against the flesh of your neck.

“…Is something wrong?”

Your jaw clenched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

That was the other goal of it, besides proving yourself to him — it was also to prove something to you. Something you didn’t want to admit out loud, something that made your chest swell with bitterness just to admit to yourself, much more so to do so aloud.

“I can’t… I can't do it.”

“Mm.” He pulled you further back against him. “Then, what do you need?”

The tingling sensation, the desperate need, the remnant frustration of lost pleasure, was too much to bear. You swallowed your pride, closing your eyes as you forced the words out.

“…I need you to do it…”

You were expecting him to say something in return, but for a moment, he was only quiet. He began to drum his fingers back and forth against your waist.

“Is that so?”

You nodded again, which seemed to be to his displeasure—

“Use your words.”

“Yes…” You swallowed.

You waited, but no touch came.

“Hm. How odd.” His voice was low and quiet, but unmistakably derisive. “You seemed to think you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself, running off like you did.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You shook your head back and forth, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“No?” His hand trailed downward until it ghosted over your sex, the lightest of touches, borderline torment. “Then, you can't do this for yourself?”

“…No…”

He moved his face even closer, speaking directly into your ear.

“Then what do you say? Tell me exactly what you need. Show me.”

You swallowed. The burning of humiliation in your chest was almost too much to bear. Had your insides not still been alight with the wavering, tight feeling of need, your pride would have outweighed your desire. But in that moment, it did not.

You spread your still-quivering legs wide apart.

“…Please touch me.”

“Mm. And what do you want from that? For how long?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I want to cum.”

Finally — finally — his fingers pressed down against your clit, enough pressure to send waves of pleasure up your spine.

“There, see…” He pressed another kiss to your face. “Aren't things so much easier when you just choose to be honest?”

You nodded. “Yes. I… I’m sorry…”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgement. “This stubbornness is just your nature.” His fingers slid back and forth, gracing the bundle of nerves with friction. “But that can be fixed.”

You bit your lip. “I… I’m not— ah—”

One motion of his hand was particularly firm, the sensation it sent through your nerves so intense it was almost painful. Your hands shot forward, grasping at his wrist.

It was only when the motion stopped that you realized you’d erred — it was a habit of reflexively grabbing at his hands when a sensation was too intense, trying to pry them off — something he very much did not like you doing.

Sure enough, he sighed, frustration blatantly evident. You jerked your hands away, but it was already too late to take back the first offense.

“…Now,” he started, “Can you refrain from doing that again, or do I need to bind them?”

“I…” you paused, realizing you genuinely needed to think it through. You weren’t certain if you could abstain.

You felt him shift back, leaning away from your body.

“Well, that’s enough of an answer itself.”

You heard the rustling of clothes, felt movement behind you, and you turned your head over your shoulder just in time to see as he pulled off first the top layer, then the undershirt over his head and off his body. You made a soft sound as he then pushed down on your back with a firm touch, forcing you to lean forward, grasping at your hands and pulling them behind your back — firmly, enough to be a clear message to not try to dissuade him, but your pride, weak as it was, still couldn't let it happen with no objection at all.

“Wait, wait, I can do it, I don't need—”

“This is for your sake. Hold still.”

“But I—”

“Be still.” He spoke firmly, but softened his voice as he continued, “It’s not your fault for having that reflex… but you have to train yourself against it. You want to be good, don't you?”

You shut your mouth, nodding as you sounded an answer. “Mm-hm…”

Cloth wrapped tightly around your wrists, using one sleeve to bind them together. Not enough of a bind that you couldn’t break out with some effort, but just enough to keep you from reflexively trying to interfere.

“Now where were we…”

You were pulled back once more, perhaps even closer. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

And his hand quickly moved back down, and the bliss of shockwaves of pleasures overcame you once more. You whimpered, biting your lip.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing circles into the nub, and for a moment, your wrists jerked against the bind as the reflex kicked in. It was too much at once, but now, you were prevented from doing anything about it. As he began to rub in circular motions, your body shuddered, and an involuntary moan came out of your throat — a wanton, shameful sound, laced with pleasure and lust.

“There you go.” You could feel him speak, shuddering at the vibration of his chest against your back and the warm breath against your ear. His other hand rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb. “Give into it.”

Your body trembled against his touch, and jolted as his own fingers pressed inside of you. His were longer, and the touches firmer, and the result was a degree of pleasure you were simply incapable of replicating on your own.

As much as you hated it — hated to think it, hated to acknowledge it, hated to try and not acknowledge it as the reality prodded at the back of your mind — he made you feel better than anything you had ever experienced, better than anything you could ever make yourself feel.

You whimpered, toes and fingers curling. Your hips moved, a rolling motion to meet each pressing movement.

A singular motion, and singular sound, both of which you near-immediately caught yourself doing, having been too lost in the feeling to think clearly. You cut off your voice and went still, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t.” He didn’t stop moving his fingers as he spoke, instead pressing down with harsh force, essentially pulling you back closer to him with the hand partially inside you. “Holding yourself back like that is another form of dishonesty.”

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, but unable to form a response before he continued.

“And you wouldn’t want,” the fingers that had been gently tweaking at your breast pinched down hard, a momentary spark of pain and the lowering of his voice making you go tense, “to make this unpleasant because you couldn’t be good for me, would you?”

You shook your head back and forth with vigor. There were many punishments in your domestic repertoire that were unpleasant, and the thought of any of them made your heart skip a beat. “No, no, I don’t… want that…”

“Then you’re going to be honest, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise…”

“Mm.”

He kept rubbing his thumb against your clit, even in perfectly synched timing to each motion his fingers curled inward inside of you.

It was so pleasurable, so intense, it made you angry. Mad that he was capable of it, mad that his control over your body was greater than your own, and most of all, mad that he did it with such ease, effortless, that making you come undone entirely was something he mastered without ever being taught.

That pleasure began to build and build. You squirmed and whimpered, muscles throughout your body tensing and relaxing over and over. Your hips rolled into his hand. Each movement built the pressure in your body higher and higher, rapidly reaching a peak.

The edge that climax made you quiver, body and legs trembling.

“There it is…” his voice was so soft and gentle, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

The noise that came out of your mouth was nearly animal-like, a whimpering cry as you threw your head back, quivering and spasming. The waves of sensation pulsated throughout your body, reaching a peak and then beginning to ebb away.

You went limp, bodyweight falling back against his chest, heaving with heavy breaths. Your head felt as if it were spinning, and you stared forward in a dull stupor, body trembling with aftershock.

You twitched at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you, with a wet squelching sound that made you shiver.

“Look at that…”

He spread his fingers apart, clear fluid forming a trail between them. You bit your lip, tilting your head downward in a futile attempt of avoidance of what you knew well came next — but that effort was quickly negated as he grabbed your jaw, turning your head back up and squeezing your face.

“Open.”

The force of the grip as he squeezed down more or less forced your jaw apart anyway. You didn't even get to take a breath before he pushed his fingers into your mouth, salty taste spreading over your tongue.

“Clean them off.”

Maybe it was a way of forcing you to acknowledge your own bodily reaction, even if you tried to deny it to yourself. Maybe it was much simpler than that — just another way to degrade you, or something simply arousing for him because it just was.

You complied nonetheless. Your tongue swirled around each finger, sucking and swallowing the taste of yourself. Even as he pulled his fingers back out, a string of saliva connected them to your tongue.

And then, after wiping his fingers off on the fabric around his thigh, he returned the arm to your waist, pulling you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“See… so much more at ease now, aren't you?”

That was one way to put it. You couldn't even bring words to your mind. Even processing what he said felt like a significant effort. Everything felt far away, your mind like a blank slate, numb and empty. Your body was even more exhausted, totally lax aside from involuntary twitches.

You made a soft sound as he turned your body to the side, just enough to look you face-to-face. Looking down at your watery eyes as they met his, the stupor in your expression, even as your brain began to clear, as if a machine turning back on after a few moments of darkness.

And he smiled. It was soft, full of endearment. And belittling. It was not made any better by the small chuckle he gave, patting the top of your head.

It burned in your chest, down into your stomach.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lower lip quivered, an admittedly petulant pout. Shame formed a knot in your stomach. Disappointment in yourself, ending up like this again after swearing so many times over that this one would be the last, the last time you'd come apart so easily, the last time you'd find yourself spent and susceptible to the touch that seemed as if it were designed for your body.

And he laughed. An amused chuckle, patting your head.

“Mm. I had a feeling that wouldn't be quite enough.”

He leaned in, firmly grasping at your arms as you tried to squirm, bringing his mouth so close to yours, forehead resting against yours.

“But, that does admittedly work out for my sake.”

You grunted in surprise as he hooked his arm under your legs again, this time only lifting you just enough to set you down onto the padding of your bed, gently pushing on your shoulders until you were flat on your back, arched over your hands bound behind you.

“A-ah, I…” You swallowed, grasping at the sheets to the best of your ability. It was nothing you weren't anticipating, but the vulnerability made you tense.

It didn't help that he paused any motion, eyes trailing over your body, before reaching down and running his hands over your flesh, one moving to grip at your waist, the other your opposite hip. You couldn’t reach to cover yourself, forced to lay bare and vulnerable. Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, but firm hands grabbed at the undersides, pushing them apart and positioning himself between them so you couldn’t close them again.

The former act was not enough. Putting you through the ordeal of being made to wait in jail like a child in time-out was not enough, exposing your body was not enough, toying with your body and forcing an acknowledgement of his own control was not enough.

Your lip trembled.

But anger still pervaded through your negative emotions. It compelled your courage, you felt defiance surging up. You had to look him in the eye, tell him exactly what you felt, tell him you knew what he was doing and push him off, then, maybe then you'd have the satisfaction of some sense of control.

You could do it. You had to.

“You… you're just doing the same thing as before!” Your eyebrows furrowed. “You’re trying to, to—”

“Again with this?” He tilted his head. “I really wish you wouldn’t assume such ill intent. This is how people love each other… you know that.”

You bit your lip. You almost, for just a second, fell for it, almost felt guilty. You shook your head forcefully, clearing your mind of the thought.

“No, I won't let you—”

And with that, there was a rapid shift in expression. His eyes narrowed in a piercing, foreboding look. You went silent.

Your shoulders stiffened. The words came out on impulse, resolve of defiance broken as quickly as it had formed. “I'm— I'm sorry—”

Dammit.

For once, the dark expression did not shift back to pleasant as soon as you apologized — an indicator of having gone too far. His hand slowly reached up, this time not in a loving caress or gentle-but-firm grip, but outright harsh grip on your jaw.

“You…”

He tilted his head forward to more directly look you in the eye. His voice was low and cold, making your heart race further.

“Do not ‘let’ anyone do anything.”

His fingertips pressed into your flesh, squeezing your face between them.

“I know you understand your place. Don’t behave as if you don’t.” Finally, his voice softened as he finished, “I can’t help you if you keep fighting me every step of the way. So… you’ll control yourself, won’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding your head, twitching as the motion made his fingernails dig into your cheeks.

“You know I don’t like being so harsh with you, don’t you?”

You nodded again.

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Only for a short, chaste moment, but a slow, sensual motion nonetheless. You closed your eyes, tuning out the rustling clothes, heavily breathing with anticipation.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this. This whole ordeal has been stressful for me as well.”

You didn’t get time to ask what he meant — he rammed himself into you all at once, completely stuffing your body in one rough, forceful motion.

You cried out, back arching and body stiffening. You felt your insides clamp down, pulsating against the intrusion.

His hands tightened their grip on your waist, holding you still as the momentary sting ebbed away.

“There you go… calm down.”

You felt him slide out, then push back in, the latter movement sending sparks of sensation running up your spine, causing you to go tense all over again.

Your breathing became ragged, legs twitching and spasming at the sensation. You tried, without thinking, to snap them shut, but it only resulted in effectively squeezing his waist with you thighs.

The intensity of the sensation naturally induced a reflex of strain and exertion to your muscles, a need to channel the feeling through your body, causing your toes to curl, your thighs clamping down harder, quivering at the bare touch of flesh to flesh. You closed your eyes, but couldn't drown out the sound of skin making contact to yours, the sound itself increasingly accompanied by a wet squelching as skin met fluid with each passing second, leaking out of your body.

“You're so much more honest like this.” You could hear just the slightest strain in his voice, otherwise so very composed to perfection. “So meek… it's lovely. Once that resistance in you is fixed… you'll be perfect.”

You could see the corners of his mouth upturn into a look of amusement.

“You should see yourself.”

Your body stiffened, but all you could do was whimper. The words felt like a cold knife to the stomach — and you knew he knew that. Knew that that moment was you at your must vulnerable, the peak of awareness of your own helplessness, the moment you felt the most degraded, and yet, it still wasn't enough.

He leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, so close you could feel the warmth as he spoke, never ceasing to move all the while.

“Whimpering and drooling like that,” he murmured. “You're trembling… and that expression on your face is so adorable. Like you can't even think straight.” He leaned back up, enough to look you in the eye — now welling with tears.

And again, he only smiled.

“How precious.”

His hands ran down your body, grabbed at your hips, and began to pull you, jerking your body back and forth to meet his own movements.

It was too much. Even with the knot of emotion in your stomach, you felt a hot, tingling pressure build in your body. Your legs quivered, the wanton little sounds from your throat higher and higher.

You didn't want that. It was the final part of this ritual that so demeaned you, one more confirmation of his control of you. You pressed your hands into the mat, trying to push yourself back — but it was only met with a harsh pull, forcing your body back until you practically slammed against his hips.

“Don't fight.”

It was the last thing you heard. You threw your head back as the sensation became overwhelming, back arching and eyes rolling back as the feeling reached a peak. You could only faintly register the high-pitched sound that sounded as if it couldn't be you, a voice you didn't recognize.

And then it began to ebb away. A hazy stupor filled the void as the pleasure dissipated, a feeling of exhaustion. Your weight went limp.

You made a soft sound as he grasped your jaw again, turning your head just enough to place another kiss to your lips.

“There you go. Look at you now… all that stress and in you, totally gone. You can see it in your eyes, even.”

He paused before adding,

“Well, gone for now. I'll have to start monitoring for it more closely.”

You shuddered at the sensation as he slid out of you, fluid spilling out onto the sheets.

You felt him reach behind you, untying your wrists — you brought your arms to the front of your body, but the forearms only laid useless, having fallen asleep from your weight.

He came to rest beside you, upper body slightly propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, looking down at you with adoration and endearment.

And you were so, so weak. So much weaker than you wished you were, body, mind and spirit alike. So weak that, in the rush of emotions that followed, you found yourself slowly crawling forward, burying your face against his chest with a pathetic little noise.

“Poor thing. Maybe that was a bit too much for you…”

His arm reached behind your back and pulled you close, and the comfort you felt seemed to melt your mind into nothingness.

“You should rest for a while,” he continued, “then we'll get you cleaned off. We have a few hours before you'll need to be ready.”

After a moment to process the words, you tilted your head up with the softest of inquisitive noises. The cold, creeping dread began to spread through your stomach once more.

He seemed to realize, then, that you didn’t understand.

“Ah, right, you wouldn't have known.” He reached out with the hand he wasn’t leaning on, brushing his fingers over your scalp. “While you were gone, I sent someone to arrange a house visit with a psychiatrist… a private one that works for families such as ours.”

His words certainly didn’t help soothe your nerves. Your mouth felt dry. Your voice came out weak, hesitant, part of you not wanting to ask, lest you learn an unpleasant answer.

“…Why?”

He tilted his head in just the slightest, loose strands of hair shifting and waving with the motion. “Well, keeping your needs in check does help with your condition, but I’ve realized it would do you good to have a secondary means to treat your hysteric tendencies as well.”

“My…” You swallowed. “My what?” The words slowly pieced together in your mind, hitting you with a sense of dread and confusion. You squirmed backwards, shifting just a bit away from him. “There's… nothing wrong with me…”

“Of course, of course, there’s nothing wrong, that’s…” He spoke in a reassuring sort of tone, as if to comfort you. “…A harsh choice of phrasing. You just need some help, is all.” After a moment of pause, he added, “don't worry, it's perfectly normal that you aren't self-aware of it. That's usually how these illnesses work.”

His arm reached out further, pulling you back towards him, pressing your bodies together before he continued.

“He’s just required to see you in-person for a little while before giving you anything. Regulations and all. We’re just going to get you something to make you a little more… docile.”

His arm wrapped around your body, and he pulled his head back just a bit to look you in the eye, smiling with endearment.

“Ah, I can tell by your face that you’re nervous. Don’t worry, I'll be there throughout the whole thing… I'll answer any questions, you just sit there quietly, alright?” He pulled you a bit closer, planting an affectionate, short kiss to the top of your head. “I know that sort of thing is a lot on your nerves.”

If your trembling could be felt, he didn’t say anything about it, only carrying on with his gently-spoken words.

“We won’t have to worry about you having these… irrational escapades anymore. And you’ll be so much happier, too.”

You felt his hand on your back, firmly in place — you were pressed so close together that there was no need to pull you any closer, but perhaps he wanted to be sure you couldn’t pull away.

“So… rest for now, alright?”

Mind and heart alike racing, in your stupor, you let the pause linger for too long. The hand on your back began to close in on itself, fingernails brushing against your skin just enough to send the faintest of pains up your spine.

You had no strength left in you to give anything other than the correct answer.

“Okay...”

He only gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and began to stroke your back up and down, a pattern that should have been comforting and soothing, yet was anything but. Exhaustion wore on your body, but even as you forced yourself to close your eyes, true rest was nowhere to be found.

#awful men portraying themselves as selfless/benevolent >>>>>#genshin smut #.ay

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shanastoryteller · 7 days

Note

Happy happy birthday 🎂🎉🥳 As always, I’d love some more of thee MDZS Identity Porn (with the masks and LWJ getting jealous of all of his husband’s “husbands”) (Or JC traveling back in time?) Thanks!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Lan Wangji wouldn't have categorized Jiang Yanli as chatty, but tonight there's really no other way to describe her. She talks at length about Lotus Pier, about the Jiang clansmen and her immediate family. That would be one thing, but she seems to forget that they don't have the same familiarity with these subjects that she does, mentioned names and places carelessly, as if they already have context for these things.

He doesn't know why Wei Wuxian would care about the minutia of Lotus Pier, but Jiang Yanli holds his complete attention. More than that, there are several moments when he has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing and at various points his smile can only be equaled to what he looks like when he's holding his children. If his husband looked at him with a tenth of that adoration, Lan Wangji doesn't think he'd have a complaint.

He prompts her to continue whenever she trails off, because as much as he wishes that he held Wei Wuxian's heart, he can't deny him the bittersweet happiness that conversing with Jiang Yanli seems to bring him. Lan Wangji should not be greedy. He knows the Patriarch's face, his voice, his affection. He's his husband and helping raise his children. It is not appropriate for him to want more than the abundance he already has.

It's nearing the end of the banquet, where mingling and drinking will take place and propriety won't allow Jiang Yanli to hold Wei Wuxian in place. She looks at him with a desperation that makes Lan Wangji feel bad for Jin Zixuan. "You know," she says softly, "years ago, before the war, before - a lot of things, I lost my younger brother."

Wei Wuxian goes completely, utterly still. Lan Wangji stares - as far as he knows Madame Yu has only ever had two children and Sect Leader Jiang is notoriously faithful, regardless of the state of his marriage.

"He wasn't mine by blood," she continues, as if answering Lan Wangji's thoughts. "But we grew up with him and A-Cheng and I couldn't think of him any other way. He was our first disciple and he and A-Cheng used to go off together all the time - but on our way to Cloud Recess, they got in trouble, and he led that trouble away so Jiang Cheng could escape and we never saw him again."

Lan Wangji remembers now. He heard about this then, remembers how Jiang Cheng's attitude had been near intolerable that summer. His heart sinks.

His husband can reanimate the dead, but not like this, there's nothing he can do for Jiang Yanli's long dead little brother.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he says to her.

She glances at him for only a moment, but when Wei Wuxian maintains his silence, her shoulders drop and she says, "Thank you," but it comes out more subdued than anything else had tonight.

Later, when they've retired to their room and he hopes Wen Qing and Meng Yao have done the same, and they're lying in the same bed with the darkness and the quiet between them, Wei Wuxian says, "He wasn't Jiang Cheng's younger brother."

Lan Wangji, just on the cusp of sleep, blinks several time until he feels more awake. "Excuse me?"

"The - the first disciple, of the Jiang," he continues, sounding very awake himself as he lies with his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. "The way she said it, it sounded like he was younger than Jiang Cheng, but he wasn't. He was older. Jiang Cheng was the youngest one."

"Ah," Lan Wangji says finally, "I see."

"Yeah," Wei Wuxian answers nonsensically, then looks over and offers him a weak grin. "Sorry. Never mind. Get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow."

"Yes," he says, but it takes a long time for either of them to get to sleep.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #untamed

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wutheringcaterpillar · 8 months

Text

18 years

Summary: After 18 years of marriage Thomas plans a special day just for you that he wants to be perfect even if that means keeping his kids out of trouble.

Warnings: Slight misogynistic Thomas, talk of termination.

Side Note: This is my first fic in awhile since I stopped writing two years ago on a different account, I hope it's okay! :)

The Shelby household was anything but perfect but for today Thomas was going out of his way to ensure that it was. Being a housewife and a mother was by far not an easy job.Thomas and you had been married for eighteen years. Did it get ugly sometimes? Absolutely. That didn’t change the adoration and love you shared for each other.

While you were out running some errands with Ada, Thomas has quite a few helping hands in cleaning up the house, and decorating it to the 10s. “Well brother, how’s it lookin’ eh?”

The silver chandelier presented the dining room with a warm glow that made the silver set table look ever so inviting. All the rooms were vacuumed and mopped, not a crumb in site. The floors glistened beautifully to his high standard. “Never did I think that my incompetent brothers would use their brains for a day and the outcome be satisfactory.” Arthur laughed in response, before giving Thomas a playful nudge. “Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Thomas rushed to the kitchen once he remembered he left the kids in there unattended. They were being not very helpful to say the least.

Annabeth, and Edward were now teenagers full of hormones and outbursts. It seemed like they would argue every day about the smallest things but today Thomas wasn’t allowing there behavior especially today.

“Does dad know about Jackson?” Annabeth scoffed at him with a disgusted face. Thomas did not allow her to date unless he appointed the young man to her. The same could not be said for Edward’s late night shenanigans that Thomas was aware of and Annabeth despised the double standard. “No, and I’d appreciate if you kept your fucking mouth sh-“

“Now, now. No need for bickering on a day that’s about your mother and all she has done for you.” Thomas entered the room dressed in a black and white suit and tie that fit him snuggly, giving off his normal professional sense. “I wanted to have a word with the both of you before your mother arrives which should be-“ He pulled his watch out of his suit to get a glimps of the time. “In ten minutes precisely.” Edward opened his mouth to speak but Thomas raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t want any interruptions I want you both to listen to the words that are about to come out of my mouth and I highly suggest you take them seriously or you will not enjoy the consequences. Eh?” He eyed them both with his eyebrows raised, both of them stayed quiet as they lightly cowered in there seats to there father’s stature. “Stand up. Both of you.” Without hesitations the teenagers stood up, not slouching but standing to s perfect straight line.

“No. Fucking. Fighting.” Thomas walked around them in a circle menacingly never taking his eyes off of them while they stared at the ground and listened to their fathers words. “I don’t care, if you don’t like the food. I don’t care if you don’t like sitting next to each other. More importantly I don’t care how either of you feel today. Today is about your mother. There will be no games, no arguments, no sports. More importantly-“ He stopped in his tracks now in front of them, hands on his knees as he leaned down so they had no choice but to look in his demeaning eyes. “No. Fucking. Fighting.”

There was a brief silence, as if to let the air settle and for what he said to soak into them. “We’re clear eh?” They both nodded and Thomas dismissed them. “Great now, go get formally dressed.” He watched as they both walked out of the kitchen. He greatly appreciated how much time and effort you spent in taking care of them and it’s time they return the favor for at the least one singular night.

Edward shoved his sister playfully into a wall, just around the corner to where they thought Thomas wouldn’t hear. Annabeth shoved him back and pointed up at him. “If you say one thing about-“

“Who your late night squeeze?” Edward began to laugh and Annabeth shoved him again.

Thomas heard from the kitchen and raised his hands in the air, disposing of his cigarette before he spoke to himself, annoyed. “What did I just say?” Thomas was going to let it go until he heard something break that sounded expensive.

In a quick pace to the hallway, he saw the both of you attempting to round the corner to the next room but they should know who their father is by now that nothing goes uncaught. “Eh! Over here now!” The siblings shamefully turned awaiting for all hell to break loose. Thomas was the strict parent, and that frightened them, which is what he wanted.

Glancing to the ground, an expensive, rare crystal dish was shattered on the floor, and he was going to be damned if Frances was going to clean it up. For Thomas’s sake he just hope you wouldn’t notice until after his surprise. “I said three, fucking words to you.”

“No. Fucking. Fighting.” He hit the both of them on the back of their heads. “Yes I’m aware of Jackson, I was hoping to avoid the subject today but I have ears so I suppose this will be addressed right fucking now to clear the fucking air. I pay close attention to anyone and anything around me and my family. You both should know that more than anyone. Seeing Jackson stops now. I don’t approve of him, my daughter will not be marrying some useless sack of shit like that. See him again. You will never leave this house again, got it?” Annabeth nodded with her heated cheeks. Edward began to quietly laugh to himself while his sister was being reprimanded.

That’s when Thomas was quick to call him out too. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re giggling at like I don’t know what you do with the little whores from school, sneaking them into my fucking house.” All grins from Edward diminished immediately.

“What you do is your business but in my fucking house. That’s my fucking business. Clearly your mother and I have given both of you too much privilege. I don’t care who you fuck but I’d be careful if I were you because the first girl you get pregnant, you’re marrying whether you love her or not. You know why? Because I say so. As for sneaking them in my house. Good luck with that from now on I’m sure you haven’t noticed but maybe you should take a look at the new people I hired if you could find them to watch the house whilst your mother and I are away for our anniversary.” Both of them were speechless and Thomas sent them up to their room. Thomas may be older than them but he wasn’t born yesterday. After all he spent plenty of those nights sneaking in and out of your house when you first started dating. He knows all the ins and outs of scheming.

The sound of car door closing grabbed his attention and panic mode slightly set in for him. Thomas Shelby didn’t panic but in the event of there being a chance that something may not be to your standard, he panicked. “Hurry on, your mother is here! Get dressed in proper clothes and not some skimpy, raggedy mess for once!” He yelled after his children.

The weather was chilly as winter was approaching in Birmingham. The snow was falling delicately from the sky once you pulled in with Ava and to say you were freezing was an understatement but the new brown wool blanket, she has gotten you should do more than help. “Ada you didn’t have to buy me anything. I have money.”

“Oh being married to my brother, believe me I know you have money, just wanted to treat you today is that so bad?” You shrugged, smiling at your sister. “C’mon let’s get inside.”

“Oh I hope Thomas was okay with the kids today, I know he’s hardly taking care of them alone without needing my help.” Ada set a comforting hand on your shoulder before reaching for the door handle. “Y/N if Thomas can’t handle them for a few hours, I don’t know how you’ve gotten this far.” You both laughed and once the door opened, you were met with a warm embrace there must’ve been a fire lit in the living room. Thomas came abruptly from around the corner after yelling something at Arthur that you weren’t able to make out. “Y/N! My dear loving wife!” Thomas pulled you to his side, and had Ada remove your jacket.

He was freshly shaven, and showered, smelling of mint and tobacco. His smile pierced your eyes, and he leaned down to kiss you softly. “How was your day out with Ada love?”

“Wonderful, was nice to get away from all the testosterone for a bit.” You giggled and then started noticing your surroundings. The floor was sparkling, not a sign of dirt or mud. The laundry basket was empty, the kitchen spotless, you went to turn into the dining room but Thomas quickly placed his hands over your eyes. “Thomas, what’s going on the house looks-“

“Happy anniversary sweetheart.” He removed his hands and the sight of the dining room was absolutely breathtaking. The curtains looked brand new, a dark cherry red colored that allowed the sun to poke through in a welcoming manner. The chairs were painted black and with gold patted seats to sit on. The food arrangements looked more than delicious and most importantly your whole family was there. Annabeth dressed in a a beautiful gold gown and Edward dressed in a suit and tie matching his father. Even the Shelby brothers looked showered and dressed to the tens. “Thomas I-“

He guided you to your seat, pulling out the chair for you. “Don’t say anything love, just enjoy dinner and don’t even think about doing dishes or cleaning up after this. We’ve got it.” Thomas winked at you as he took his seat beside you, the glowing of your smile and surprise leaving him just as happy as the day you said yes to marrying him.

18 years, and he still found time to manage to make it feel like the first day you fell in love with him. “I just want to take a moment to thank Frances who will also be joining us for this lovely meal. I couldn’t have put today together without any of you. Thank you for taking them time to assist me in doing this for Y/N, my beautiful wife whom I adore and admire more and more every day. Thank you for being such a wonderful mother to our kids and dealing with me. Not sure how you quite do it but I’m glad you’ve stayed and put up with me.” Thomas raised his glass of whiskey in honor of everyone.

Your eyes began to water to which he’d caught your tear of joy with his free finger. You mouthed a thank you to him and an I love you and dinner began. Once dinner was over Thomas made a final announcement. “Tonight Y/N and I will be leaving for Bali for our anniversary.” You gasped, hand covering your mouth in disbelief. You’d never gone and you had never found the time. Thomas wasn’t giving you an option to not have time. “We’ll return Wednesday afternoon and I’d just like to take a minute to thank Pol and Frances for watching the kids. Thank you all for coming, and I appreciate every one of you bastards.” Laughs filled the room while Thomas extended his hand for you to take and help you out of your seat.

Once upstairs you stared at your body in the mirror, just getting the feeling that something was off but putting it off your mind. “You didn’t have to do all this Thomas.” He came up behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his head into the crook of your neck. “I did love. You do so much and never take time for yourself, always putting I and the children first. You need to be put first too.” Swinging around, you stared into your husband’s crystal blue eyes.

It has been a long, long ride for the two of you together, that will keep going. But this soft, sentiment man had taken awhile to appear and you’re not sure how you got him to come out but you were glad you did. “I love you Mr. Shelby.”

“And I love you Mrs. Shelby.” You giggled as he smiled down at you in awe, before placing his lips on yours, connecting them in a chaste, delicate kiss. “Mom, Dad the cab’s here!” Annabeth called.

“Would you shut up you idiot, dad probably already knew that.”

“Eh! No fighting, right?” There was a silence before they both responded in unison. “Sorry dad!”

“I don’t know how you managed to get them along for dinner but kahoots to you my dear husband because that’s something I could never do.” Thomas wrapped his arm around you, as you walked down the stairs together. “I’m Thomas Shelby. The name alone fucking scares anyone.”

“Well I guess I’m not anyone then am I?” Thomas shook his head smiling. “No, no you’re not. You weren’t even frightened of me when I screamed at some whore, for thinking she could seduce me.”

“Fuck no, if you hadn’t I wouldn’t be Mrs. Shelby now would I?” Thomas laughed once more before opening the car door for you. The snow covered ground glistened from the bright night sky as you scooted into the cab.

The ride was quiet whilst you rested in Thomas’s arms which he thought was rather odd, that usually meant something was on your mind. “Are you alright love?” Breaking a part from, you took his hand in yours. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Worry etched over Thomas’s face but it didn’t compete with the level of anxiety you were feeling. “Whatever it is you can tell me Y/N, we’re celebrating eighteen years of marriage nothing is going to run me off now I can assure you that.” You stared down at the seat, eyebrows etched together in concern of his reaction. Patting his hand you looked up at him slowly, paying close attention to his eyes. “Thomas I think I might be pregnant. I know it's a big age gap for Edward and Annbeth to be close with them but I still want to have this baby." Thomas didn't hesitate to speak as he did not want to worry you. "Sweetheart, how long have you known?"

"I think I've known for about a week and I know it sounds silly that I was nervous to tell you but I didn't know if you'd want me to get rid of it because I know we didn't plan for this."

"Darling we didn't plan for the first two." You laughed and Thomas pulled you into his arms, resting his hands on your stomach. "I'd never ever want you to think I'd want you to get rid of our child besides, I love when you're pregnant, your swollen tits, your glowing smile and glowing tummy. I love every part of you Y/N nothing is going to change that. Okay?" You couldn't help the tears that began to stream down your cheeks, that Tommy once again wiped away, and he smiled lovingly at you. You nodded and leaned into his chest. You were going to be okay, and today was more than amazing. It was perfect.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #ranaewrites

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miss-starlet · 4 months

Text

♡Made to Worship You♡

Bodyguard! Minho x Reader x Butler! Han Jisung (Brief Mention of Bang Chan x Reader)

Summary: Feeling anxious about accepting Chan's marriage proposal to aid your father's business expansion due to your lack of experience in all matters of love, Minho and Jisung offer their support and help.

Warning: Minho refers to themselves as the help once, fingering, inexperienced! Reader, pet names, praise, kinda soft?

Word Count: 1,300+

18+ MDNI

The soft moonlight was piercing through the window, the curtains flowing lazy from the light breeze; it should have been a quiet and peaceful night. However, you stayed tossing and turning, mind filled with racing thoughts from your conversation earlier that day which was causing you restlessness. Giving up the idea of sleep for right now you open your eyes and sat up in bed. You grab the bell that was sitting on top of the side table, giving it a couple of rings. Within seconds, the large wooden door flew open and inside came Jisung and Minho.

Your father might have been a busy man, but you were fortunate that he aimed for the best in every aspect of your life; from clothes and food to jewelry, and even providing you with the finest bodyguard and butler around. Within a few hours of meeting them those years ago, they became friends as if they had been in your life for ages, a heavenly gift to alleviate the loneliness imposed by your father's strict no-friends rule.

"I can't sleep, will you both please lay with me and keep me company" you ask as you look down at the blankets that surround you.

Minho let out a sigh of relief, letting himself catch his breath. You never ring the bell unless there is an emergency. "I'm sorry if I caused you both to worry."

"Shh, it's our job and it's also so nice to sleep in such a fluffy bed." Jisung said while climbing in the bed and lay behind you. His arm wraps around your waist to pull you to rest on his chest.

"What would your father say If he sees the help getting in bed with his daughter?" Minho teases, but still climbs in and lays next to you. He grabs your hand, linking both of your fingers together while letting his thumb rub small circles on the back of your hand.

You all don’t say much as you guys lie there, and you don't mind that. It’s a comfortable and relaxing silence that helps relieve your troubling thoughts, and hopefully enough to fall asleep.

"How come you couldn't fall asleep princess?" Jisung asked softly, causing a sad smile on your face to appear.

"Chan and my father have been striking up a deal. One thing Chan wants in the contact is my hand in marriage." You move your winded hands to your chest and gently cradle Minho's hand with your other. "My father wants me to accept his proposal since it will help with the expansion of the business."

"Oh..."

"Do you think he would love me?" You asked softly, looking up at the older man laying in front of you. His face stayed neutral but his eyes showed anger at that thought.

"He would be a fool not to." Minho growled, and you just nodded, not really sure if you believed him or not.

"Minho's right," Jisung replied softly, " You are so kind and beautiful, Chan would be very lucky to have your love."

"I have never been with anyone before since my father never allowed it." You added, when Minho saw the expression on your face, his gaze softened. Jisung fingers find their way to your hair, scratching your scalp, while Minho moves his free hand up and down on your lower back in a delicate soft motion.

"What if he doesn't like that I'm inexperienced?" Your head tilts downwards to not see the look that Minho was giving you, but you could feel both of their stares. "Would he think of me as pathetic? That making love to me felt like a chore?"

“Oh baby no. ” Minho cooed, he couldn't believe you would think such a thing. “ I would kill Chan if he ever thought of you like that, but would you like us to help you? Make you more experienced?”

"You would do that for me?" Your head tilted back up and eyes gazing up into his.

"We would do anything for your princess," Jisung whispered in your ear, tilting your head to the side and leaning forward to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue dives straight into your mouth.

Pulling away to catch your breath, Minho moved your face back to face him to gently pull you into another kiss. Jisung begins kissing along your jawline, then down towards your neck. While Minho's hand sneaks it way down. He slowly rubbed your clit through the fabric of your panties. He started with slow circle movements to then a little bit faster straight lines then back to slow circles. You pull away from the kiss, tiny pleases and whines spill from your lips, while trying to bury your face into his neck to muffle them.

Jisung gently moves you away from Minho's neck to squeeze your breasts before moving to lift up your top and cover your nipple with his mouth. You start squirming towards and away from their touch.

"Open darling” Minho whispers in your ear, his fingers near your mouth. You open and he gently puts them inside. Your lips wrap around the digits, getting them nice and wet before he pulls them out. "So sweet and innocent" Jisung murmured into your neck, kissing the area up and down.

Minho moves himself down the bed till his face is right next to your hips. His fingers slipped under the sides of the soft fabric, pulling them down your legs and throwing them on the floor. He kissed your hip, before biting down causing you to gasp.

"Hold her open for me." Jisung leaned you back a little bit against his chest before he used his hand to raise your leg up your chest. Minho lets two of his fingers slip inside. Your head flopped to the side on Jisung's shoulder. His fingers reach in deeper and curl them to hit your g-spot causing you to let out a loud moan mixed with a sob.

"You are ok baby...Doing so good for us, " Minho cooed at you as tears pricked along your lower lash line. Jisung hummed, agreeing with Minho's statement, while replying “Such a good girl for us.”

Jisung unoccupied hand kneads the flesh of your chest before rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. You shook under their touch, your thighs are trembling, and your legs would have closed if it was for Jisungs tight grip. Minho slowly inches in another finger before pumping them in and out. Your hips move desperately against his fingers.

“I-I'm gonna cum!” You moan out and you could feel Jisung smirking into your neck. "Yeah? Gonna cum for me and Minnie?”

All you could do was nod quickly, while you clenched around Minho's finger. Your mouth drops open to release a loud moan and the babbling of both of their names. Jisung's index and middle finger start to rub your clit at a dizzying speed, while Minho's fingers keep thrusting in and out, hitting your sweet spot. Before you know it, your orgasm comes over you, both of them helping you ride out your orgasm.

Minho and Jisung communicate silently through a glance, they will always be there for you no matter if you marry Chan or even any other man. In those fleeting moments of eye contact, they decide to shield you from any harm and protect you with their lives.

Minho pulled out his fingers, licking them clean. "Jisungie, you have to taste her. She's just so sweet," Minho says with a chuckle. Jisung moved from out of behind you and suddenly without warning ran up your heat with his tongue before he wrapped her lips around your clit. You audibly gasped, the slight overstimulation hurt but also felt so good.

"You taste so good princess, just what I needed," Jisung says while he pulls away, "Do you think you could cum one more time for us?"

Before you could answer him, Minho replied "She's such a good girl, I know she can take all the love we give her."

#skz smut #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids smut #jisung x reader #lee minho smut #stray kids x reader #lee minho x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung x reader

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kzlove · 1 year

Text

oh no you didn't!

syn -> carla jaeger thinks she raised her son right, but this is a sight she never thought she'd see.

modern!eren jaeger x fem!reader

beware of.. foul language, eren is a father, arguing, ymir and eren are siblings (hc)

if you were to ask carla jaeger her opinion on how she raised her children, she'd proudly say she did a great job.

eren always tried to be a respectful boy towards people, and could be such a sweetheart.

sure, his mouth got him in trouble more times than not, and maybe he fought more than he needed to.

but she made sure he was raised correctly for sure.

ymir had no filter on her mouth, but was still likeable by people.

she was carefree and honest with people, which would also get her in as much trouble as eren got into.

but carla was the same way, so there wasn't much she could do about it.

ymir understood, and tried her best to be well behaved. even with her potty mouth and snarky remarks.

carla's marriage with their father didn't work out in the end, so it was always just her and her two children.

it was hard for her to push on at some point, losing it and failing her kids for a part of her life.

but that didn't slow them down on being successful.

ymir went into the music industry, having her own group that she allowed her brother to pitch in every now and then.

she got a wife, who had a daughter. luckily, the daughter loved ymir like she loved her mother.

eren was able to get him a wife, have a well paying job, and advancing in his studies and the world on its own.

just a few months back (six to be exact) you were able to bring life into the world for eren.

a daughter.

ymir couldn't visit as much, so she left that to eren to fill their mother's loneliness.

and because his mother held a huge place in his heart, he always made sure to take a week or two to visit and stay in his mother's home with his little family.

they never get to see each other alot, so eren always goes all out when it comes it his mother.

so when she walked into the house from buying groceries, she never expected to hear this.

"i work hard. for this goddamn family. and this is how you fuckin repay me?" eren's voice boomed from upstairs.

carla paused and raised her eyebrow in confusion, placing the groceries on the cleared off counter.

did something happen while she was gone or was eren just being dramatic yet again?

sometimes carla swears she raised two daughters instead of one.

eren must've not heard his mother when she walked in, because he just continued going.

"but-" "there aren't any buts! you think i'll be all 'akekeke' after you fucked my boss? in my clothes?" eren cut you off, sounding angrier and louder than before.

carla held her gasp in her throat, placing a delicate hand over her mouth.

had you cheated on him?

in his mother's home? the home he grew up in?

carla had half the nerve to dash into the room and begin cursing and yelling as well.

but suddenly remembered one thing when she made it past the picture frames on the wall.

eren was a grown man now. his mother couldn't always handle all his problems for him.

so she paused where she was and listened.

"you have the nerve to have him hold my child, and have sex with him in the same room?!" eren grew even louder, making you sob even more.

carla shook her head in disbelief. she would definitely have to call mrs. springer when they were done.

the older woman listened even more, hearing her son mutter 'you know what' before a bit of shuffling could be heard in the room.

carla assumed eren was tossing you out of the house, until a scream rang throughout the house.

suddenly, carla grabbed a wooden spoon from the kitchen and dashed upstairs, running to the room you were staying in.

the possibilty of eren putting his hands on a woman was extremely low.

then again. the percentage was not zero.

when carla opened the door, the sight she'd seen was definitely not what she was expecting.

you and eren were kneeling beside each other at the foot of the bed, backs towards the door.

at the sudden outburst, you two whipped around and looked at carla.

she paused, still clutching the wooden spoon in her hand.

"what's going on." carla demanded, out of breathe and looking between the two of you.

she definitely missed the little bundle of joy between you giving her a sleepy, gummy smile.

"it's not what it looks like." eren said, holding his hands in the air.

in his hand was a ken doll, dressed in a suit with white paper wrapped around his neck.

in your left hand, was another ken doll with a (horribly) drawn mustache and the same suit. the only difference?

the paper around his neck was yellow.

your left hand held a barbie doll that wore a red bathing suit, a very small towel wrapped around her body.

carla blinked in confusion at the sight before her, before looking at her son for an explanation while lowering the spoon.

"we can't get her to sleep." eren complained, looking towards his little girl.

carla looked at you, who was smiling just a bit with the dolls still in your hand.

she then averted her eyes to eva-lee, your shared daughter.

little lee cooed at her grandmother, before rubbing her eyes with her little fists.

"so.. you had a argument. with dolls." carla said, rubbing her forehead in growing annoyance.

you and eren looked at each other, the dolls in your hands, and then back at eren's mother.

"uhm.. yeah." eren said, placing the dolls down and standing up to his full height.

you followed after, placing the dolls down and smiling just a bit.

carla was entirely speechless.

she didn't know what to say, or why eren thought this was an amazing idea to put his daughter to sleep.

the room stayed silent for a bit, save for little lee's tiny coos.

"eren." carla sighed rubbing her temples in soft slow circles to ease the headache coming along.

"we were just mimicking your dramas!" eren defended, gesturing to his mother.

none of carla's dramas were like whatever eren was up here doing.

"oh just give me the dang baby. and stop cursing around her." carla scoffed, stepping over to pick the young girl up.

but before she could approach, you stood in front of your daughter and held a finger to your lips.

carla raised her eyebrow, peeking around to look at her grandbaby.

eva lee was knocked out, sucking on her thumb while snoring softly.

carla couldn't believe eren's ridiculous tactic had actually worked.

her son wore an extremely proud smirk, looking towards his mother with an 'i told you so' look on his face.

"you know what? make dinner yourself eren. put the groceries away while you're at it." carla scoffed, shooing her son away.

eren let out a dramatic gasp. "that's not even fair!" he yelled, protesting like a teenager.

loud wails rang throughout the room, making everyone look at eva lee.

she was wide awake once more, and fussier than ever.

"get your ass downstairs and cook, eren. i'll help my daugther in law." carla smiled evily, lifting up the baby in her arms while cooing.

you stuck your tongue out at him and watched as he pouted, childishly stomping his way downstairs.

of course not before adding in his two cents.

"this is such bullshit!" he had yelled towards the two most important women in his life.

yeah, carla was definitely telling mrs. springer about this.

#aot fanfiction #aot fluff #attack on titan #eren jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #eren x reader #carla jaeger #carla yeager #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #shingeki no kyoujin eren #eren aot #eren fluff #ymir snk #ymir aot

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finn-writes-stuff · 1 year

Note

May I ask for headcanons for Grog, Scanlan, Percy and Vax with gn shy s/o pretty please?

Shrinking Violet

Quiet and shy, you've caught the eyes of the men of Vox Machina.

Grog, Scanlan, Percy & Vax x Reader

Fandom: The Legends of Vox Machina/Critical Role

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: N/A

Gender-Neutral Reader

Masterlist

Whoever sends me a proper Percy request next is going to have my hand in marriage. -Finn

Grog

Grog has never been shy in his life. It often just doesn't occur to him to be nervous about talking to people. He has things he wants to say and do, so why would he not?

It creates an interesting contrast with you. His booming exuberance compared to your quiet restraint. There's a joke in the party that between the two of you, it averages out to the perfect usual amount of speech.

Grog wants you to feel comfortable around him! He understands on some level that people are often quiet around him because they're scared or intimidated, and he really doesn't want you to be.

You're definitely able to notice that Grog is gentler with you, trying to pull you out of your shell without scaring you off.

The extra obvious tell is Pike trying to very nonchalantly tell you about how Grog is totally chill and you can just talk with him! She isn't the most subtle of wingmen.

Scanlan

He has little restraint and even less shame. He will say anything that pops into his head, no matter how awful it is. Speaking to him will inevitably leave your ears burning.

Scanlan thinks it's kind of cute that you're so shy and makes a game out of getting you to laugh at his jokes and talk without seeming so nervous.

Seeing you when you're happy enough to forget how nerve-wracking social interaction is, melts him. The first time that he made you properly laugh, like a full, loud, straight from the chest laugh, he was left a little dazed.

The innuendos actually get worse. You don't brush them off with snark the same way most of the party does, and he absolutely capitalizes on it to double down on flirting with you.

Percy

Percy has a hack for social interaction and it boils down to being rich. He leans into the 'I am important and smart and well-spoken' part of his personality and it gets him what he wants. So even when social interaction is overwhelming, he can just default to that.

So, naturally, he teaches you the finer points of it to help you talk when you need to. He lets you practice with him and only laughs when you start making fun of him.

He is a big fan of leaving crowded situations to go work in his own space, and he will offer you the chance to come with him whenever he does. You just have to hold tools for him while he works.

If you're in a situation where you're stuck talking with strangers, he develops a habit of sweeping in with a convenient reason for you to leave the conversation. It satisfies something deep in his chest when he gets to play your knight in shining armor.

Vax

Vax'ildan, king of charming his way behind closed doors. He is pretty solidly at ease in conversations, and when he isn't, he can certainly fake it.

He'll tease you about how shy you are, he finds it adorable and he likes pushing to see how far it goes.

That doesn't mean that he allows other people to tease you or push is though. He will make them fuck off the moment you look uncomfortable.

As a kid, he was shy and nervous, but it has been a long time since he had to watch everything he said. He doesn't want you to feel that talking is going to get you in trouble. As much as he can be an ass, he genuinely wants you to be comfortable with him and the rest of the party.

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milliesdiary · 2 years

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𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟; the bet between us

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; after your parents find out about the bet between you and aemond, they rule out the idea of a possible marriage. you refuse to disgrace the family name by going against their wishes, though aemond makes a very tempting case.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭; pic 💗

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; of course aemond isn’t going to give up so easily… i hope you enjoy! :)

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒' 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐂.

“I thought she was to be betrothed to the Lannister’s son? Tyland, I believe. Or was it Lord Jason?” Your father inquires, a forkful of Brunswick stew raised halfway to his mouth.

“Tyland,” your mother corrects. “I mentioned the proposal to his father, but his son has already been sworn to one of Baratheon’s girls. A shame.”

You listen to all this while poking your vegetables around your plate in annoyance. They speak about it like you’re not even here. Maybe this is how it is for every girl your age — allowing their parents to set them up with whoever they see fit, without even asking for the bride-to-be’s opinion. Maybe they refuse to talk about it and just accept their duty.

You, however, are not like other women.

“That it is,” your father agrees. He gestures at you with his knife, his attention on you now. “House Lannister is a noble family. They are one of the wealthiest in all of the realm and possess a power that exceeds other houses among Westeros. They hold a seat at Casterly Rock as well. I wished to form political connections with the King.”

You have heard this all before. Your mother can sense your frustration at this topic, though she does not try to steer the conversation elsewhere. She has been very big on finding you a suitor, much to your distaste.

“Do you have connections with any other Lords, perhaps?” she asks your father. “Any young men you can introduce to our daughter?”

“There are some I know of,” your father nods. You stare, waiting for him to make an excuse as to why they aren’t a good fit; maybe they’re too stupid, or cowardly, or aren’t husband material. Unfortunately, he says nothing else.

You decide to break your silence.

“No thanks,” you interrupt. “I would rather journey through the Seven Hells than marry a Lord. Or perhaps throw myself at a dragon. Either fate would be better than bedding a man who thinks he controls everyone, especially a Lannister.”

Your mother sets her cutlery down with a clang, a frown on her pretty lips; she’s about to scold you. You prepare for the onslaught. “We do not say such things, young lady. You should be grateful that your father and I have been trying so dutifully to find you a husband.”

You hold back a scoff at that, instead choosing to stuff your mouth with cooked carrots. “I would rather choose a husband myself, thank you very much.”

“If we were to allow you to do so, you would never get married — and stop speaking with your mouth full,” your mother reprimands. “How will you find a husband when you act so carelessly?”

Your father is not surprised by your actions. He knows you better than anyone else; after all, you might as well be a carbon copy of him, in both temperament and attitude.

Instead of jumping to your mother’s defense, he wipes his mouth with the napkin that had been folded on his lap. “Do not fret too much, dear wife. Our daughter still has time to find a suitor. She has been enjoying sparring lately, which I believe keeps her out of trouble.”

You nod happily. At least he gets it.

“Though she has been making bets with that Targaryen boy,” your father adds.

You almost choke on a mouthful of your dinner; you quickly reach for your goblet and flush it down with multiple gulps of wine.

How does he know that? No one would dare tell him, would they? Shit, shit, shit. This is not good. Hesitantly, your gaze flits up to see your mother’s reaction.

She’s confused. “A Targaryen boy?”

“The prince,” your father says casually. He’s very calm. “The one-eye.”

Your mother’s expression instantly sours in distaste. Remaining nonchalant is difficult, especially when sweat starts to form on your palms. You avoid eye contact with her in the hopes that you won’t break apart.

“And what bet are we speaking of?” Your mother prods, waiting eagerly for your father’s answer. Her food is long forgotten.

“As the rumors have said, I presume it was one where our daughter would have to kiss the prince if she lost the match.”

You sit up so fast that you knock over your half-empty goblet, the wine spilling everywhere. It makes your mother gasp. You jump out of your seat.

“Shit!”

“Watch your tongue!” she snaps instantly.

You stifle a glare at your mother’s scolding and snatch a napkin from the table, soaking up the burgundy liquid. Your father watches with a questioning look.

Of course there were rumors. If any of the men you beat at sparring overheard you and Aemond, they would have easily started to spread news of your gamble out of spite. Those bastards.

You sink back into your seat, tossing the soiled napkin and avoiding the way your mother’s sharp gaze quickly settles on your face.

“Is that true? You were gallivanting with the…” She hesitates for a moment, unsure if she should continue. “…The cripple?”

You would be furious at the way she described Aemond if you weren’t so terrified. You’re quiet for a couple seconds; something your mother does not appreciate.

“Answer my question,” she demands. The subject is not going to be dropped; you resist the urge to bang your head on the table.

“I was just…” you trail off. “I mean…”

Your parents are both just staring at you now; it’s time to piece yourself back together. To calm down. Letting out a breath, you force a shrug. “The bet is true, and the match took place, but I never kissed him. I won.”

The frown your mother wears doesn’t suit her. “Why were you sparring with the prince in the first place?”

“I never said I liked it,” you groan. A lie. “I just knew I would beat him, so I thought it would be fun.”

Your mother is not happy regardless. “The unpleasant things I have heard about him. I warn you to stay away from—“

Your father cuts her off.

“Have faith. Our daughter is an excellent fighter,” he states sincerely. “Be that as it may, she would never give the Targaryen boy her attention. I can assure you that there was no kiss.”

His genuine trust in you brings feelings of guilt; he has no idea you’re lying.

You can remember the expression on Aemond’s face when you stole him into the alleyway, and the way his lips felt upon your own. That second kiss had lacked all softness. It wasn't polite in the slightest, wasn’t gentle: just panting breaths, as rough as a tempest with the woody scent of him,

You especially remember the way you had drawn him in for more, and wanted to do some other things that shall not be spoken of…

“Good. I do not want him to be a bad influence,” your mother says. She does not press the matter any further.

Instead, she mentions an invitation your house had received. The Blacks requested that you all attend a dinner at Dragonstone later this week. The Greens will be there, she adds slowly, noticing how you perk up.

The only thing you can do now is nod, drown yourself in your plate, and then scurry off to your chambers.

Getting ready for the dinner was harder than you expected.

Your mother is a loving woman. She allows you to do what you want for the most part — but she is also quite elegant, insisting that you dress the same as her.

You must be ‘fit for occasions that call for it,’ she croons. It’s a bunch of bullshit, you think.

“I know you do not want to do this, sweet girl,” your mother sighs, holding up a lace gown. “If you will not do it for me, do it for the Gods.”

“The Gods? The Gods would never make me wear a dress.”

You argue with her the whole time she helps you get ready, turning your nose up at every dress and diamond necklace she brandishes. It’s a struggle that lasts for nearly an hour, and thankfully, she gives up at some point.

You end up in a dark tunic-like dress. It’s similar to what Aemond and Aegon wear, just a bit longer.

It stops below the knee and shows the black pants and boots you wear underneath. The fabric is more stiff and clean-shapen than a regular gown; it doesn’t flow in the wind. The shoulders are extended, and a braided chain is across the chest. Attached to it is a light gray cape that drapes over your back.

The outfit is sharp, serious, and fierce.

It was something your father got for you during his time at war; it had belonged to the tyrant wife of a general he defeated. Apparently your mother had hidden it because it was too boyish for her liking.

It’s not girly per se, but prim enough that your mother is surprisingly satisfied. “You look like a queen,” she says proudly.

“A conqueror,” your father corrects. “A soldier.”

“Though a necklace and some earrings would do her some good.”

You refuse of course. Luckily, your mother doesn’t force you to wear a single piece of jewelry. She even allows you to do your hair as you want.

Despite it not being your choice of clothing, it was better than the flowy lilac dress she tried to put you in. You would never admit it, but you feel powerful walking into the palace on Dragonstone.

The second you and your parents step into the grand household, Rhaenyra greets you at the castle door instead of the knights.

It feels like ages since you saw her last — despite it being only a few years or so — yet her face is the exact same somehow, as if aging did not suit her. Her silver hair is swept back into a braided crown, and the red and black dress she wears sparkles with tiny gems. It fits her perfectly and contrasts well with the ruby-gold necklace along her throat. A crooked smile upturns the corner of her lips; she appears pleased.

Rhaenyra has never once judged you for being unladylike. If anything, she always encouraged it. It was something you appreciated to the greatest extent.

With a soft expression, you dip your head in a respectful bow. “Princess.”

Her eyes light up at your sincere smile; are you really that grumpy all the time? Is it that rare?

“You look lovely,” Rhaenyra says gently, taking in your outfit.

“Thank you, Princess,” you say bashfully. She then beckons over your parents from where they stand behind you, dressed in their best clothes.

“Too much time has passed, Princess,” your father says, allowing a polite grin to dawn his face. Rhaenyra returns it with one of her own.

“That it has, General,” she agrees. “I must thank you for joining us. We are honored to have your family’s support.”

“It is the least we could do. If anything, we thank you for the invitation,” your mother says gratefully. “Are the Greens here yet?”

Rhaenyra gives a curt nod. The mention of the Greens make her face drop a bit, but she collects herself quite easily. She extends her arm for you to take as she turns on her heel to face the corridor. “Shall we proceed to dinner?”

Nodding, you accept her kind gesture and confidently stride alongside her, your parents trailing behind and admiring the palace’s decor.

The dining room is just as you remember it when you walk in.

Ribbons of amber and bronze from the evening sun filter through the window panes on every side of the room, flooding each nook and cranny with a warm glow. You catch sight of Jace, Luke, and Daemon already seated toward the middle of the table, along with Baela and Rhaena.

Alicent and Otto sit across from them, busy in hushed conversation. Your attention then flicks over to Helaena and Aegon who are also at the table. Aegon offers you a lewd glance, giving you a filthy smirk; if he feels your disdain, he keeps it to himself. He would probably enjoy knowing you are disgusted with him — such a pervert. You have heard of his antics and want to stay as far from him as possible.

On the contrary, you receive the friendliest smile on earth from Helaena. You feel incredibly warm inside; she does not seem to be the type to judge.

Alicent then notices your presence and dips her head toward you in greeting, a small smile on her face, as well as Otto. They appear to be quite nice. No one comments on your clothing, despite it not matching the silks that the women in the room wear.

Slowly, your parents lead you to take a seat — and then you see him.

Aemond is situated at the far end of the table, a confident air to him as he leans back in his chair. Cool, collected, and stoic as usual.

He notices you. And you notice him quite easily as well, thanks to his bright hair.

It’s his greatest asset; as expected, it is dazzling white, pulled back into the usual half-up style. The silky strands cascade far past his collarbones, his black high-neck tunic standing out sharply in comparison. His wide chest pulls the shiny leather tight, fitted to his lean body.

And his face… Why does he have to be so handsome? How could you have not noticed it until that day you kissed him?

Aemond’s violet eye meets yours. You both give each other a long, intense stare, like a pair of wild animals who have been starved of one another’s presence. His profile flashes with a feral look; it reveals the dragon he truly is beyond that hardened exterior.

You are both connected in a second, understanding each other in a way others do not.

There is a rapid change in Aemond's demeanor then; it goes from something poised to one of interest. His eye scans you up and down, taking in your outfit, your hair, and the cape that is thrown over your shoulder. He appears fascinated as his attention zips back to your face. Your body feels impossibly hot.

Courageously, you approach the chair next to him and take a seat. Your mother notices from her spot beside you; her face screws up, though she doesn’t make a sly remark. She’s suspicious.

“My Lady,” Aemond says. His voice is deep, silky, and rich with his distinctive accent. Your stomach turns as a result.

You inhale sharply and glance at him with that usual boldness of yours. You hold your chin high, allowing a smug grin to glide across your face. “My Prince,” you greet. “I suppose you knew I was coming?”

“I did,” he says coolly. The tiniest smirk rests on his mouth. “You are not wearing the usual dress of a woman, I see.” Then, bringing his voice to almost a whisper, he adds, “That was part of our bet, was it not?”

Damn it. You totally forgot. But honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Oh no,” you say sarcastically. “What a nightmare.”

Aemond exhales sharply to express his amusement. He fixes you with a serious look afterwards. “I expect you to uphold it one of these days.”

“And I expect you to get off my back about it.”

Aemond hums at that. He has never been bothered by your sharp words or snarky remarks; he knows you well enough to expect it. He even anticipates it. It’s a little game for him. “Do you not follow through with your promises?”

“I do.” You pick up your fork to point it in his direction playfully. “But only when it benefits me.”

Aemond gives a curt nod in acknowledgement. He seems humored. “I did not expect anything less.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You are stubborn,” Aemond says coolly. You can feel a heat climb up your cheeks — were you that headstrong? “A woman who does what she wants.”

He is provoking you, that eye studying your face to gauge your reaction. You refuse to give him one.

“You speak as if you are not the same, My Prince. Have you forgotten that we are alike?”

The words spark a sense of appreciation in Aemond. He turns his attention to his golden cup, lifting the edge to his mouth; but before he takes a sip, you catch his gaze flicker over to you. It looks like he’s fighting a smirk.

“You have nothing to say to that, it seems,” you state triumphantly, tone full of mirth. “Have I cut out your tongue?”

“Hmm,” Aemond quietly hums, setting his goblet down. The whisper of a smile is on his face: scarcely present, virtually invisible. “From how I won the match, I would say that you wouldn’t have had the chance.”

The pride in his response is annoying. And even still… the mutual teasing is fun. It’s difficult to express any true anger. You roll your eyes, though the smile on your face doesn’t subside.

“A man in your place should consider himself lucky that his head is still on his body.” You make an effort to sound offended, but fail. “Does something humor you?”

“You do.”

You almost reel away at his honesty. The way this man has always been able to catch you off guard should be a talent.

Aemond analyzes your expression, the ends of his lips curled. You take the moment to scowl at him; people have told you that your frown has the power to frighten others into silence, so you pray this is one of those times.

It isn’t.

“Will we talk about the other day, or shall we pretend it never happened?” He suddenly asks. The randomness of the question takes you aback.

You remain silent, chin raising to blink at Aemond dumbly while trying to think of a reply. He can sense your surprise, because his eye gleams with intrigue; he wants to know your feelings on the situation.

The memory of your kiss with Aemond runs its rough fingers across your cheek, and you’re automatically embarrassed... yet eager. Interested to hear what he may think about it.

That being said, you fearfully whip your head toward the others; everyone is too involved in their own conversations to hear you both. Slowly, you glance over at Aemond again.

“What is there to say?” You bring your attention back to your meal and awkwardly move the meat around the plate.

“Plenty.”

The chair creaks as Aemond leans back in it; he rolls a silver strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger, waiting for your reply. He obviously wants you to broach the subject.

“My parents found out about the bet, and let me inform you: they would not accept the notion of us being together,” you shake your head. "They do not want me to—”

“Court a serpent?” Aemond interrupts.

He remembered what you said — it is a reference to how you called him a dragon that fateful day. He’s always been clever, recalling the smallest things. Perhaps he thinks of himself as one too; a fire-breathing creature, able to set even the largest cities ablaze and leave them to ashes.

“If that is how you would like to put it.”

You watch Aemond’s lips twist in irritation. He turns his head to stare at the fireplace that burns across the room, deep in thought.

Just when you think he is done speaking, he talks, his voice melodic.

“Will you not fight it?” Aemond inquires.

Your head spins in response to his question, causing your eyes to dart in his direction. He’s not looking at you though; his attention is still on the flames as they flicker, his expression cold.

“I cannot,” you reply weakly. It hurts to even say it. “My family is too important to me. I must not go against their wishes.”

Truthfully, you don’t know what else to say. It was unexpected for Aemond to ask if you were planning to turn on your parents.

You debate saying that you are alright with the idea of being with him, despite not being the type to court someone or marry. That you would never think of anyone else the way you think of him. But you’re not sweet or open about your feelings, so the words are impossible to say.

Aemond is compelled to glance at you. He has a menacing, dark gaze; the blood of the serpent runs in his veins. Maybe that’s why you always found him so much more alluring than any other man.

“That is a shame,” Aemond says. He crosses his legs and places an arm on the table, tapping his fingers on the wood. Disinterest is laced in his tone. “I was hoping you would show them the same boldness that you have always shown me.”

He is testing you. Taunting.

You want so badly to hate him. Hate him for having an eye the color of violet blossoms and hair like silver diamonds. Hate him for his panther-like elegance and his deftness with a sword.

As much as you wish it, it is impossible.

You scoff at Aemond, your frown hardening. “So I am to just run off with you? Is that it? I am not the type to do such a thing; you must not know me as well as you think, My Prince.”

Aemond seems to consider that. You wouldn't know if he agrees because he has schooled his face to be expressionless. It gives away nothing. “Perhaps not.”

He casts a glance across the table to ensure no one is looking. Then he slightly leans into your space. You breathe in his smoky, earthy scent; it’s an aphrodisiac.

“You are the only person who has understood me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who will understand you,” Aemond murmurs. “Do you wish to be with someone who does not accept you for who you are? For the things you cannot be?”

He’s right. Absolutely correct. You two share a connection, a bond flowing from one another. An understanding has always been between you two, hanging in the air.

The case he’s making could not be more true. It’s terrifying to think about.

What if your future husband hates your personality? Your behavior, your way of dressing? Would they try to force you to succumb to the stereotypical role of a woman? You don’t think you could handle that.

A marriage with a man who does not tolerate you would be strained, no doubt about it. Worthy of the Seven Hells, even. The thought of it comes with a painful twist in the chest and a wince.

“I do not,” you whisper. There’s an openness in his profile now. You decide to make the most of it. “But what shall I do, Aemond?”

His expression softens at the mention of his name; the lack of an honorary title makes him feel closer to you.

“Disobey,” Aemond says lowly. He ignores how you appear startled at his suggestion. “The day will come when you need them to respect you.”

“I could never—“

“I will propose the idea to my mother; advise her of the political benefits of a marriage between us. If there is to be a single person who may convince your family of a betrothal, it is her.”

“...But do you love me?” you ask slowly. It is not in your nature to be so vulnerable, but the question has weighed heavily on your mind. Someone can have affections for another, but it does not always mean love; it can be infatuation, obsession, or lust.

You want to know how he really feels.

Aemond remains silent for a moment. It appears as if he is treading over his words, wondering if he should say them. Then, finally, he speaks.

“I will never want to be married to anyone,” Aemond whispers. “Unless it shall be you as my wife.”

You nearly choke, both astonished and pleased by the answer. It is hard to ignore: Gods, he’s just so perfect. There’s a wild spark in his eye.

“I vow to serve you, to listen to you, to die for you if need be,” Aemond reassures gently. He means it. You can tell.

“Do you think it would really work? Truly?”

“I cannot make any promises. But I can give you my word that I will do my best.”

You think it over: would it be worth it? How would your family react at the proposal? Your mother? Before you can reply, Aemond’s hand slinks under the table to rest on your knee. You almost jump.

His palm is warm upon your pants, the touch tender and graceful. It is not meant to be dirty, but it invokes filthy thoughts in your mind that you have to shake away. You grab at his wrist, the leather of his sleeve smooth against your fingers.

“Aemond—”

“Let me know your answer,” Aemond starts, training his eye on you. When you don’t reject him, his grip on your leg tightens. “Whenever you are ready.”

In that moment, you come to a conclusion that maybe — just maybe — this issue can be resolved. The space between you can be filled. Aemond shares the same yearning; you can see it in him.

Wanting each other but being unable to have that connection is not something you want to deal with forever. Aemond is the only one who has completely accepted your true self: the way you are unladylike, your crude remarks, your tough personality.

Your expression must soften, because Aemond’s does in return.

And, for a moment, you think you might be ready.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines

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devotedlykoneshots · 1 year

Text

PARK SEONGHWA: THE THERAPIST

Genre : 🔞minors dni, small age gap, reader is a menace, seonghwa does a little more than guide her, smut

Word count: 3,814

--------

It was silent for a few minutes as your counselor went over your file, face void of any emotion and leaving you nothing that could give away what he was thinking about.

Your parents had sent you to a behavioral program for troubled kids after your last outburst landed you in jail.

They'd been very calculated by it , sending you before your 18 birthday so you wouldn't be able to leave even if by law you could.

You had nowhere to go and no financial support especially since your family practically abandoned you since you entered the program.

It's been months and nothing, not even a Ietter from them but you'd excepted your fate and chose to make due with what you had.

On the bright side kids there weren't that bad and most of them were in the same position as you were, the more you show progress in the program the more you're allowed freedom.

The program also helped young adults find housing and jobs once they completed the program, so it wasn't all bad but still you didn't want to be there.

A voice brings you out of your head.

"i see you have a history of violence."he shuts the thick folder and you shrugged your shoulders.

"People have a history of pissing me off."you rolled your eyes and he sighed, the new ones are always the hardest to get through to.

"We need to find the trigger only then can I help you , you can't just retaliate with violence everytime someone is being a dick to you"he half scolds you which you noticed now that he looked pretty young to be working here.

"Excuse my french"he apologized for his outburst and you smirked at him losing his temper.

"Look I'm here to help you reign in those violent impulses, that starts with identifying the problem and that means going back through your past"he said and you sighed, gathering your things and standing up.

"We're gonna be here awhile and you have another session in 20 minutes"you told him and he scoffed, blocking you from leaving with his arm.

"Then you better get started"he said and you looked at him incredulous.

"sit"he orders you and you plop back down in your chair, defeated and finally starting to give in.

-------

"You use humor as a way to hide your pain, it's not uncommon"your first session with Mr park was pretty much a success, you'd talked about your father abandoning you before you turned 5 and how your mother married quickly after he left.

It turned out neither of your parents were faithful in that marriage and that led to your trust and commitment issues.

You also have major abandonment issues which your mother never caught onto considering she'd just abandoned you just like your father.

"Thank you"you said to his statement about your coping mechanisms, you'd been through that drug phase and that played a factor in you being sent there.

You thought it was a bit hypocritical since your mother, father and step father all went through a drug phase.

"That's not a good thing"he said, shaking his head and you raised your eyebrows.

"What I'm hearing is you think

I'm funny"you said , making his job harder was your favorite pass time.

"I- no, that's not-"he trips and stumbles over his words embarrassingly but you say nothing about it, the feeling of you eyeing him with that mischievous look in your eyes.

It made him flustered.

It's not that none of his clients haven't tried to flirt with him or didn't try and make a move on him because they have but there was something different about you.

Maybe it was your story or the way you carry yourself despite having been through so much at a young age and you're not even half way through your past at that but you still made seonghwa nervous like a little high school girl being near her crush for the first time.

"Let's talk about journey"this however caught you off guard, your "sudden" change in sexuality is also why you're here, your mom almost had a heart attack when she came home early from work and saw you sucking on a girls neck in her living room.

"Why?"you asked, your face contorts into a pained look.

"Because as soon as you heard her name you became tense, it's obviously a hard topic for you"he tells you and you shake your head.

"We really don't-"he cuts you off with a warning tone, not giving you a choice.

"Y/n"

"She was my girlfriend"you hurried out and seonghwa heard it.

"Girlfriend? You're-"you raised your eyebrows, clearly amused.

"Are you asking about my sexuality Mr park?"you asked with a smirk, he was so fun to rile up.

"No!"he exclaimed and you laughed at his outburst, cheeks burning red.

"I would never"he said and you smiled, nodding your head.

"Good, that would have been extremely unprofessional. I'd hate to get you into any trouble"you blinked innocently at him and you could swear you could see a little tent in his pants.

"I'm pansexual, just in case you were wondering"you leaned forward and whispered to him, he gulps and clears his throat.

"Back to journey"he said, redirecting the subject back to the task at hand and you let out a grumble.

"She was my first love and my mother forbid that we see each other, the end"with that you took it upon yourself to end the session and with left the room, slamming the door closed as you left.

------

During lunchtime you took it upon yourself to go and apologize to Mr park, just before you could knock on the door a moan rips from under the door.

So you open the door after a moment and let yourself in, the sight before you was a beautiful sight with his cock in his hand and his hips bucking into his fist.

The quick rise and fall of his chest which unfortunately stopped the moment he realized someone walked into the room.

"Y/n, you're supposed to be having lunch"he pants as he stands up and turns away from you, tucking himself back in his jeans which didn't hide much because he was still hard.

"You always jerk off while I'm having lunch, mr park?"you asked and he runs his fingers through his hair as he bends down to put his paperwork away.

"I'm not answering that, I uh-"he answered before placing his hands on the desk and shutting a drawer with his foot before turning to look at you, you slowly stalking towards him like a predator stalking it's prey right before it pounces.

"What can I help you with?"he asked and you pulled yourself up onto his desk.

"I was coming to apologize for storming out earlier"you said innocently as if you weren't perched on top of his desk, looking like a present made just for him.

"Don't worry about it , I forced you into something you weren't ready for"he replied after clearing his throat.

"No you were right, bottling up my emotions is what got me here"you told him and pushed him into his chair, the heavy rise and fall of his chest beginning to return.

"I'm glad you're finally-"he chokes on air as you take your foot which you had removed your shoes while he was occupying himself, dragging your foot up the expanse of his thigh.

"Finally what?"you asked, drawing his attention back to you and he takes a deep breath.

"Y/n"he pushes your foot to the side and stood up, towering over your body and looking down on you with dark eyes.

"This is inappropriate"he said and you bit your bottom lip.

"What's inappropriate is you getting a hard on during our session"you fired back and he groans softly, cupping your jaw with one hand and tilting your head back.

"This mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day"he said and you drag your hands down his chest.

"Arrest me then"you challenged him and he pulls you off his desk.

"Come here"he turns you around and bends you over his desk , grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling your head back as you let out a gasp at the sudden aggressiveness he was giving you.

You liked that. A lot.

"You like messing with my head, don't you?" He whispered in your ear and you smiled at that.

"Only because it clearly turns you on."you said and he groans softly, grinding his bulge against your clothed ass.

"This isn't right, I shouldn't be doing this"he said and let go of your hair, his senses coming back a little bit.

"Your body is saying something totally different"you said and grinded back against him, leaning your head back to look up at him.

"I want you to fuck me in every hole imaginable, now"he curses under his breath and pushes you back down on his desk, pulling your pants and panties down in one go.

His mouth is on you instantly as he kisses your ass and you have to quickly cover your mouth once he slaps your ass.

"Fuck, yes-"you moan softly and push back against his hand, he forces you back against the desk and licks your pussy from behind.

"Spread your legs"you immediately obeyed and he turns around before sliding underneath you, your bottom half is hidden by his desk thankfully because the door opens and in comes one of the founders of the program.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?"he asked and you looked up at him , forcing a smile upon your face as seonghwa starts to blow air onto your pussy and having to fight back a shiver that so desperately wanted to take over.

"Waiting for Mr park, I wanted to apologize for earlier"you told him but he walks further into the room, now concerned.

"Did something happen?"he asked, genuinely.

"I got a little too emotional and stormed out earlier, it was a touchy subject"you told him, hoping that'd be enough to get him to drop it and leave.

You were very wrong.

"Well it's good that you're recognizing your mistakes and fixing them accordingly, that's progress"he applauded you for your progress, he wouldn't be applauding you if he knew what was happening underneath that desk just a few feet from where he stood.

"Thank you"you said and he gave him a smile as seonghwa parted your lips , tongue swirling around your entrance before dragging the soft muscle up to your clit.

"Don't wait too long , lunchtime is almost over"he tells you and finally made his way to the door , allowing you just enough time to bite your bottom lip and grip the males hair beneath you.

"Of course"you responded.

"Bye!"he turned around and waved at you, you nodded and waved back. A sigh of relief escaping your lips as the door shut and he sucks on your most sensitive part, a whimper escaping your lips.

"Be quiet"he said, looking up at you and pulling your hips flushed against his face. His tongue felt amazing as he ate you out, ignoring the sounds you tried your best to keep inside.

"Little brat is speechless now, isn't she?"he taunts you , you go to reply but he cuts you off immediately.

"I-"

"I said be quiet"he stares up at you with dark eyes, this time a shiver ran down your spine from his look and he pulls back from your pussy and stands up.

Two fingers are stuffed into your tight pussy as he turns you around and pushes you up against the desk before starting to pump , smiling almost sadistically at the look on your face.

No signs of you fighting him whatsoever, you were a good girl in that moment.

"If I would've known you'd be this plaint with just a few fingers in you , I would've done this months ago"he said and you looked up at him through hooded eyes as he starts to slowly jerk his fingers, speeding up suddenly and you lean forward as a gasp leaves you.

You cling to him almost desperately as your body contorts at the pleasure he was giving you, hips bucking against his fingers with your face in his neck as you let out muffled cries.

"That's it, cum all over my fingers darling"he whispered into your ear as you holds you close and just like a good girl you cum all over his fingers just like he said, he slows down his pace as he guides you seamlessly through your orgasm before pulling back and sticking his fingers into his mouth.

"My turn"you look up at him as he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down, his boxers following soon after before he's taking a seat in his chair.

"Come here"he said as he strokes his cock lazily and you looked at him, almost in a trance.

He was bigger than you expected.

You moved to walk towards him but he stopped you.

"Stop"he said and you obeyed immediately, you had no idea but it turned him on immensely.

You being his good girl, listening to him, following his every command like a good pet.

"On your knees"he said with a smug grin and you were so far gone already, you sink onto your knees without a second thought and crawl over to him.

You lick from his inner thigh to his balls and begin to suck on them, he groans softly and continues to stroke his cock until you move his hand before wrapping your smaller ones around his shaft.

"Come on, take it"he urges you and gather spit in your mouth before licking his cock, taking his tip between your lips and bobbing your head along his cock.

His fingers tangle into your hair and he tilts his head back, curses slipping from his lips at finally getting some attention for his cock and he looks down at you to see that you're already watching him.

One hand on his thigh and the other wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing and twisting as you take more of his cock into your mouth.

"Fucking hell"he groans softly and pushes your head completely down, you're instantly gagging on his cock and essentially choking but he keeps you there until you're tapping his thigh for him to let you up.

He does so immediately and smiles at your coughing, gasping for air and he stands up before he's grabbing your chin and pushes his cock back into your mouth.

Your hands wrap around his thighs as he fucks your throat and he bites his bottom lip, the lewd sounds coming from the both of you had you squeezing your legs closed but he tsked and pushed them apart with his foot.

You pull back off his cock to catch your breath again and he pulls you up, turning you around and bending you over his desk again.

"I should just leave you right here, like this"he said as he prods at your hole and you looked back at him, a whimper leaving your lips.

"Please don't"you beg him and you let out a gasp , your back arching as you felt him enter inside of you.

"Oh my god"you breathe resting your head on his desk but you receive a harsh slap to your ass.

"Look at me, watch me fuck you"his hips roll into you slowly and you bite your bottom lip, nodding at his demand.

"O-okay"you said and he smiles, leaning forward and kissing your neck sloppily before sucking on the skin harshly.

"Yeah you wanted this so bad, you're gonna watch"he rasps and kisses your hair before pulling away, gradually thrusting his cock into you faster as he builds momentum.

"Oh my-"you cover your mouth as you look back at him and he spreads your cheeks just for you to see when he enters and pulls out.

"Fuck"he pulls your shirt off and tosses it on the floor, spreading your legs and pulling your hips back into him.

He enjoyed watching your eyebrows furrow and your hand clamped down over your mouth to keep quiet, your back arching with every thrust and how good it felt to be inside of you.

"I'm gonna cum"you warned him and he pulled out of you before turning you around again and sitting you on his desk, sliding back into you before resuming his pace.

"Kiss me"you whimper and try to pull him closer but he smirks at you.

"Do you really deserve it though?"he asked and you whine softly.

"That's not fair, no teasing"you complained and he didn't like that, wrapping his hand around your throat and pushing you down on the desk.

"You'll take whatever I give you...."a sharp thrust gets you to fall back in line easily, your back arching and he chuckles.

"Understand?"he asked after a moment and you nodded.

"Y-yes"you cover your mouth as he speeds up the pace again, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room along with your attempts at keeping quiet.

"Yes what?"he asked and spits directly on your clit before bringing a finger down to rub on your sensitive clit.

"M-mr park"you cried out and he slams his hips against yours, your back arching off his desk and he smiles in satisfaction.

"I'm cumming, fuck I'm gonna cum"seonghwa pulls pulls you up and holds the back of your head as he presses his lips against yours deeply, you immediately kiss him back and the kiss is sloppy.

Just downright filthy, his tongue and lips attack your own and he's clearly not holding back anymore with the way his hips collide with your own as you cry out against his lips.

His fingers holding you in place to keep you from running away from his hips and when you pull away for air your lips are swollen from his kisses.

His kisses travel lower to your neck and shoulder before he bites down on the skin , losing himself in the pleasure and not thinking about the bruises that will show up on your body the next day.

All he could think of right now was how to bring you both the best pleasure and you were loving it, especially when his lips returned to your own for a round two as you cum and he sucks on your tongue.

"Fuck"he breathes once he pulls away and pulls out of you , he presses your thighs together and pushes his cock between them.

"What are you-"you gasp as he starts to buck his hips, fucking your thighs until he's cumming all over your clothed breasts.

"Fuck, come here"he pulls you up and kisses you, your arm wrapping around his neck and he moans into the kiss before he's pushing you on the floor as he hears the door opening.

He gets on the floor as well and grabs some wipes , pretending to clean something on the floor but it's only the janitor.

"Just here for trash"the old lady said and he pulls you onto your hands and knees, you look back at him and cover your mouth as he pushes his cock back into you.

"You feel amazing"he whispered to you once he leans over you and turns your head so that you could kiss his lips.

"Did you make a mess again? Want me to clean it?"the woman asked and seonghwa perks up at that, lifting his head to look at her.

"No gloria, I can clean it up myself. Go on home and get some rest"he said as he starts to thrust into you faster but not completely, careful not to make any noise.

"It's my job mr park"she insisted but he gives her a look.

"And it's my job to make sure you're taking care of yourself, I can handle one mess for the day"he assures her, you being the mess he's handling and he could very much handle it on his own.

Actually he preferred it.

"Okay fine, have a good day sir"she gives in and he waves to her, the ever polite man he is even when he's about to be balls deep inside of you as soon as she leaves.

"You too"he called out, leaning over you and grabbing your hair before pulling your head back.

"Are you having a good day, love?"he asked you, allowing his hips to slap against your ass and make that melody he loves to hear come from your lips.

"The best"you moan and he brings a hand down to rub your clit, you moaned again.

"Oh fuck, gonna cum"you cried out and hid your face on his neck, bucking your hips against his hand.

"Cum with me"he groans softly, grabbing your arms and pounding his cock into you quickly.

It only takes a few more thrusts for the both of you to cum together, heavy pants are all that fills the room now and he pulls out of you as he hears you whimper at the feeling of his cum slipping out of you.

"Mr Park"he grabs a wet wipes and wipes you clean , before tossing it into the trash and pulling you up onto your feet.

"Yes pretty girl?"he asked and you blushed at the nickname, grabbing your shirt from him and pulling it on as he helps you put on your underwear.

"I'm sorry for storming out earlier"you said and he looks at you, the softness in his eyes returning and he smiled.

"You're forgiven"he said and helped you pull on your pants as well before turning around and putting on his own clothes.

He turned to you after a moment once he realized you weren't moving, just zoned out.

"What is it?"he asked, genuinely concerned.

Something was obviously on your mind.

"Nothing"you dismiss it and turned your attention to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow"he said and you looked at him, nodding your head at him.

"Okay"you said and he pulled you close once more, leaving a kiss upon your lips before pulling away.

"Go"he said and you bit your bottom lip before leaving out of the door, closing it behind you and walking to your room to take a shower.

Maybe you'd like it there after all.

#ateez smut #seonghwa smut

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gffa · 1 year

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what do you think would have happened if the jedi had found out anakin was married pre-rots? would he be forced to leave/choose one over the other? are there any circumstances, even one where he was a completely different person, under which anakin would be able to marry padme and remain a member of the order, and if so, what would the consequences of that be (i.e. what would it look like)?

It's such an interesting question because we really know so little about the Jedi worldbuilding, the only two things I can really even think of that talk about it are : - Padme’s incredibly off-hand mention of how Anakin would be expelled if the Jedi found out about their baby. What’s the context of this, where did she learn this? Is Anakin the one who told her? Because I have some Doubts about Anakin’s reliability on these things, considering that he also has shown an unwillingness to accept Jedi philosophy, according to Lucas. Anakin, who thinks the Council hate him, may be thinking in extremes and wouldn’t even consider that they’d try working with him. - George Lucas gave a talk at Celebration one year and the subject of Jedi giving up marriage was talked about, where it ties into their willingness to be selfless, to be willing to give up everything (because life is impermanent and transient) when the time comes. They love people, but they cannot hold onto them--and I think the way he’s framing it is that marriage should be selfish, if you’re going to make that commitment. But he doesn’t say anything about Jedi being expelled for it, just that it’s something they give up. And given how we see Anakin actually breaking a ton of rules or getting into trouble in TCW and never, not once getting in any significant trouble for it, I think the Jedi would very much be willing to sit down and talk about this. For me, I think, yes, he would be asked to choose and, if he refused to, that’s a huge sign that he’s unwilling to follow the Jedi way of selflessness and a willingness to accept their duty to the galaxy, rather than personal concerns, that he could very well get someone killed because, in a crucial moment, he would choose his own feelings over his duty. The only other time Anakin is threatened with expulsion is in exactly that kind of context--when he was willing to put his fear for Padme above his duty to help end the war before it even started, when he was willing to jump out of that plane on Geonosis rather than go face Dooku, it showed that he was tempted to put all those lives at risk for his own feelings. Even Obi-Wan points out: What would Padme do? She would do her duty, Anakin grudgingly admits. Because, in Star Wars, that duty is important. Because, in Star Wars, that’s how the narrative of the story works. That’s the themes we’re working with here. Is there any universe in which he could remain married and stay a Jedi? I did once read a fic where Anakin was given the option to remain a Jedi, but he would never achieve the rank of Master, he would never be promoted beyond Knight, and iirc that he would never be given certain types of missions and I liked that fic a lot, it really worked for me. I think he’d have to be willing to accept that and I’m not sure if he would, but without Palpatine’s influence, in a universe where Anakin was allowed to actually spiritually grow without Palpatine constantly urging him to give in to his worst impulses, he might not like it when he first agrees to it, but I could see him growing to find peace with it. But I can also see a world where, because Anakin is Anakin, he’ll never be able to find balance between these two marriages of his, one to Padme and one to the Jedi, that it only feeds his fears and his greed for the galaxy to bend to his will. But I like the idea that the Jedi love Anakin enough that they would be willing to find a compromise, one that keeps him from getting people hurt because he can’t achieve the balance necessary for the responsibility they’re given, but that he can remain a Jedi and maybe teach saber classes or engineering classes or something. Jedi love teaching and while I don’t think Anakin has the patience for the toddlers of the creche, I can see him having a good time with a bunch of little gear-heads who love getting their faces stuck inside a droid just as much as he does.

#anakin skywalker #jedi order #meta

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years

Note

NRC having their school open to the public for the fall/winter sports festival against RSA and Crewel daughter came to see the event, but runs to hide some RSA students because they try to asked her out/ask for marriage and she just down right scared

Let's say Malleus, Sebek, Jade, Floyd and Jack desperate asking to hide behind them and when the RSA student passed they just explain that they are creepy and really wanted to stay far away from the student

Malleus Draconia

“Tsuno-dear don’t say a word about me being here.”

“?”

He was sitting away from the crowds

after all he hadn’t been invited to stroll through the crowds

But he was invited to ‘an outing’ with you

So he of course waited dutifully in the courtyard of the Great Seven

That is before seeing a dazzling blur of black whiter and red pass by before he made eye contact with you hidden under the nearby foliage

“Hello, horned-sir, by any chance have you seen a maiden pass through here?”

“Yes-yes with big sunglasses and a shawl hanging off their beautifully exposed shoulders.”

A fanged smirk curled on the fae’s face

The students start to feel incredibly outmatched

“One that's unclaimed? Can’t say I have.”

“R-right, t-thank you then!”

They scurry off and you step out

Elegantly shaking off the stray leaves that cling to you

“By the way, I’m not claimed by anyone. I’m my own woman.”

“Of course you are dear, now shall we head to the festivities?”

He holds his arm out and you take it

Strutting throughout the Magift festivities you two pull attention from everyone

Effectively scaring off anyone outside your typical circle

Now later on Malleus won’t dwell on those students

knowing full well they come nowhere close to even competing with him

…but Sebek had been a little too eager to receive their descriptions

and maybe he was a bit eager to give them

“They weren’t an issue, really. Just a nuisance.”

“A NUISANCE TO MALLEUS-SAMA IS A THREAT THAT MUST BE DESTROYED.”

Jack Howl

“Jack can you-”

“Yes.”

“...I didn’t even finish…”

“I can sense your distress. Is it one of the students? Where?”

You point to the students that seemed to linger at a 5 meter radius keeping an eye on Jack

“If you’ll excuse me.”

“Ugh fine. But don’t be long. I want to see how Savanna fairs this year with their embarrassing blunder.”

Talk about Big dog privilege

Jack is muscular guy and he has a stern gaze that makes him intimidating even to your friends

Just being around him makes people hesitate before crossing you

Even better he’s debilitatingly subservient to you

You just ask him and he delivers

“Does this work for you, (Y/n)? Should I punish them further?”

“Jack, didn’t I tell you I wanted to go. This will have to be done or else I’m leaving.”

“Of course. Sorry for the hold up.”

“It's fine. I’ll forgive you if you carry the shopping bags.”

“I was going to do that anyway but gladly.”

Floyd Leech

“Ne~Ne, are these guys getting on your nerves…I’m the only one allowed to do that.”

He was probably aiming to track you down before you got to hide

He’s more than willing to play bodyguard if you let him stick around

But if that's too much he’ll run off to squeeze those two only to come back so you give him good-job-headpats or kisses

He likes to bother you in the same way he does Riddle but in your own Crewel-way you always surprise him

Or I can see you spontaneously calling out to him for whatever you please

To you he’s like a cat that goes seeking for trouble

So the best way to keep him occupied

Is to entertain him before the fact

So squishing his cheek, patting his head, letting him lay on you as you did what you had to do

And it works for him

Enough to pummel anyone and anything with the gall to make you uncomfortable

“Did I do good, (Y/n)?”

“Yes…Did you floss today?”

“....”

“Fine, sit still.”

Jade Leech

“It's awfully rude of you to be disrupting the festivities…Perhaps I need to teach you a lesson.”

The place you’ve hidden in is a guarantee that you could deal with these two alone

But thankfully Jade is there to be of assistance

More than willing to put aside the mountain lovers club to…deal with these interlopers

He doesn’t neeed you to tell him to drag these fools aaway

And when he’s done he makes sure they don’t even think of trying to tell

Speed walking away wiith a limp

You can be sure they won’t bother you for the rest of the day or ever again if they don’t want Jade to follow through with his threats

“They won’t be bothering us any longer.”

“I appreciate the help.”

“But of course.”

Sebek Zigvolt

“HOW DARE YOU MAKE (Y/N), UNCOMFORTABLE!!?! IT'S ABSURD THAT HUMAN FILTH SHOULD EVEN TRY THIS.”

He’s on it like Donkey Kong

You’ll run into him while he’s either trying to find Malleus or you

You can try and explain that their not physically hurting you but that doesn’t matter

He’s treating this like these guys are assassins trying to kill you

Unlike with Malleus who when he gives order Sebek fully listens to

For you he listens but he also doesn’t

So even after he’s scared them away

He invites himself to stand guard for the rest of your day

Loudly berating anyone who gets to close for his liking

Which is an arm-length

“STEP AWAY (Y/N) CREWEL DEMANDS HER SPACE.”

“...Sebek, use this; it resembles a sword doesn’t it?”

“GLORIOUS IDEA, MISTRESS CREWEL!”

You handed him a baguette…he’s threateningly pointing a baguette at confused people

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theladyofdeath · 9 months

Text

Lady Death's Lover {VII}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR B ased on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: I meant to post this, like, a week ago...but I have to admit that I've been pretty down lately. It's not been a good mental health week. I apologize for the delay! Now that the school year is in full swing, I may only be posting one chapter a week instead of two. Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Gwyn,

Emerie and I missed you this last tea. She told me all about her recent travels and now we must wait to hear all about yours once you return. Selfishly, I am glad you will not be gone for long. I swear, I am living vicariously through you and Emerie. I absolutely adore hearing about all the two of you see and do beyond the borders of Velaris. I will not spoil all that Emerie told me for I am certain you wish for her to tell you herself.

I will, however, briefly mention something that I shared. In all honesty, I’m a bit embarrassed about it. No one will ever know about it with the exception of the two of you. There is…a man. This man keeps popping into my mind and just yesterday he popped into my carriage as well. Although, I believe I am to blame for that. It was storming and I offered him shelter. However, that is not the issue. The issue is that, on multiple occasions now, I have felt towards this man. I do not need to tell you how troubling that is.

I have not acted on these feelings, of course, but when he is near I lose all sense of myself and my duties. It seems silly. I do not know him, not truly. Perhaps I am simply lonely and find him handsome, that is all. At least, I hope that is all.

Please burn this letter once you have read it and write back soon.

With love,

Nesta

The sun is shining and the air is warm but I am absolutely miserable. I have been dragged to yet another social dinner alongside my husband. I am on his arm pretending to be the most loyal, loving wife, but inside I am raging. I feel like a caged animal ready to attack, only my target is my husband and that will simply not do.

Apparently, such thoughts are frowned upon.

Unsure of what this dinner is actually for, my mind has already become vacant once we reach our chairs. We are seated across from a few of Tomas’ business partners and their wives, high ranking members of the ton like ourselves. I let the men talk and for once I am grateful for it. If we women were to talk, I would have nothing kind to say to these women. In fact, I would surely say something to them that would get me smacked by the man on my arm.

My husband has never liked my sharp tongue. I figured that out quite quickly.

It had been less than twenty-four hours into our marriage, the morning after our wedding, our consummation, when he first struck me. He entered my bedchamber and was appalled that I was still nude from the night before. I asked him why he did not like my body, while he was ashamed of my nakedness when it was he that stripped me bare the night before. His response was to throw a nightgown at me and tell me to cover up. He said that no woman should be bare in daylight that is not a whore.

I refused to put the gown on.

And then he hit me.

From that moment, not even twenty-four hours after we had said our vows, I knew my marriage would never be one full of love.

We eat and the food is decent. The roasted chicken is flavorful and the vegetables have just enough crunch to be satisfying. Tomas does not allow me to drink the wine, but I long for it, just to help me get through the evening until I am safely alone in my room once more with only the company of a good book.

Unable to make eye contact with the women across from me, my gaze drifts further down the table and my breathing halts.

I hadn’t even realized he was here. I was so deep within my own thoughts and misery that I hadn’t taken account of who else was present with the exception of those seated across from us. He must have arrived after we did.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, his eyes swivel to mine.

Lord Cassian is dressed in all his finery and it suits him, strangely. He is always dressed finely, but I still imagine him as a man that is naturally a bit unkempt. I would like to see that version of him.

I give him a polite nod.

He returns the gesture.

I turn to Tomas to see if he notices my distraction but he is in an enthusiastic conversation with the man beside him — a man whose name I’ve forgotten. He must be important for some reason.

I try not to look back at Cassian, I truly do, but I can feel him staring. My thoughts drift back to our time in my carriage. Although the ride was short, there was more excitement in that ride than I’ve had with any man in years. Thankfully we arrived at his home before anything could have happened.

And I fear that if the ride had continued any longer, something would have happened. I know such a thing is blasphemy, but I cannot help but wonder what it would be like.

To be ravished by a man like Lord Cassian.

I look at him once more. His jaw is hard, his eyes dark, as if he knows the thoughts that are running through my mind. I reach for my glass of wine before I remember I do not have one, that my husband does not trust me to drink.

Realizing I’ve been locking eyes with a lord who is not my husband for far too long, I focus on my empty plate. Still, I can feel his gaze linger, can feel his eyes roaming my body, begging me to look his way. I do not, can not.

Suddenly, I feel like I cannot breathe. The room has grown too hot and I feel as if I am suffocating. Luckily, everyone around the table has begun to rise. I believe the owner of this home, whoever he is, has offered to show everyone something he deems extravagant. Tomas tells me to stay with the other ladies while he goes off to see this extravagant piece of uselessness and leaves me be.

I take the opportunity to get far, far away.

After sneaking through multiple winding hallways, I find myself outside and in the gardens. The early evening air is cool and welcoming as the sun begins its descent. I immediately find peace in the silence.

The silence evaporates too quickly.

“Lady Nesta, are you alright?”

I spin around to see, of course, Lord Cassian. He’s standing casually, with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s not smiling. In fact, he looks concerned.

“Yes, of course,” I reply, trying my best to remain unaffected. “You should return to the party.”

“The men have gone to see Lord Kallias’ new hunting trophies.” He shrugs and I want to laugh at how informal he seems. “I do not care to see such things. I care more to see how you are faring after looking so miserable for the past hour.”

I snort. “And here I thought I was good at hiding my emotions.”

“You are,” he says, with no hesitation. “I may have been paying more attention than the others.”

I’m blushing.

I hate myself for blushing.

Suddenly, I can feel his hand on my knee, my hand on his. I was foolish for touching him, for asking what I was about to ask that day in the carriage, but I find it hard to find regret.

I clear my throat. “I see.”

He takes a step toward me, then another, and I’m frozen in place.

“You should really go back inside, my lord,” I say, my hands drawing into fists at my sides to keep me grounded. “This is…”

“Inappropriate?” he supplies, stopping a mere foot away. “I mean nothing untoward. Besides, you and I were alone in your carriage just the other day and I do not recall you thinking that inappropriate.”

That may be true, but it quickly grew inappropriate once I wanted to rip off his clothes and mount him on the velvet bench.

Wonderful. Now that’s all I’m thinking about.

“I have changed my mind,” I say, quickly. “That and this are both inappropriate. Good day, my lord.”

He doesn’t move.

“I came out here to be alone,” I add.

He still doesn’t move.

Just as I’m about to yell at him, he says, ever-so-calmly, “He does not cherish you as he should.”

My back goes rigid. “Pardon me?”

“Your husband,” he says, as if he has any right to what he’s saying, as if it’s not blasphemy to be speaking to a married woman this way. “He does not cherish you. The entire dinner, he looked at you once, and the look he gave you was the same as if he was scolding a child.”

Anger fuels me. There must be a certain level of arrogance to make a man say such a thing. My shock-filled anger must show because he shrugs.

Shrugs.

“I apologize if you do not care for my opinion,” he says, “but I have never been one to hold my tongue.”

I cannot breathe. “You know not of what you speak.”

"And what is that?" he asks, that smirk remaining. "The truth? I know very well that I speak the truth. It is you that does not want to accept it."

My jaw aches from how hard it’s clenching. “I believe you are drunk, my lord.”

My hostile tone doesn’t sway him. In fact, it makes his eyes grow brighter. He thinks I’m joking. He must, or he wouldn’t be this ignorant.

“I may not be sober,” he confesses. “Although, I am far from drunk. Do I look drunk?”

No, he does not, but some people have a certain skill set for hiding their inebriation. Yet, he remains the perfect picture of a gentleman.

“Leave,” I order, and when he does not, I add, “Please. Do not make me beg.”

He does not falter. “I would not mind making you beg, Lady Nesta.”

I ignore the way my cheeks heat. “Lady Mandray is what you should refer to me as.”

“Is that the name you truly prefer?” he asks, and that humor dims, if only a little. He’s standing so close to me now that his scent is strong, overpowering me. Mint, with a hint of tobacco. “If so, it is what I will call you, but I fear you prefer Lady Nesta. Perhaps even just, simply, Nesta.”

Honestly, I’m surprised I’ve been able to control myself for this long. “You must stop speaking to me as if you know me,” I snap. “We do not know each other. You are no friend of mine. The way you are speaking to me is distasteful to say the least. I have never had to endure such an absurd conversation, much less from a member of high society. You should be ashamed of yourself, my lord, to embarrass yourself in front of a lady, to act a fool. If you will not leave me alone, then I shall leave you be.”

I go to take a step around him, but he steps in my path and our bodies nearly collide.

It’s annoying how he has a habit of doing that.

“Should I scream?” I whisper. It’s meant to be a threat, but my body feels like it’s on fire. “Cry out for help?”

“I have no intention of harming you,” he says, taken aback, as if the idea is ludicrous. I nearly feel bad for insinuating such a thing.

“No,” I say, and I mean it. “I know you would not.”

He swallows, and neither of us move.

“I will leave you alone,” he says, and his voice is low, reaching my very core. I can feel his breath on my face, the warmth, smelling like expensive red wine. “I apologize if I have overstepped. And you are right. I do not know you, not well, but I have seen glimpses of who you are and that woman is very different from the woman who I saw sitting at that dinner table, next to a man she seems to loathe. I know you well enough to know that you deserve better than a loveless marriage. That is all.”

“My lord—”

“Fogive me,” he breathes, and he sways forward as my breath catches.

I called him a fool but it is I who is the fool. I am foolish for wanting this man to kiss me, to touch me, to sweep me into his arms and make me feel something.

“There is nothing to forgive,” I say, and look from his welcoming lips to his eyes that are watching me so intently that I feel completely nude.

He leans in closer and the panic sets in.

“I am sorry,” I say, and my voice sounds pathetically broken. “I must go back before Tomas returns.”

As much as I wish to have this moment, long to have this moment, I cannot endure Tomas’ wrath nor can I bear to embarass both myself and my husband before all these guests. I may be foolish, but I am not that foolish.

Not now, not yet.

One look at me and Lord Cassian nods. There is no judgment in his gaze, there is only understanding.

This time, he bows, and meets my eyes once more before walking away.

“Goodbye, Nesta.”

I do not breathe again until he is completely out of sight.

#fanfic #acotar #fanfiction #nessian #acowar #acomaf #period au #regency au #19th century au

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dingusfreakhxrrington · 1 year

Text

Taming The Dragon Pt. 2

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: as the wedding draws near you start to wonder if aemond will ever truly open up to you

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, fluff if you squint, troubled aemond, mentions of trauma, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of war, arranged marriage, cold and distant aemond, aemond is secretly soft for reader, canon divergent, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activity

word count: 4.5k

part 1 | part 3 (coming soon)

read on ao3

a/n: i was expecting to finish this fic after two parts but it got a little longer than intended so there will be a third and final part, hopefully coming soon 🤍

extra note: not proof-read so please lmk if you spot any mistakes or anything that doesn't make sense 🤍

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

Once again a few days passed before you next saw him. He was busy apparently, although you had heard whispers among the servants that he had gone missing one night only to come back reeking of cheap ale. There were even rumours of him visiting a whore house in the deepest depths of depravity, not that you paid them much mind.

There was little the rumours could do to offend you, you did not know him very well after all. As his future wife your blood should have boiled at the mention of his late-night endeavours but in truth, you felt as though it was no business of yours who the prince chose to spend his nights with.

Despite the sayings around the palace that the young prince may have begun to lose his way, he still fulfilled his duties in courting you. Although you were almost certain he wouldn’t have so much as glanced your way had his mother not pushed him to do so. Still, you were grateful for his time.

Whether he wanted to be there or not he showed no sign of displeasure, nor disinterest despite his often wandering mind. When he did speak, his words were few and far between but he always made sure to pay attention to whatever you had to say.

You had done much talking about simple things such as the weather or the shape of the clouds in the sky. He, however, mostly sat in silence listening to you. Not that you minded. It was easier this way.

The rumours about him continued as the days passed but their focus had changed. It seemed he still left the keep most nights but no longer came back quite so drenched in ale. Rather, he seemed to have found solace in his outings, wherever it was they took him.

Before long you found that his visits to you were growing ever so slightly more frequent. It was a peculiar thing particularly because you mostly sat in silence together after a quiet greeting. Although it had started to feel less forced and more so as if he had chosen to be there rather than being pressed by his mother to accompany you.

Maybe he was just trying to get himself used to you. He was to spend the rest of his life with you, after all. He had started to learn your favourite places within the keep without even asking you. In the mornings he had found you liked to go for a walk in the gardens. Most afternoons he spotted you mindlessly wandering your new home before you would return to your room. He even knew that he could often find you in the library during the evening, usually with your head stuck in one of the many books there.

In truth, he had found himself at peace when he was with you. Unlike almost everyone else around him, you were the only one he did not feel judged by. They all whispered. They always had. Whether about the eye he lost as a boy or the child he had slain in cold blood, all anyone could do was whisper. Not you, though. You just smiled at him and allowed him to sit quietly by your side as you went about whatever you were doing.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

He had been standing there for a while, shoulder leant up against the old wall next to the fireplace. Not once had he said a word as he watched you read, not wishing to disturb you.

You glanced up, noticing the sharp details of his face as the light from the fire flickered against him. He looked handsome under its glow yet there was still an aura of mystery surrounding him. “Nothing that would draw your interest, I am sure.”

Lowly, he chuckled and pushed himself up away from the wall so he was once again standing straight. He walked closer and held out his hand expectantly as he waited for you to hand it over.

With a sigh, you passed it over to him and watched as he turned it over to examine the cover all the while holding it open on the page you had been reading so you would not lose your place.

You watched anxiously as a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips and his eye flickered up from the page back to you.

“Ah, the art of war. What makes a lady like yourself want to read such a thing?”

It was the first time you had heard a tone of amusement in his voice.

“A war is coming, is it not? I wish to be prepared for what is to come so that I may properly support you and our family, to stand by your side through the thick of the storm. It will be my duty as your wife to do so, after all.”

He chuckled again, so warmly in fact that for a moment you were unsure if the warmth of the fire had finally thawed the icy cage around his heart.

“You are full of surprises, lady stark.”

You gladly took the book back when he held it out for you, thankful that his thumb was still placed firmly between the pages you were reading, and pressed your finger to the beginning of the next paragraph before looking up at him again.

“As are you, my prince.”

His smirk faltered at that, falling into something softer as he retook his place against the mantel watching once more as you continued to read.

He lingered longer that evening, standing in silence as he always did before later taking his leave. When he was gone you couldn’t help but feel that a newfound emptiness had settled into the room in his absence.

Time seemed to move differently after that. When he was by your side everything seemed to slow down and it was as if the two of you were in your own separate bubble, free from the outside world.

He came and went much as he had done so before and although you had little meaningful conversation, you found him speaking more often than he once had. Not only had he begun to engage more in conversation but you had noticed his expression changed toward you.

His sharp, cold features seemed almost gentle as he looked at you, his one good eye fixated on the way the sun reflected off the apples of your cheeks when you smiled. He was captivated. Completely and utterly enthralled. Most of all, however, he found himself lost in you, his one last tether to sanity.

There was a great disturbance within him, one he tried his best to hide around you. No matter how much he wished he could have concealed it there was no hiding the truth from you. Not to mention, you were not deaf to the rumours that he had been different since that night on Storm’s End.

You, however, were new in his life. There were no prior expectations. He had a clean slate with you and you were yet to be tainted by his darkness. Still, he was worried you would eventually see him for the monster he truly was.

“What is it?” you asked, finally working up the courage to give him an opportunity to open up to you.

He hummed in question as he allowed the gentle sound of your voice to guide him back to the present.

“Something is on your mind. Something is always on your mind. What is it?”

For a moment you were worried you had overstepped as he stood quietly, quieter than before, and leaned closer to the flickering flames. His brows had drawn tensely together, his fingers curling almost into a fist as he leaned against the mantle as he always did.

Just as you were about to speak — to tell him not to answer — his voice met your ears, “What do you think of me, Lady Stark? What do you see when you look at me? A prince? A dragon, perhaps? Do you see the monster that hides inside? By now you have heard what I have done have you not? You know I murdered my nephew in cold blood.”

His voice was thick and heavy, full of nothing but an endless void. Not once had his eye moved from its place on the fire, nor had his fingers uncurled. He stood still, almost scarily so as he waited for your reply.

You placed the book you had been reading down on the table beside you and stood, though you did not dare take a step closer.

“Pardon me if I speak too plainly, but I do not think you a bad man, even if you yourself do not believe it.”

Still, he did not move but you did not miss the way he tensed the muscles in his hand at your words.

With a deep breath, you continued. “You put up a cold front. Acting as though you do not care that you lit the blaze of war by getting revenge on the boy who wronged you but in truth, I think it haunts you. You wanted the boy to pay for what he had taken from you but you did not wish death upon him. I think you are plagued with guilt over what transpired that night. Most of all, however, I think you are afraid you will lose control of your dragon again.”

By the time you had finished, you stood only a few paces from him and, when he abruptly moved closer to you, you braced yourself for the strike that never came.

He stood before you with his hand still raised as if he were frozen in time. Only when you opened your eyes did he move again, placing a gentle hand on your cheek in stark contrast to the stinging pain you had initially expected.

Aemond too seemed surprised by himself. Only seconds ago he had intended to strike you for what you had said but the moment he saw you with your eyes squeezed shut and face already turned in preparation for what was to come, he realised you were right. He had never told anyone other than his mother that he lost control of Vhagar and yet somehow you knew.

You knew it had not been his intention to kill Lucerys and you knew by intuition alone. You truly believed he was not the evil he thought himself to be.

His lips were warm and soft when they came to yours as if pulled by a secret magnetic force. They were not quite how you had imagined them to be. He seemed hesitant for a moment but when you felt him move to pull away you found yourself unconsciously chasing after him, pulling him back to you as you cupped either side of his face.

His thumb ran soothingly across your skin as he carded his fingers through your hair, allowing your arms to slither up around his neck as he kissed you again.

“How did you know?” he asked when you parted for air, “that I lost control of Vhagar?”

You smiled and reached up, brushing a strand of long silver hair from his face. “Because you’re not a murderer.”

His eye strayed from yours then as his face turned ever so slightly away. “Part of me wanted to kill him. Part of me wanted him dead.”

Your fingers gently touched his skin, turning him back to look at you as you smoothed your hand against his cheek. “And yet, what happened that night plagues your every waking moment.”

His one good eye bore into your own, pupil widening as he allowed your words to sink in. For the first time in weeks, he came to realise that he wasn’t quite the monster he believed himself to be.

“With conflict comes death, it is simply the way of the world. You cannot change what happened that night, Aemond. You must move on.”

From that moment on, he was with you every second he could spare. He initiated conversation with you more and spoke more freely of himself and his past, allowing himself to slowly open up to you as each day passed by.

He liked to read too, you were surprised to find out. Although he still preferred to spend his time chasing more practical pursuits like ensuing his form was always in top shape when he duelled or trying his best to help with the current situation as a newly appointed member of the great council.

You watched him train sometimes, surprised to find he was actually quite the elegant swordsman, even if he wasn’t afraid to play dirty sometimes. It was during one of his training sessions that you met his sister, Helaena. She was a lot more likeable than you were expecting from the sister-wife of the king, although she was a little odd. Still, that only added to her unique charm and made her all the more interesting to talk to.

It was also the first time you had seen Aegon, whom Helaena came to watch despite not seeming all that interested in their sparring. He seemed younger than you had pictured, shorter too. Not to mention he had an air of arrogance around him that seemed more befitting a young child than the king of the Seven Kingdoms.

As they trained, you couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between the brothers and were suddenly all the more grateful that you were marrying the prince rather than the king.

When it came time for them to spar against one another, you saw the sparkle in Aemond’s eye. He liked fighting his brother then, you supposed. Although he was up against the king, he did not hold back and blocked every onslaught as though it were nothing. This, of course, upset Aegon quite a lot as he clearly felt that he, as the eldest son and king of the realm, should have easily been able to defeat his younger brother.

Aemond, although more composed than his brother, taunted the king who had been showing off prior to his duel with his brother, and even glanced up at you with a smirk before he bought the duel to a swift end.

Of course, Aegon stormed off and called another of his usual sparring partners out to fight him, taking his anger out on the poor soldier.

It wasn’t that Aegon was a poor swordsman, in fact, he was actually rather good, but Aemond was better and less prone to letting his emotions dictate his movements.

“He was unkind to you when you were growing up, wasn’t he?” when Aemond only raised an eyebrow at your sudden question, you clarified, “Your brother. The way you fought him… The two of you do not get along.”

With a dry scoff, he nodded and confirmed your assumptions.

“No, we do not. Aegon is,” he paused and took a breath, “Exhausting.”

Now it was you who was raising a brow as you sat beside him, thankful for the warmth of the nearby fire.

“He does not deserve to be king,” he explained, “He’s never wanted it, not once. Do you know how many times he has run away? Gone missing for days on end? Do you know how many bastards he’s-“ He glanced at you, aware now that he was stepping just a little too far.

You were not his wife, not yet, so it was improper of him to burden you with such talk.

He massaged the tensed muscles in his brow with a lengthy exhale. “The throne was handed to him on a great, golden platter. He has not worked for it, not once. My brother is not fit to rule but, as much as I may despise him, he is my brother and my king. As long as he seats the Iron Throne he will have my support. Not for his sake, but for my mother’s.”

You smiled understandingly and lifted your book, flicking it open to the page you were on. Aemond visibly relaxed at the action, enjoying the peace he found in sitting with you while you read and too picked up a novel you had recently recommended to him.

With war fast approaching and the Blacks finally beginning to make their moves, the queen mother made your wedding to Aemond a top priority in order to secure the support of the North.

Guests had been arriving for a number of days now, although you were yet to find your brother among them. There had been word that Jacaerys Velaryon himself had travelled to Winterfell on dragonback to earn the support of Cregan, who had already made his allegiances to the crown. However, those allegiances were void until your marriage to Aemond.

You could only pray Cregan would arrive lest he make an enemy of the very family you were marrying into. It was he who pushed you into this, after all. For the pride in a Stark owning their own dragon. The deal was as good as done, all that was left were the vows you had already prepared.

“Relax, she will not harm you.”

The day before your wedding, Aemond decided it was high time for you to meet Vhagar in person and, of course, you were a little more than nervous.

“I am not afraid,” you reminded almost sternly, although you could not hide the slight tremor in your voice. “I just- I haven’t seen a dragon so close before.”

He smirked and reached out for your hand, fingers gently tugging against your own as he led you deeper into the Dragonpit.

If it were not for the subtle glow of candlelight, it would have been pitch black down there you were sure. The pit was closed tight, every door shutting behind you as you traversed further inside. Although, you had a feeling this was not to keep the dragons safe inside. Only those trustworthy were allowed inside other than the riders themselves.

Other than the occasional dragonkeeper, you passed almost no one as Aemond led you through the darkness.

You could hear them as you quietly walked along. Dragons. You could hear them moving, sounding as though they were almost docile by nature although you knew this not to be true.

As your heart drummed against your chest, you wished you could have had Frost by your side but the snow-white dire wolf had been left behind with your servants for a nice warm bath. He had started to warm up to the now familiar servants who came to care for him from time to time, especially Reila who had taken a quick liking to the obedient creature.

Dire wolves were kinder than dragons, you supposed. Easier to tame.

One last corner and the two of you came to a stop. Aemond still stood in front of you, as if protecting you from the shadows inside. You peered past him as he pulled on your hand slightly, moving you so that you were standing with your face to his back.

It was a low grumble of sorts, the sound that ricocheted off the walls of the dark cave. A sound akin to death itself. Then, came the slight rumble of movement in the inky blackness before you and a large, scaly face emerged, lit dimly under the candlelight.

Instinctively, Aemond outstretched an arm and placed his hand gently against the humongous creature’s maw. His voice was calm as he took one step closer to the creature, letting go of your hand.

“I have someone for you to meet.”

As if in response, the dragon huffed and pushed slightly against his hand before turning its head towards you.

Your breath caught in your throat when you realised just how large she was — the largest dragon in all of Westeros — and you found your eyes almost immediately flickering over to Aemond in hopes he would tell you what to do.

Rather than speak, he simply jutted his chin forward, encouraging you to move closer to the great beast.

She will not harm you. His previous words rang out in your head and, choosing to trust the man you were to wed in less than a full day, you cautiously took a step closer to the dragon.

When she did not move and simply looked down at you curiously, you took another step and, like Aemond, reached out an arm to pet her. You did not close your eyes for you felt the dragon deserved to be greeted with respect rather than fear. She, however, did close hers while she huffed once again as though out of approval when your hand pressed softly against her.

It was only then that a true smile graced your lips and, rather than turn back to Aemond, you moved closer to the large dragon still, no longer wanting her at arm's length.

You felt her thick, scaly skin under your fingers as you moved your hand up and down, the gesture seemingly pleasing the creature.

“I knew she’d like you.” Aemond smiled fondly as he moved back to your side, reaching out to place his hand on top of yours, stilling your movements against the dragon.

Vhagar nudged forwards against the two of you one last time as he pulled you away, hand still over your own as your back hit his chest.

As the dragon retreated back into the shadows, returning to her slumber, he rested his chin on your shoulder and took in a deep, soothing breath. He had liked things the way they were and, although he was more than looking forward to your marriage, a part of him was worried things would not change for the better.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

With a questioning hum, he moved away from you again and you turned to him.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” he asked, eye fixed on yours. You frowned and opened your mouth to speak but before you could he continued, “As my wife, you will only be put in danger. War is coming and I… I will not always be able to protect you.”

“I do not need you to protect me and it does not matter who I marry. Either way, I will be pulled into the fight. I would much rather be on the side of those I love.”

His eye widened at that. It was a word he had not heard often, other than from his mother, and a feeling he was not sure he could truly feel. Not until he met you.

He did not move even an inch when you advanced and kissed him under the shadowed light of the Dragonpit. Vhagar did not stir, leaving the two of you to your moment in her home as he cupped either side of your face, smiling against you.

You spent a little longer in the Dragonpit, enjoying the feeling that you were alone in the world, until it came time for dinner.

The queen mother, or Alicent as you had come to know her by in your time together, was insistent that you eat with her on your last night as Lady Stark. Aemond, however, would be joining his brother for an outing you could only imagine would include a lot of drinking and girls. Not that you minded so much as you knew his heart was already yours.

It was a slightly jarring thought that you were going to be a member of the great house of Targaryen come the morrow, not to mention soon to be gifted your own dragon. Although you were unsure what unclaimed dragon you would have the chance of taming.

You had read up on them, eager to know the ins and outs of every single unclaimed dragon to ensure you would be prepared come the time to claim one. Alicent had said you would have your pick of them, after all, so you wanted to get to know them some before the time came to make your choice.

There was Vermithor, an old dragon who had been riderless since the death of King Jaehaerys I. He would have made for a bold choice, perhaps one too ambitious for even you. Not that it mattered much though as you later read that the dragon resided in his lair on Dragonstone which was, of course, home to the opposing side.

Then there was Cannibal, a dragon known for eating its own kind and never once taking a rider, and Sheepstealer, both of whom you ruled out pretty quickly as they also resided on Dragonstone and were therefore, as good as impossible to obtain.

One dragon which had caught your eye was Grey Ghost, who was named as such because he was evasive by nature and rarely seen. A swift flyer who could get you out of many a sticky situation if needed. The only issue would have been finding him; until you found that he too resided on Dragonstone.

You had sighed then, finding that other than those were Silverwing and Seasmoke, both also residing out of your reach on Dragonstone and Driftmark.

Still, some part of you half-believed that the promise of a dragon had always been a lie. Although Alicent seemed a woman of her word, with all the unclaimed dragons on enemy territory and the fact that you yourself had no Targaryen blood, it seemed unlikely they had ever truly intended to grant you your own fire-breathing beast.

Still, it was not like they would tell you that before the wedding unless they wanted you to tell your brother only for him to call it off and take you back to Winterfell. It was he who cared so much about dragons, after all. You, in all honesty, did not care so much for them. Well, they were beautiful creatures and you admired them a great deal, especially after your meeting with Vhagar, but you would not have minded so much if you were not to have one of your own.

You had frost, after all, and Aemond. The political engagement had become something you were now looking forward to after having found something unexpected in King’s Landing — love.

“Still no news of your brother?”

With a sign, you returned your attention to the woman who was soon to become your mother through marriage. “No, but I am sure he will be here.”

Alicent hummed in thought and rested her head atop her delicate hands. “We must hope so. You and Aemond will be married tomorrow, whether he is in attendance or not.”

You smiled, glad to hear she would not call it off over the absence of your brother, and tried to ignore the possibility that she was only going forward with it to use you as leverage against Cregan should he have changed his mind and returned to the oath your father had made.

Jacaerys Velaryon would have reminded Cregan of this oath upon his visit to Winterfell, you were certain, and it was concerning that you had not heard from him since.

Your meal with the queen mother was as pleasant as any other, particularly as you were still full of that pre-wedding daze. Even as you walked back to your room, your heart continued to pound as if it had been longing for this moment for an eternity...

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