#Surviving as an Obsessive Servant

[chococolte]

Your sagau zhongli is my fave! Devotion is soooo good he's so good!! If he were offered a reward, what would he ask for? He definitely deserves good things for being such a dedicated worshipper

word count. 1.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. hi guys......... sorry i took so long to write this, and im so happy you like my characterization of him!!!! it means so much to me!!!

Your praise.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted. 

When he was young, still arrogant and born of war, Zhongli didn't want— he took. He had no need of envy or desire. What he could not have, he would get in time. Immortality comes with an infinite patience. 

If he was still that god, flippant and self-important, maybe he would demand some sort of compensation. Some sort of recompense for past agony.

For as long as Zhongli's lived, he has never wanted; not in the way a mortal yearns for their lover, or the way a dog longs for its owner until it whines. Never in any way that mattered, never before he met you.

Zhongli has had eons to become used to the loneliness that so often encompasses him. And now, knowing that you breathe the same air as him, he's become rather acquainted with the ever consuming desire to nestle close to you, like ink caressing every pore of canvas. 

His desire runs through him— barking and loud, rapid and frantic— but when faced with you, a whisper, whimpering in the dark crevices of his ribs. At times, he comes close to asking you to hold him, but decorum and propriety keep him in place, tight and tense.

Liyue was built knowing your gaze followed him. Its foundations set, earth molded, and its rivers bent, hoping they would be fit to your liking. His every breath spent chasing after your favor, desiring to be remade in your image, to be exactly what you want him to be. Afraid that, when finally met with you, you will not like what you see.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted, and rarer still, has he ever feared.

It's a mortal's fear. The fear of their lord displeased with their harvest. A boyish fear, made up of desperation and the fear of disapproval; one he shouldn't feel, one he should feel no familiarity with. One he suspects many have felt when within his own presence.

When you ask him what he would like in return for all of his efforts— a reward, you say— Zhongli feels his breath seized from him.

Zhongli lived much of his early life against you. At every opportunity, he rebelled at what he thought was a cruel god. Imperious and charged with Guizhong’s death, he would have demanded answers. 

For him to have lived while those he cared for perished without a moment's repose, for him to have survived every moment of cruel war when each breath was like a whip against his lungs— he deserved to know, if you were as real as Guizhong so staunchly believed, why he had lived in her place.

Yet, despite centuries of tempered rage, Zhongli has become content to live as nothing more than your servant. 

He tells you he wants for nothing. That all he desires now is the simplicity of being beside you; the escape of your laughter, where there's no need to concern himself with anything other than you. He tells you he only wishes to know how to take care of you better, how to align himself with your tastes and desires.

"I insist," you say, and Zhongli realizes it's a command. His mouth turns dry, and every word settles on his tongue like heavy weights, dead and still.

You stare, and his breath hitches, his heart a swell in his chest. Zhongli thinks of every answer, how your reaction to any could either breathe life into him, or leave him broken. How, for a moment, he amuses himself with the idea of asking for your touch— the cusp of your palm on his cheek, your fingers against his spine; how he could ask, and how you might favor him enough to do so. 

He then thinks of asking you for reassurance. For affirmation of forgiveness for the actions in his youth. To finally have the certainty that he hasn’t failed you, and maybe, the confirmation that you may care for him.

“Forgive me for my impropriety, Your Grace,” Zhongli begins, voice light and breathy. His hand rests on his chest, fighting the urge to dig into his skin, hoping to calm the pounding of his heart. “But… if I may, I was wondering if I had done right by you?”

You sit inertly in silence for a moment, and Zhongli wonders if it’s on purpose, some sort of punishment for daring to ask such a thing. You had no reason to reward him, and he had been blessed enough to hold your attention for longer than a moment. He had no right to ask for your thoughts, not so directly.

He thought he knew that. It was why he followed you, why he made sure your every request was completed to the highest standard. If you mentioned the taste of your tea being too bitter, or sweet, or that you’d rather he prepare something else for you entirely, he would rush to follow your word. Even if he had been the one to brew it, even if it was him who cultivated the leaves, even if he thought it would be to your liking.

All he needed was to be helpful. All he needed was you. Within you, was his salvation— within you, was love itself. Without you, the once great Lord of Geo was but a fragmented elemental wisp of energy, only ever calling your name.

A spike of adrenaline rushes through him, fear and anxiety denying any sense of hope. All he hears is the solitary sound of his heart in his ears. 

“You have only ever done good by me.”

Zhongli’s heart lurches, heat rippling through his body. You say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and his mind feels dizzy at the implication. The ground sways, and his feet feel light. 

“You deserve more than that, I think.” You step forward, and Zhongli is so lost within his own thoughts, he takes no notice of your sudden increase in proximity— but his breath still quickens, and red still coats the apples of his cheeks. 

“Kneel,” you whisper, and though you say it so softly, it's as though the sky had been torn asunder with the speed he responds. Zhongli’s mind still feels far away, but he hears your orders as if spoken directly into his ear.

He drops to his knees, no care for whether he does so elegantly enough. All he can focus on is the weight of your gaze, and the way he's the only thing under it.

“Do you want me to praise you?” You trace his jawline with your finger, still speaking in a soft, unhurried tone. “Do you want me to tell you how much of a good boy you are?”

Zhongli inhales sharply, fighting every thought that screams at him to eagerly lean into your hand. He stares up at you, russet lashes fluttering and amber eyes swallowed by adoration and worship. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispers hoarsely. 

Your thumb swipes over his lower lip, and a whine rises to the back of his throat. 

“My good boy.” Zhongli’s entire body shudders, his chest heaving. A shaky breath escapes him. “You've been waiting to hear that for so long, haven't you?”

He whimpers, then nods in a way he hopes doesn’t come across as overeager— quickly bereft of any sense of propriety, or care for whether or not he’s making a fool of himself. All he can concern himself with is how close you are, how easily your scent renders him still, how quickly he borders on senseless. 

You smile at that, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering. 

“Do you want me to tell you how grateful I am?” Your fingers move across his neck, brushing against his Adam’s Apple, watching it bob as he gulps, trying to keep himself steady and not fall against you. “How you're my favorite?”

An ugly sound rips from Zhongli’s throat, and it's one he's instantly ashamed of. Every part of him feels bare in front of you, laid out messy and without decorum. The mask he’s worn for eons steadily breaks, and every one of his veins and bones scream out for your warmth. 

The Lord of Geo wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to be so vulnerable. He never would have amused himself with the thought of pleading for anything, or kneeling and falling apart because he was treated softly— least of all, of being so desperate to know that you love him; that you favor him. 

Zhongli, now without his Gnosis, is as mortal as the men he used to lord over. And perhaps it’s his newfound mortality that moves him to lean into your hand, frantically trying to meld your fingers against his skin until his flesh is like clay inlaid with your fingertips; hoping that you’ll rebuild him until he fits your desires, and tell him again that he’s proven to have done good by you. 

Every thought is a prayer, another hymn, another psalm.

“Am I? Your favorite?” 

His voice trembles, and breathes into a soft whisper. Zhongli doesn’t mean to sound so desperate— he doesn’t mean to be so greedy— but his soul has never felt so full before. His mind is so mired by your touch and voice that he doesn’t realize his lack of formality, or how he might come across as arrogant. 

He wants only to think of you, and so he does. Nothing else matters.

“Yes.” You chuckle, and his heart speeds up at the sound, fervent. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Zhongli whines, and faintly, through the blur of fanaticism and worship, thinks that no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation. 

[trendsofhistory]

Surviving as an Obsessive Servant Spoiler

#ObsessiveServantSpoiler

#survivingprincess

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

~

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

~

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

~

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

~

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

Ah.

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

~

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

[redtsundere-writes]

sukuna and servant!reader is so good!! looking forward to rescue more of them <33

Eyes On Me | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: Uraume can't play chess with the king right now, you must step up. Contents: Obsession, pining, kinda fluffy, mentions of blood and body parts. Uraume uses they/them pronouns. Word Count: 2404 words. Author's Note: I love writing this ship. People have been asking me to make this a series. I'll try my best lol I think you can still read them individually, but there's a preferred order.

Beginning. ← Previous |

AO3/WATTPAD VERSION

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on temporary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining. 

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it’s up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although… There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked about themselves, you never asked. 

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire. 

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef. 

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him. 

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence. 

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him. 

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture. 

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen the king playing. You knew from the other servants that he was a good player and only plays with Uraume or some brave guest. This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. 

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity. 

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and taking orders, but what else can you do? 

“Yes,” you answered with a smile. 

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that. 

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you. 

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down. 

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it. 

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be. 

Your father had taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn’t take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions. 

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple movement of his fingers. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. This was a good opportunity to do so. 

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square. 

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble. 

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king. 

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to concentrate on what he was doing. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts. 

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up. 

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king. 

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king. 

“Well, well...” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started. 

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade. 

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.  

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology. 

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction. 

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them. 

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed. 

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room. 

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move. 

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle. 

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat. 

“She has potential.” 

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their eyebrow at the confusing statement. 

“She has the potential to become a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently. 

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that. 

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table. 

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful woman, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question. 

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Author's Note: I poured my poor knowledge on chess for this lol I hope it makes sense.

Order your own fanfic!

Masterlist.

[kitsune024]

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[mo-aiki]

Maximillian Black

Summary: The imperial dog, the hero of the Bloody 10 Year War, a prestigious war hero that somehow became your personal guard.

Warning: obsessive behavior, violence, slut shaming

A/N: THIS ART IS NOT MINE, IT'S THE MALE LEAD OF I TAMED MY EX-HUSBAND'S MAD DOG.

Connected to Yandere Isekai M. Characters x F. Reader

A ball.

A stupid one at that.

A ball ran by the royal family for congratulatories.

How stuffy.

The amount of fake people with fake smiles that surrounded him. He hated it. He was used to these fake smiles when he was younger. Working as a stableboy for a prominent polo club before running away and becoming a knight when he was 11. Everyone around him were terrible people.

Nobles who'd kill over a horse and servants who are willing to kill for them. Money is dangerous.

He was always blamed for everything. He was the youngest and the son of a brothel whore, starving for money, in thousands of coins in debt and taken in by an old man who was a stable man himself.

If a horse wasn't as fast as one servant claimed, the servant would blame it on him.

If a horse wasn't available, he would be blamed.

If a beloved horse died, he was blamed for letting it die.

He didn't want to be stuck as a stable boy. He hated everything. To live only to be thrown under the carriage by savages, from both the poor and the rich.

But when he was 10 years old, he saw something, or more like someone. A girl. Her face, lighting up when looking at the horse. It spooked him when he was surprised by her. "I'm sorry, but I really wanted to see the horse!"

Her eyes sparkled in delight when looking at the horses. "Could I pet one, or is that not okay with you?"

He was speechless with her beauty. Her nice voice, her (e/c) eyes with glitter in them, and her kindness and asking him, even though he was a lowly stable boy. The old man spoke for him. "You can pet the horses young lady. I'm sure people you understand."

Her eyes lighted up. "Thank you Mister..."

The old man took off his hat and held it. "My name is Otto, my lady..."

She smiled, a beautiful sight for his eyes. "Thank you Mr. Otto!"

She petted the horses as he watched in awe. The laughter and the smiling face of that young girl, stuck with him as a beautiful sight.

When he ran away, Mr. Otto was on his deathbed. The only one to take him in. He had told him to run, as far as he can before he becomes like one of them.

He ran, and ran, and ran. He wanted to run away from those looking for the money from his mother. He ended up at a mercenary camp, where he learned about how to protect himself.

He spent a lot of time with them. He had a gist on how to use a sword, but it definitely improved from the mercenaries. They were kind guys but were reckless and a tad bit unhinged at times.

But something all of them brought up were women. How their dream woman would be, what they liked about women, and even the nasty parts, he all heard.

But all of it brought him back to the girl he met at the polo stables with the most beautiful smile and personality. He couldn't help but think of her often.

She had appeared and disappeared in his life, leaving him in regret of not talking to her, the first time. He can only imagine her growing up, as he grew up. He trained for days with a new goal in mind, to meet her at any cost.

The mercenary group he was apart of were sent off to war against the rivaling empire over territorial disputes 6 years after the war had started. He was, as described by his comrades, a monster on the battlefield. He was recognized by the higher ups as someone who could lead troop morale and someone who could monstrously deal with the many soldiers and the creatures that came. He had dealt with the dragon the enemy empire managed to tame with a single hit from his sword, Glamdring.

All of this came from his motivation to survive and to see her once again. He had planned on leaving to find her, but the war dragged him in. He had originally wanted to run, but he overheard the talk about the prestige it would bring to him. If that girl was a noble, maybe he would impress her with his title and newfound fame.

And thus it led him to be the monster that he was, on the battlefield.

And now back at the ball. He held onto his wine glass, dressed in something he had never worn before. A white, heavily embroidered suit with a cape and a sash of all the medals for his accomplishments in the battlefield.

He only looked in disdain as all the noble ladies around him were drooling at his fit.

He went outside for a breath of fresh air. Walking along the garden until, he got to a fountain. He then saw a woman. Her (h/c) hair, perfectly laid, her dress, well thought out, and her hand holding the wine glass of half drunken champagne. He didn't know why, but somehow he was attracted to the woman sitting on the fountain edge.

He walked closer, to be bewitched by her looks, but somehow she felt familiar. Like someone he has been longing for. He was right next to her when she got spooked and almost fell into the fountain, while he caught her before she got wet.

Guiding her up and letting go of her waist, she looked at him. "Hello, thank you for catching me at that moment. May I ask for your name? I would like to repay you..."

He smiled. "My name is Maximillian Black, what is your's my lady?"

She smiled. "My name is (y/n) (l/n). Maximillian Black..."

She seemed to ponder for a few seconds. "Ah! You're the star of the ball tonight!"

He raised his eyebrow out of sarcasm. "Am I? Really?"

She laughed. Her laugh was beautiful to his ears. It almost reminded him of the little girl he met as a stable boy.

They walked and talked. He had never had a more enjoyable time then learning about you. But all of it was interrupted when a man's voice came in. "There you are (y/n)."

He looked directly at him as the woman turned her head towards him. "I have been looking for you since you said you needed to powder your face."

The woman blushed out of embarrassment. "Oh...I seemed to have spent too long out here, Duk-"

"I told you, you can call me Augustus, (y/n)"

The man held her hand as he pushed her towards his body. "I'm your fiancé after all...", he said, looking directly at him with a cold glare.

He had never felt so pissed after that interaction.

"Maximillian Black....MAXIMILLIAN BLACK?!"

Your voice, shocked as he stood right in front of you. A couple days later after the ball, the Emperor asked him a wish he could grant. He said, "To become a guard for the (l/n) family."

"Oh? Why my boy? Wouldn't you want riches?"

To Maximillian, riches were small in comparison to her. The Emperor granted his wish, and thus he became (y/n)'s personal guard.

He is always near her or at least 5 feet away. He always enjoyed the interactions he had with you more than anything. His favorite words were always your nickname for him. "Maxi! Could you please help me pick this orange? It's a bit too high for me to reach!"

"Maxi, could you sit down with me. I'll ask Anna to come as well."

"Maxi, I can deal with it myself. Do not fret. I will be careful!"

"Maxi, have you ever read this romance book? It is so sweet!"

Your kind and tender personality, melted his cold, stoic heart. But he soon saw how there were pest around you.

First was the stupid fiancé who never let you leave his sight, but always shooed him away like he was a pest. Giving you gifts of jewels, ribbons, dresses, bows, and books, he would beat him by a long shot just from his wealth alone. He did overhear that he was a Duke after all.

Second was the childhood best friend. The son of an Earl. Nobody was closer to you both physically and mentally than him. He would cuddle with you, get lap pillows, and be cared for. He wanted nothing more than to break him in half and tear him to shreds, but couldn't from his lineage alone. He was stage extreme of clinger.

And finally, third were all the men trying to flirt with you on a daily basis. He would shoo them, glare, threaten, and maybe if kill them if they didn't listen. Didn't matter if they were a noble or a peasant, someone filthy stained your ears.

He had to get rid of them.

He was in love after all, but at the end of the day, you were still going to get married to your fiancé, that arrogant duke.

He had overheard about your plans of annulment. He felt ecstatic, but his face looked the same.

Now all he had to do was to kidnap you and take you away to a forest to live out each other lives in peace, away from those pests. Easy enough, right?

"Night time would be safer to travel with a sleeping girl in my arms. Everyone is asleep after all..."

A/N: FINALLY DONE. NOW I CAN DO COMMISSION WORK OR IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST ANOTHER TYPE OF YANDERE, I'M ALL EARS!!!!

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere priest or religious higher up x witch reader?

Yandere! Priest pt. 2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt.1

In a small, picturesque village nestled amidst towering mountains and lush greenery, there existed a quiet and humble priest. He was revered for his kind heart, unwavering devotion to his faith, and his desire to help others. Yandere! Priest had dedicated his life to serving his community, finding solace in his duties and the tranquility of the church. He could only be described as compassionate and fair with the gentlest heart. He was very well loved by the community around him and highly respected. However, there was a small group of people who hated him and preyed on his downfall. One these people managed to gravely injure him and drag his body far away from civilization to make sure he doesn’t have a chance at living. They wanted a slow and painful death for him.

On the outskirts desolated from the village, was an enchanted forest, that was rumored by the townspeople to be cursed and filled with many horrors. That so-called haunted and enchanted forest held your lovely house which you had been living in for decades. Now the question arises, why exactly were you living in such a dangerous and isolated forest in the first place? Well, an easy explanation to this question was the fact that you were a witch. On that possessed extraordinary magic, to be more specific you were a witch doctor. One who was dedicated to healing and creating new medicinal spells.

Currently, you were outside in that forest collecting herbs when you came across a severely injured person. They had grave injuries all over their body and had a nasty head wound across their skull. Whenever you came across an injured animal you would always heal them immediately in order to ensure their survival. This time it was different because they were human. You had to be extra cautious about using your powers in order to not be exposed as a witch. You start to carefully and swiftly carry them towards your cabin.

By the time that you got home, your patient had already lost a liter of blood. You honestly were not sure if they were even gonna survive the night but you quickly got to work on them. Although it took several hours, you managed to stabilize him with the help of your magic and medical tools. Using a spell to clean up the blood, you decide to retire for the night. The operation was a success but you had to heal him little by little to avoid suspicion. Anyways, he should be up by tomorrow, it’s time to get some well deserved rest.

When morning arrived, Yandere! Priest started to stir from his bed. He was currently in a daze, “Where was he? The last thing he remembered was getting beat up. How did he end up here?” A few minutes later, the door opened to reveal you. “Nice to see you awake. I hope you feel better now.” He looks at you with confusion and you quickly explain the situation and how you found him.

“Ah, I see. I can’t exactly remember who attacked me. Is it alright if I stay here for a while until I get better?” Just like that you earned yourself a new servant. He was extremely respectful towards you but had the tendency to linger extremely close to you while you were out in public looking for supplies. While you worked on your medicine, Yandere! Priest took care of all the household chores and acted like your househusband. He was supposed to be devoted to God and live his life in celibacy but here was little by little falling in love with you. No matter what he did, his mind was filled with just thoughts of you and the need to please your every desire. It wasn’t right but it felt so natural. If God was out there listening and witnessing all the deeds he had done for him in his name, then he wouldn’t mind if he fell in love with you right?

As the days went on, you both were living in complete harmony, that was until one day while shopping in town, someone from Yandere! Priest’s village recognized him. This person ended up being Yandere! Priest’s childhood friend who had a crush on him. She was extremely shocked that he was here and she stalked him all the way back to your house. While there she got jealous, the way that he looked and treated you made her green with envy. All her life she had a crush on him and when she finally had the courage to ask him out, he simply stated that he devoured his life to God. Devoted my ass, what kind of priest looks at a person with such tender love and care? She honestly could not believe this. She loved him so much that if she couldn’t have him, then no one could. Which is why she hired a hitman to kill him and why she was so surprised to see him alive. If only that person she hired wasn’t so incompetent.

After some more days of observation, she discovers a disturbing secret from you. It was the fact that you were a WITCH. She could not believe her eyes as she watched you take out your spell book to make a potion. As she was about to go town to tell everyone about this, she ended up tripping which alerted you that she was there. You quickly realized that she discovered your identity and was about to go tell the townspeople. In a flash you immediately took action and teleported to the other end of the forest and rushed to the town.

There, you immediately screamed, “WITCH, EVERYONE I HAVE DISCOVERED A WITCH.” This immediately caught the attention of everyone around and they all started to ask you questions about their appearance. Yandere! Priest was shopping and heard the sound of your voice. He immediately rushed over to you. After you finish giving the description of the girl, she immediately rushes over to the people and starts accusing you. Which you respond with, “She tells lies! I saw her reading and writing! She must be a witch, burn her at the stake!” Okay, so you knew this was morally wrong but it was either you or her. Thanks to your gaslighting and the brain deadness of the people, everyone took your side. It honestly was not that hard to convince them, they do witch burning of people every week because they had the ability to read.

Right now, you are currently watching a woman burn at the stake while she shouts profanities at you. You honestly could not believe that had worked, well at least your butt was saved. However, the more that Yandere! Priest thought about it, the more it made sense that you might actually be a witch. From your mannerism to your way of life, it was all odd. I mean normal people don’t just live in the middle of some random woods. Wait, no, that couldn’t be, you were something greater. For the remainder of his time he made sure to heavily observe you and anything you did. He kept these thoughts to himself until he fully recovered and was expected to leave your house. That was fine, he was willing to leave but not without you by his side. On this day, he hid your spell book to guarantee that you wouldn’t run away. With that he made his way back to his former village to start making preparations for your arrival.

You were frantically searching for your book. Where was it? You definitely couldn’t have misplaced, right? Just then, you hear a knock on the door and Yandere! Priest steps in. “I’m so grateful to see you again, I could bear being away from you. Even if it had only been two hours.” What? Now you were confused, what was he doing here again and what was he talking about? Seeing the confused look on your face he explains, “I’ve come to take you back with me. You see I am a priest and I now know that I was created in order to worship you.” With that he holds up your spell book. “I know what you are, a divine being greater than God. I’ll spend the rest of my day following your every demand. Come, I have already ordered the other priest to prepare your arrival. Let us worship you. You are the only one that can save us from this wretched world, please indulge us with your presence. We’ll make sure your word is law.”

You had such a look of disbelief written on your face. Holy crap did you just accidentally start up a cult?!?! Fuck.

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[coffeebeanwriting]

A Quick Tip: Themes and Morals

The Theme and Moral of your story go hand in hand and are often confused as the same thing. They are very similar and work together to create a compelling, cohesive story.

The theme of your novel is the central idea of your story. It’s woven throughout your entire novel, revealing itself in conflicts and your character’s actions. 

Some major themes: love, redemption, survival, coming of age, good vs. evil, revenge, war, etc.

The moral of your story is the deeper meaning of your book, often a lesson or belief that the author wants to leave the reader with. 

A story with the theme of love might have a moral (or lesson) such as beauty is in the eye of the beholder or love has no limits.

To further understand your theme/moral, ask yourself:

“What lesson do I want to leave my readers with when they finish my book?”

Then answer it in one sentence:

Theme: Love Lesson/Moral: I want to show my readers that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Theme: War Lesson/Moral: I want my readers to understand that good can’t exist without evil.

Theme: Coming of Age Lesson/Moral: Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Supporting Themes

To really sell your theme and make it the strongest that it can be, adding in supporting themes can elevate your story.

Supporting themes are smaller ideas that branch off of and are related to the main theme. Weaving these smaller themes into your side characters can help create a very well-rounded story.

Main theme: Love Some supporting themes: Trust, comfort, obsession, self-love, envy, jealousy, friendship. Example: A protagonist is forced to marry an evil king. His concubine becomes jealous of your protagonist who is just trying to find self-love amidst this huge change. The king becomes envious when a knight is overly friendly to the protagonist, who feels as if she can trust this knight as a friend. A group of villagers are obsessed with the king and bully the protagonist. An elderly servant brings comfort to the protagonist by acting as a mother figure.

All of these side characters and subplots support the main theme of love! Everything ties in together.

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting  

[ohnoitstbskyen]

So I know you headcanon Nami as a lesbian and Luffy as aroaco (both which is heavily agree with!) What are your romance/sexuality headcanons for the other Strawhats?

Hm. I think Zoro is ace, but not aro, but also the only thing he's really in love with is his dream of fulfilling his promise to Kuina, becoming the greatest swordsman in the world. Once he accomplishes that... well, I am not 100% sure he'll survive accomplishing it, actually, I think the story is signaling pretty hard that his moment of transcendence is going to be connected with the moment of his death (the "King of Hell" thing, all the Buddhism imagery, his tendency to find revelations about swordsmanship on the brink of death) but if he does survive it, that's when maybe romance can become a consideration for him. Maybe. That's when he can figure out who he's even into.

Sanji is extremely romantic - hyperromantic, even - but honestly in a way that's... almost totally disconnected from actual romance? He worships women as divine goddesses and sources of extreme aesthetic and emotional joy for him, but he seems to struggle enormously to actually relate to them a lot of the time. He seems more invested in Being A Gentleman Who Loves Women than he does in... actually being in any sort of a realistic relationship with a woman.

Pudding is the closest he comes to forming an actual romantic relationship, and even then, so much of it is ultimately motivated by his romantic fantasy of Being The Prince, of being the noble, self-sacrificing hero who Saves The Girl, of Being A Good Man. Committing to her is, for him, an act of self-sacrifice, for the sake of his crew, for the sake of his family (Zeff and the Baratie, not the Vinsmokes), and for the sake of her more than it is an earnest desire to build a future with a true partner. He's resigning himself to a life of being her perfect domestic husband servant, in worship and adoration of her, but never in partnership.

In an extremely weird way, the vibe I get from Sanji is he's like a... hyperromantic... aromantic? He's EXTREMELY invested in romantic fantasies, but not so much in the actual day-to-day mundanities of romance, he's in love with the idea of being in love, with the experience of being in love, with the thrill and act and performance of being in love, more than he is in love with any actual person?

Partly this comes down to One Piece just not being a romance story - romance is generally sidelined and elided in most situations, and Sanji's romantic obsessions are played for comedy 99% of the time, they are not taken seriously, so he never has an opportunity to really go through the process of romance as a grounded, flesh-and-blood process, but I can only discuss him as he is presented.

Robin, I think, might be the most straightforward of the crew. I am on board with the Frobin agenda, I think she's probably straight and... if not cis, then about as cis as you can be with a power like the Hana Hana no Mi. And I think she genuinely would be very attracted to a loud, dependable eccentric like Franky, as the other half to her quiet dependable eccentric personality. Especially since he is loudly and obviously an extremely decent man with a heart of gold, and Robin carries so much trauma of being a "devil child," I think she probably needs that kind of uncomplicated light of goodness in her life.

Usopp, again, is probably a fairly straightforward sort. The live action gives him a thing for Kaya, but I could see him being bi or pan, but much like Zoro I don't think he's going to quite have the capacity for Romance™ until he fulfils his dream of becoming a great warrior of the sea (he already has, of course, but he needs to internalize it and realize it within himself). I ONE HUNDRED percent believe he might end up taking a Giant for a spouse.

Franky is... okay this makes no sense whatsoever but I feel that he's gay? But also would fall for Robin? ... but in a gay way???

Look I don't know how that works either, it's a vibe it's a brain feeling it's a wibbly wobbly romance gender sort of situation. Franky is clearly in love with the male body, with masculinity, with maleness, and he especially loves building himself into those images of hypermasculinity, but he does in a way that feels hella queer to me. I don't really think you can be a self-made cyborg building his own body without being some flavor of queer-coded, like, I just don't think that that can be a cishet thing anymore.

He would fall for Robin is my point, in part because they share a knack for creating themselves, in part because Robin would appreciate and need him, in part because she would adore his cybernetic self-creation and find it charming and beautiful, and I think he needs someone who will love his creations (including, y'know, his body) as much as he does.

It's like... y'know how Neo and Trinity in the Matrix are clearly, OBVIOUSLY a t4t couple even though they're both technically cis in the text of the story? It's like that with Frobin for me. Yeah, sure, they're both cis and straight, but also they are trans and gay.

Jinbei I have no idea, actually, he could be into absolutely anything. Kind of a gay bear vibe? That's the best I got. Chopper is a child and I don't think he really has any idea yet either, and Brook... look, I don't think you can be THAT level of flamboyant rockstar and not be some flavor of queer. The Soul King wears Elton John outfits half the time. I don't know that he has a sexuality anymore necessarily (he could be ace, what with the having no carnal flesh and all), but if he's not at least bi romantically then nothing about him makes sense.

[lady-ashfade]

What about Yan!Rhaenrya with her only female daughter and she gets sick? Maybe she just sits and takes care of her. Just love her as a ✨mother✨

Bedridden

Yan!Mom!Rhaenrya Targaryen x Fem!Reader

This one isn’t as bad but there are themes and stuff. She’s just very protective and I love her as well🥺

This is short!

Warnings: Yandere tendencies, obsessive, protective, overbearing, very short.

It’s been days since you had be able to leave your room, the guards at the ready outside the door or the crushing pain in your head made it hard to leave. Your bed had been your place since you had come down with a sickness, mostly a flew said the maesters. Of course, you knew you would survive but that didn’t stop you from feeling like the gods have been punishing you in some way.

But your mother was somethings you had yet to go without seeing for even a hour at best, she was always by your side no matter what. You told yourself it was what a mother does, be at their child’s side when ill and weak but this ran farther down. She hadn’t slept well from fear you would draw your last breath, or maybe that you would need help up.

Rhaenrya sat in a comfortable chair beside your bed and waited it out with you. She would be sewing something for you, or getting what you had needed to pass the time. The maesters had tried to advise her to leave the room because she could catch it as well but after a few death stares they had stopped.

“Drink up, my dear girl.” Her sweet smile and voice was just a trick. You had no choice but to take your medicine and that means even if she had to hold you down and make you drink it. But thankfully it never came to that. When you slept she would brush your hair back and hum tones that her mother once sang her. Rhaenrya even would lay next to you and try to get some sleep no matter your age.

A cold or hot rag was in her hands and pressed against your forehead. The pillows were fluffed or flattened however you wanted. Always your favorite foods or healthy soups to get you better. She is very sweet and caring for all her children but you were different, her only girl.

Rhaenrya at this time was something to be afraid of for everyone. The slightest mistake regarding your health could be considered treason and punished by death. The food could be slightly off, or something the maester said was wrong, even the wrong look from the servants could set her off. The only ones allowed in are her, the boys and daemon. The servants or maesters are just temporary aloud.

She would still be looking at you like the stars in the shy. Her hand placed on your cheek and rubbing softly against the skin, “My beautiful girl.” Her hushed tone made you feel so safe. “You shall get better soon, mother is here to help.” She leaned forward and her lips pressed themselves against your forehead.

[yanderes-galore]

Okay but imagine The Bishops Of The Old Faith having a darling and sharing them... That's my concept idea, thank you! :D

This'll probably be short due to the amount of characters but I'd love to experiment with this :) Idk if you wanted Narinder or not, but I included some sections with him.

Yandere! Bishops of The Old Faith General Concept/Idea

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic - Harem

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Cults/Religious themes, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Isolation, Disturbing descriptions, Blood, Sacrifices, Violence, Forced companionship/relationship.

For this concept I imagine maybe you're some sort of companion/messenger for the Bishops.

Leshy is the youngest, the chaotic and egotistical ruler of Darkwood.

Heket is the sister of the Bishops, the cruel Bishop of Anura and a deity of famine.

Kallamar is the cowardly ruler of Anchordeep, always submissive to his fellow Bishops... he is a deity of pestilence.

Shamura is the wise yet surprisingly sympathetic ruler of Silk Cradle and deity of war.

Lastly there's Narinder, The One Who Waits, a sadistic/cruel deity of death who betrayed his siblings long ago... he resides in the afterlife but originally had a temple of his own.

Despite this... I HC Narinder was once loving towards his siblings and followers.

The Bishops of The Old Faith are powerful beings due to their crowns.

They are some of the last surviving gods in these realms.

You are a servant of The Old Faith, am enchanted mortal who serves the Bishops.

You have been given a prolonged lifespan... but are still vulnerable to death by other means.

As a servant, you have grown a bond with the Bishops.

Leshy often looks forward to your presence in Darkwood, welcoming you into his temple and growing gardens of flowers for you to enjoy.

As egotistical as he is, the young Bishop adores yours presence.

Heket often orders followers offer food to her so she can prepare feasts for her beloved friend and servant in Anura.

She warms up to you, as you are well loved servant of her siblings.

Kallamar shows giddy excitement when you visit Anchordeep, often supplying you medicine with Leshy's help if you need it.

Kallamar even enjoys creating trinkets from crystals to give you.

Shamura welcomes you to Silk Cradle with a fanged grin, soothing your mind with wise tales as you sit in a silk hammock.

They do hope their siblings have treated you well...

Narinder often invites you to his temple to help tend to the dead and wish them off to the afterlife.

Narinder is the one who has blessed you with a long lifespan... but he wishes he could make you fully immortal to all wounds.

Each Bishop loves you deeply, sharing you amongst themselves as you roam the regions.

Their bond with you often causes fights.

The typical sort of siblings fights... right up until Narinder's betrayal, at least.

For the most part they work together to care for their dear servant.

Followers who do not respect you are harshly punished by their Bishops.

You are a key figure in their faith, worshipped as the loyal servant of The Old Faith.

Even when Narinder betrays his siblings with differing beliefs, he tries to drag you into his prison to keep you away.

The other Bishops, his siblings, disagreed with such a thought.

Now your time with them is different.

The remaining Bishops are more cautious and overprotective of you.

While Narinder, now known as The One Who Waits, pines for you within his prison.

Leshy holds you close in the gardens of Darkwood, unable to see you due to his gouged eyes.

Heket keeps you fed, but conversation becomes harder for her.

Kallamar is now even more fearful than ever, hearing dulled due to Narinder's torment... he never wishes to let you go and begs you to stay with many crystal gifts.

Shamura is now less sane, yet still wise... always speaking in riddles and keeping you wrapped away in Silk Cradle for long periods of time.

The remaining Bishops keep you under close watch, protective yet thankful Narinder never got his claws on you.

Meanwhile Narinder plots his escape... planning to have his revenge for being imprisoned.

As lamb after lamb is slaughtered... growing fear makes the Bishops' obsession worse.

Your freedoms are restricted the longer things go on...

Soon your only relief may be Narinder's release at the hands of The Lamb.

Only then will your ties with Leshy, Heket, Kallamar, and Shamura will be lifted...

In exchange for possibly an even worse beast... changed from his previous self due to years of imprisonment.

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic! Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader x Dark Platonic! Alicent Hightower

You are the surviving twin of Baelon Targaryen.

Even though Rhaenyra was devastated by her mother's death, she never blamed you.

Instead, she took care of you, acting as a mother to you, so you don't feel deprived.

She would spend most of her free time with you, making sure that you are always comfortable and happy.

When Daemon stole the dragon egg, Rhaenyra flew over to Dragonstone herself and got it back, before placing it in your cradle.

Rhaenyra was happy to have you all to herself, that was until Alicent got married to Viserys, becoming yours and Rhaenyra's stepmother.

One day, your older sister visited your nursery early in the morning to take you riding with her like she always does, but found Alicent already there, holding you in her arms.

"I believe it is too dangerous for (Y/n) to go riding with you, Rhaenyra, she is still a babe"

"I know what is better for my sister, your highness"

And that's where the real rivalry between the older princess and the queen started.

Alicent made herself a prominent mother figure in your life, believing that she has that right.

Yet, Rhaenyra made sure to move your crib to her quarters, so her ex-friend doesn't get to spend time with you.

But, Alicent always managed to find a way to do so, by simply ordering the servants to bring you to her when Rhaenyra is not around.

Imagine the shock and jealousy Alicent felt when you called your older sister 'mama', and Rhaenyra did not bother to correct you.

Maybe you called your sister that, because how similar in appearance the both of you are.

Little does, Alicent know, that Rhaenyra has been training you to call her that.

When Alicent got pregnant and gave birth to Aegon, Rhaenyra thought that she would stop caring about you.

But, the Queen became more obsessed with you, she even used the excuse for you to share a nursery with her son, so you two could become playmates.

Years pass, and you grow to be a beautiful girl, and start receiving requests for your hand in marriage.

But everyone knows that there are only two candidates to be taken seriously.

Jacaerys and Aegon.

Of course, Rhaenyra managed to win the favor of her father like she has always done and Viserys agreed to betroth you to Jacaerys.

However, Alicent had Larys make his spies spread rumors about you losing your maidenhood to Aegon.

Which made Viserys wed you to Aegon in the end in hopes to quiet down those rumors.

Alicent might have won that battle, but still Rhaenyra will win the many upcoming battles.

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, stalking, overprotective behavior, manipulation, isolation, abduction, death

Tags: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz

Serial Killer s/o

Sebastian Michaelis

🐈‍⬛​Ciel has been called into active duty by the Queen due to a series of incidents that have been going on for a few months now where different murder happened. The victims have all been nobility and all of them were murdered in open space by a shot through the head. A sniper of extraordinary talent must have done all of it, someone who almost rivals Mey-Rin in skills in that from what Sebastian has been able to detect by examining the corpse. All of this must stop at once and Ciel decides to lure the serial killer out as he is within their target group as he challenges them via newspaper. He leaves his mansion, accompanied by Sebastian, in hopes of them taking the bait yet nothing seems to happen. Instead another two victims are killed and Sebastian muses that the killer must have been smart enough to realise that Ciel had something planned, although he doesn't mention it when he sees his young master silently seething, humiliated that he was ignored.

🐈‍⬛​Sebastian himself feels quite indifferent about the whole ordeal. Humans have always killed each other as they are feeble and incompetent creatures. He only is doing his work because of the contract he has with Ciel. His feelings change significantly when one night the sniper decides to target Ciel at night in his own mansion and it is Sebastian's inhuman senses that save Ciel that night as he races through the corridors to stop the bullet from hitting its target. Ciel, despite having just woken up, instantly analyses the situation and orders Sebastian to go after them. A small devilish smile, a polite bow and in the next moment the butler is gone. He is shot a few times but senses soon that the killer has realised that bullets don't work on him and has opted to flee instead. As if that would work. Whether they survive or not is of no concern, especially not for him. At least until he closes in on them and is suddenly surrounded by the sweetest scent he has ever taken in.

🐈‍⬛​The scent throws him out of composure, something you instantly notice as you shoot one more time, this time in his face. In that moment where his senses are overwhelmed, it catches him off-guard as he falls over. You naively assume that you killed him finally as you flee but not even seconds later you are grabbed and pinned to the ground, the same man you just shot in the face looking down at you with glowing eyes and not a single imperfection on his skin. You look at him in disbelief and horror whilst Sebastian takes away the rifle you tightly clutch in your hands, throwing the weapon carelessly away as his eyes never leave yours. He feels shivers going up and down his spine as he feels your racing heartbeat, his body pressing itself closer to you to relish in your warmth and the shape of your own body against his. One of his gloved hands caresses your face, magenta eyes engraving your facial features into every layer of his mind and soul. His mate. You are his mate.

🐈‍⬛​Ciel has made him promise to never lie to him and to obey his every demand yet for the first time Sebastian goes against the contract as he refuses to hand you over to the police. He doesn't expect a human, even if this human is his current master, to understand just how rare and significant a mating bond is to a demon like him. Ciel is quite shocked to see his servant acting like this as he has never been attached to anyone before yet here he is, holding the culprit and pressing them against his body like they are his saving line. You yourself look confused and scared all at the same time as you try to squirm away from the demon's hold. Yet Ciel has no choice ultimately as he has to cover the story up and Sebastian participates as Ciel allows him to do whatever he wants with you. You may be terrified now, kitten, but fear not. Your days of living in poverty and killing to steal and survive are over. You just have to give yourself to him.

William T. Spears

​📒​His work schedule has recently increased by a lot as an arsonist has recently started inflicting terror onto the public of London. Almost a dozen of houses have been burnt with victims either dead or wounded, especially at night. Police security has tightened and whilst the incidents have decreased a bit, they still happen in different areas of the town. It is so much work for him and he silently wishes the culprit to accidentally burn themselves at one point, especially when he sees all the name who will be made victims in the future. Whilst William doesn't see it as his job to catch the arsonist himself, he decides to still take a look and find out who is behind all of this. He searches for one of the next victims who will die and then waits for the culprit to show up. Eventually he catches you sneaking up on the house, a weird device in your hand that you throw into one of the windows, shattering it in the process. There is commotion inside the house before an explosion occurs and in the next moment the house is burning.

​📒​He has never seen this before and decides to follow you as he sees you disappearing into the shadows and streets of the city. You live in a house on the outskirts on the city, a scrapyard not far away from you. So this is where the troublemaker lives. Now that he knows where you live, William just opts on following you from that moment on whenever you go out to commit the next crime. He notices that you often bring with you a small device that he can't identify yet it seems to be the main reason why the house bursts into flames in the first place. He knows that you spend a lot of time rummaging through the scrapyard, probably searching for suitable parts to build this bomb. As much as you give him trouble, a part of the grim reaper is impressed that you can build something like this from garbage. One day when you are out of your house, he can't help his curiosity as he takes a look inside your house. He has never met a person who has such a messy house yet such a clean workspace.

​📒​You are terrified when you return but find the entire house cleaned somehow yet soon you figure out that nothing has been stolen. It has just been cleaned... Believe him, William wasn't anticipating to suddenly play the cleaner for you but he just could not help himself. He just had to tidy up your place because god knows how you manage to survive in there. Maybe, just maybe he was mildly concerned for your wellbeing as you clearly don't care for hygiene or basic order in your daily life unless it involves work. At least you are passionate about your work as you have made detailed plans on the constructions on those bombs. William has made a theory that you are a rejected engineer and scientist who is trying to accomplish the creation no one believed you could finish. Perhaps your low status plays another part yet instead of dejection you seem to be even more determined. A part of him respects it but not only do you risk getting caught but you put your work over your own health often.

​📒​His fears soon turn into reality when you are spotted by the police when lighting up another house. You flee through all the side streets but soon meet a dead end. Behind you, you hear the cops coming closer yet before they arrive, a figure suddenly appears behind you. A man in a neat suit and glasses who swiftly knocks you out. The last thing you recognise is the feeling of being lifted up before your consciousness fades away. That sudden abduction unlocks a completely new life for you. William absolutely forbids you from building a bomb in the house he purchased weeks before he abducted you as he had plans long before you had to be so careless. You may still read books about the topic but you will not create something that will ruin the house. As he knows that you are not the best when it comes to leading a good life besides when it involves work, he also takes over your schedule completely. The house is kept clean, you receive nutritious and healthy food and he makes sure that you get the needed amount of sleep every night.

Ash Landers

​▫️​The Queen has been receiving a lot of news from a new serial killer who has appeared in London yet this one seems to be a strange one. It has been reported that all of the victims have been known for treating spouses and childred badly, for abusing and for being con artists who deceived people of their hard earned money. A true criminal for justice by all accounts yet Ash, who is the one reviewing all of those reports and telling the Queen what to do, still views it all with disgust. There is no single good soul in this city after all and whilst he doesn't care about the scum who died because of the new serial killer, that won't save them from the judgement that he will cast on the city as soon as all of the needed preparations are completed. He has been plotting and planning for so long now, his goal is in sight already. Really, this silly human is just wasting their time. If they are trying to achieve a better world by killing of the other scum, it is for naught. Only a cleansing of the entire city will save it.

​​▫️​Yet through a sheer twist of fate one day you pass him without any knowledge of how lunatic and inhuman he really is. It is nothing special for you as you are trailing someone who is your current target but Ash pauses on the busy streets, his head snapping around as his eyes drill into your form. What a beautiful presence... What a clean aura... He has never felt something like this before. Entranced the angel decides to follow you around as well, enraptured with such a clean and beautiful being as you are. What is someone like you doing between such a vulgar crowd? What if they defile you? Suddenly there is a pressure he is feeling, his eyes nervously darting around as he scans all the people who are around you. None of them could even compare to you so why do you go outside? Your presence can't save those sinners anymore. Oh, how benevolent you are for still gracing them with your presence despite their ignorance of your true greatness. You truly are too precious for this world.

​▫️​Then he sees it though. How you walk up to someone who has an especially rotten presence around them. A smile on your face as you talk with them and Ash feels his hands twitch as you touch them slightly. You shouldn't even breathe the same air as them. With slick words and touches, you manage to seduce them enough to have them follow you as you lure them away from the busy streets. Ash instantly goes after you two as all of his alarm bells go off. You mustn't be left alone in a stained presence such as theirs. They will ruin you. He follows you all the way, his hand already on the grip of his sword to behead them if they do anything to you yet there is no need for that as suddenly you pull out a knife and slit their throat in one swift motion. The body hits the ground as they spend a while choking on their own blood and looking at you in horror before all life leaves their eyes. You mutter a silent prayer as a ray of light hits you as you pray for their soul to eventually be redeemed after paying for their sins.

​▫️​That's when you notice Ash appearing around the corner and you are visibly startled as you lift your knife threateningly. Yet in his eyes you only see awe and admiration as he looks at the dead body and then you. He clasps his hands over his heart as a singsong of praise and worship leaves his lips. How truly kind of you to pray for their forgiveness despite their sins. How thoughtful of you to end their pathetic and miserable life. You truly are a pure and special human. You find yourself disturbed by his words to the point where you don't even attack. Something is terribly off about this guy. He begs you to allow him to protect you, to assist you in your task of ridding this town of all the people who have ruined it. You are helpless in the face of an actual angel, one who is smitten with you to the point of a deadly obsession and offers to kill for you so that you won't have to mingle with those who he deems to not be worthy of your time and presence as you spend your time forever trapped and isolated under his care.

Claude Faustus

🕷️Whilst his master can rest perfectly safe in the mansion, the town surrounding it is living in terror as recently a lot of people have mysteriously disappeared only to be found days later with stitches all over their bodies, their hearts always missing. Not that this concerns Alois much who is aware that no one can do this to him for he has Claude by his side. Claude himself is very much disinterested in all those incidents as he holds a general dislike for the common crowd with no splendid souls to sense anywhere. He plans to finish his contract with Alois to get his hands on the young boy's soul in order to consume it and after that he will vanish. Nothing about this village will be memorable to him as everyone is crude and forgettable. That is just how a demon lives as they are mostly very detached creatures who only cater to their own needs without consideration for those who do not know of their existence. One day he will probably make another contract with another person only to continue the cycle.

🕷️​Then one day it happens though as he is in the town to buy some groceries for the next meal of his young highness. It truly isn't a special day but he can't remember that any day has ever been special ever since he became the butler of the Trancy boy. Yet it is on that day that he picks up a scent that has all of his senses and his head spinning as it invades his mind. Something primal awakes within him as he breathes in as much of the aroma as he can before his golden eyes start darting over all of the people around him as he needs to know the source of this scent. Eventually he locates the person the scent comes from, his eyes glued to your back as his legs start moving on their own accord. It's almost like the aroma has a gravity that pulls him to you and before he knows it, one of his gloved hands reaches out and grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you turn around and he sees your startled and confused face, he suddenly snaps out of his trance and swiftlx apologises to you. What just came over him?

🕷️​Unable to forget about you, Claude spends days silently agonising over the distance as he hasn't seen you since that day. He doesn't want his master to find out as he knowd that Alois would throw a fit which is the last thing that he needs right now yet his temper is clearly more agitated. A lot of excuses are used to leave the mansion in hopes that he will find you again but there is no sight of you detected until eventually he decides to leave the mansion at night after Alois has fallen asleep. Hannah is ordered to take care of the boy if he should wake up whilst Claude leaves at night when most people are already asleep. Finally he can use all of his abilities without a time limit and indeed is he now able to track you down after a while. He easily breaks into your house, a prominent smell of blood in the air together with the sound of prayers in an ancient language coming from the basement of the house. It isn't your blood though which is why Claude isn't worried as he follows the stairs down.

🕷️​He finds you in the middle of a ritual you are performing and it is then that he finally realises that you are the person who is responsible for all of the murders that have recently happened. He has seen those rituals before, they are generally used to summon his kind yet it is obvious to him that your soul is much more splended then the soul of the person you are offering. You aren't even aware of the worth of your own soul, are you? In either case, he can't have you summoning another demon who might make a contract with you. The candlelight suddenly vanishes as only darkness surrounds you and your heartbeat increases in fear and excitement. Maybe it has finally worked. Suddenly a hand clasps over your mouth and when you manage to look up, you see glowing eyes within the darkness who look at you with greed and desire. If your wish was to meet a real demon you shouldn't have gone through all of this trouble. You have one right next to you after all who doesn't want any of the sacrifices you have abducted and kiled. You are more than enough.

Hannah Annafellows

🟣​Sometimes humans can be more savage and demonic than what people call her own kind at times. Hannah can confirm that once more when the newspaper starts reporting that a new serial killer has appeared in town who butchers their victims like some do animals. Heads, guts and limbs are found spread in the sewerage or are sometimes delivered directly to the house of neighbours or friends of the victim. Waves of horror and fear take hold of the citizens as the murder has taken nearly a dozen lives already and their kill count only increases as weeks pass by yet the police is unable to catch them. Hannah has only passive feelings about the whole case though as she doesn't have to care about what happens outside of the Trancy mansion. She has sworn loyalty to Alois despite not even having a contract with him and she spends her time fulfilling her tasks for him despite all of the abuse he puts her through. The life of other people are not important to her.

🟣​She meets you in town during your workshift as you sell vegetables and fruits on the market. Hannah is immediately drawn to your soul and when she appears in front of you, you appear to be drawn to her too as her gorgeous looks take your breath away. You appear enraptured with her from the very first moment you meet her and Hannah uses that to her advantage a lot as she gets closer to you. She has pinpointed fairly quickly that her attraction and attachment she feels is because you are her mate as your soul calls out to her all of the time. She starts spending a lot more time with you as she isn't very much the center of attention to Alois who is mostly focused on Claude. Whilst she doesn't abandon the boy and still does her tasks dutifully, as soon as those are done she tells the triplets to take over everything else whilst she is heading out to meet with you again. She feels peace when she is with you yet she knows. You are hiding something.

🟣​A stench of blood seems to surround you even if the scent is very subtle and a shadow is lying over your soul as if theire is guilt that is shackled to your very being. Your lips are sealed though as you only give her a misleading smile whenever she tries subtly to find out what it is that fills you with such guilt. That smile could fool everyone but Hannah isn't a human. There is a secret you keep from her, most likely because your shame is too much for you to tell others about it. Do you not trust her enough? You should be able to give your everything to her without any fear as you may not be aware of it yet but both of you are bound together by fate. Hannah decides to take matters into her own hands after a while of failing to convince you. That is how she catches you in the middle of another crime, an axe in your hand and your body covered in blood as you are in the middle of dismembering another person. You break out in tears when you see her as you didn't want her to know about this.

🟣​It is a sick and perverse impulse that comes spontanously over you at times, a desire to dismember and murder someone. You don't know where it came from but the fascination has been always there even when you were only a child. You shudder to think what you will have to do with Hannah now that she has found out your secret but it never gets that far because you never get the chance to attack her. Instead her demonic powers overwhelm you instantly and the next time you wake up, you are stuck in a dark room, your hands tied up. Hannah still loves you despite finding out that you are the serial killer who has been butchering their victims but she expects some modesty from you. You should at least be able to control your twisted fantasies more instead of being a slave to them and fulfilling them without any self-control. As long as you haven't learned that though, she can't let you roam freely. You may think of her as a monster now but she only has the best in mind for you.

[bitchy-craft]

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Rules, Information and other Readings

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (5)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, beheading, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He wasn't sure how many years it had been since he had really cried. When he tried to remember it seemed to him that the last time it had happened was when he had lost an eye, when he had lost her, as he did now.

He was furious with himself, but he couldn't help the sobs that came out of his throat as he sat with his face hidden in his hands on his bed, his eye patch lying against his hip. Though he tried to calm down, convulsions shaked him.

You have done it now and you will do it again.

You abhore me and whenever you forget that I can give you pleasure, you will hurt me.

Something like a helpless, high-pitched, pathetic whine ripped from his throat as he once again recalled her words stifled in despair, the expression on her face, the cruel disappointment when she realised what he had become.

He cried because she had humiliated him, he cried because she had left him despite him asking her to stay, he cried because he loved her and he cried because he knew subconsciously that she had been right.

He was no different from his brother, whom he despised.

Although he wanted to think of himself as always being guided by cold reason and logic, it turned out that he was as thoughtless and impulsive as he was.

He couldn't erase from his mind her horrified expression, her loud sobs when he realised that he had held her cheeks between his fingers as tightly as if he wanted to break her jaw.

The thought that this could have all been planned by her mother, that she could have made a fool of him, made him want to cause her pain, to take his payment for the thought that she had deceived him.

However, when it became apparent that his forethought had gone too far, all that was left was her regret and his despair that he could not take it back.

At the same time, he wanted her to suffer and to be safe, to moan beneath him in pleasure and in terror, to smile and despair at the sight of him.

His disgust and adoration for her and her family fused into one in his mind and he couldn't separate it.

It was too late.

He was deciding that he would destroy her only to find, after a while, that he would attempt to reason with her, that what had happened between them had brought back those wonderful memories, had given him some kind of hope, although he didn't know for what.

They both knew that whatever they had shared as children had partly survived in this twisted, deformed, cruel form.

He only fell asleep in the morning, tired and resigned, terrified, trying to soothe himself with the thought of the warmth of her body, of their fingers brushing against each other in the air in the warm light of the fire.

In that one moment, he felt that it was like before.

He was awakened from his restless sleep by servants informing him that in a few hours there was to be a gathering in the throne room, to be presided over by his grandfather. With their help, he dressed in a simple emerald tunic, a gift from his mother, proof of whose side he was on, who he would support.

After what had happened during the night, he expected her visit.

Indeed, she appeared in his chamber as he sat thoughtfully at the table where his morning meal had been served, which he had not even touched, gazing thoughtfully out of the window.

"What have you done?" She asked with a grief and helplessness that frustrated him; he pressed his lips together at the thought of her comparing him to Aegon so easily, thinking that whatever his niece had given him, he had taken it by force.

"I don't know what you mean, mother." He replied emotionlessly, not even bestowing a single glance on her, in an involuntary reflex that he had inherited from her fiddling and plucking the cuticles around his fingernails, an expression of his subconscious anxiety and nervousness.

His Queen stood before him with her hands folded over her womb, looking at him pleadingly, as if she hoped he would tell her that what her guards had reported to her was not true.

"Your guards, Aemond. They heard inappropriate sounds coming from this chamber, and then they saw Rhaenyra's daughter running out of it crying." She said in a breaking, weak voice; he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, licking his lower lip impatiently.

"She came to me alone to speak and express to me her… longing. Nothing happened." He said, choosing his words so that they were not entirely a lie, realising with embarrassment that he could smell her moisture, her taste on his tongue, and a shudder went through him.

He rebuked himself in thought, swallowing loudly, running his hand over his face, reminding himself that his mother was standing before him.

His mother looked out of the window, breathing loudly, knowing there was something else lurking in his words. She ran her hand over her neck as if trying to calm herself and not panic.

"Should…should she drink moon tea?" She choked out at last in a low, desperate voice, and he lifted his gaze to her, heavy and dark.

"No."

His word hung in the air like a storm cloud; there was something final in his voice, ending the discussion in his mind.

His mother breathed a quiet sigh, as if relieved, but immediately doubt was on her face again, as if it only raised more questions and anger in her mind.

"Why didn't you send her away? Do you know how that might affect your future betrothal to Lord Baratheon's daughter? What would he say if he found out you were hosting another woman in your chamber at night?" She asked clearly losing her patience, but he was not sure if this was purely due to his behaviour or because she was taking it out on him for what Aegon had done and for not being able to reason with Helaena.

He turned away and answered nothing, looking out the window at the courtyard full of people – he heard her sigh of rage, felt her disappointment and dismay.

He didn't want to infuriate her further with words that he didn't give a shit about what Lord Baratheon or his daughters might have thought of him.

Even standing in the throne room they were separated from the others; he stood behind his brother and sister with his arms folded behind his back, pretending he felt nothing at the sight of Rhaenyra and her bastard son holding her hand as if he were an infant.

Something about the sight made him feel like he was going to vomit, the thought that Luke was pretending to be innocent, unaware, hurt.

Yet he was the one who had lost everything.

He tried to look only at him, but failed miserably, his gaze fleeing to his side, searching for her. He only found her, to his surprise, by Daemon's side; he was saying something to her with amusement and mockery, looking ahead nonchalantly. Even though she was pale, he noticed that there was a small smile on her face, from which he felt discomfort in his lower abdomen.

His would-be betrothed was dressed all in black, her gown fitted to her body, a single ruby ring on her finger, her bare neck and shoulders devoid of any adornment seemed even more shameless to him, by being exposed it focused his attention even more, coming to the fore surrounded at the back by her long dark hair.

He thought of her and Rhaenyra standing similarly, both of them playing with the rings on their fingers with their heads slightly tilted.

He pressed his lips together thinking of how not long ago he had kissed that beautiful long neck, how he had drank from her and licked her there, deep between her thighs, her forbidden fruit that he had tasted and by which he was cursed for eternity.

He swallowed hard when he saw that her gaze lifted to his uncle as if something he had said had surprised her and she laughed, sincerely and genuinely, revealing her teeth for a moment, then lowered her eyelids, still smiling, her eyes framed by her long black lashes.

Look at me, he thought with rage, not even seeing that his grandfather had already sat on the Iron Throne, that he had begun his speech – she, however, was looking at the stone floor in front of her.

He felt discomfort, he felt disappointment, he felt uncertainty.

His gaze shifted to Daemon, who also did not seem interested in what was happening around them.

There was something between them, he could feel it, some sort of bond from which fury rose in his throat.

He felt an unpleasant chill at the back of his neck at the thought that perhaps he had made the wrong assumption in thinking that he was the first man to have seen her bare body, to have touched her, and he felt a fury bordering on madness overwhelm him.

He had the feeling that none of what he was seeing was really happening.

Vaemond's words, then the sudden entrance of his father, who, though dying, found the strength as usual to defend her, his favourite, only child. He felt himself grinning, felt like laughing at this sight, so pathetic and saying everything about who they were for him.

An addition, a background.

He never felt important, loved or wanted in his eyes.

He was proud of him only once, when he commanded him to marry his niece and he agreed, but even in this he managed to disappoint his hopes.

He felt his breath stuck in his throat as he glanced at her involuntarily at the thought and their eyes met.

It seemed to him to startle her, as if he had caught her in the act.

She lowered her gaze, her eyebrows arched in pain, as if she was suffering at the sight of him.

Why?

Why couldn't he get her out of his thoughts and heart?

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He heard someone's enraged shout and turned his gaze towards him, looking at Vaemond with disbelief and awe.

"And she. Is. A whore."

All gathered made horrified, shocked sounds as the blade sliced through the air and part of Colrys Velaryon brother's head fell to the stone floor.

"He can keep his tongue." Said Daemon with some sort of boredom and disapproval, wiping his Dark Sister, Visenya's sword, against his tunic before the guards could reach him.

It seemed to him that everything that happened around them always came back to her words.

Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise.

Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys.

Standing beside the table before the supper that his father himself had insisted on, his older brother began showering him with questions that he had no desire to answer.

He was glancing once in a while at his niece, his uncle and his eldest daughter, Baela, who was standing on the other side of the chamber, looking at him sinisterly, playing with her necklace.

Whore.

He grinned at the thought of how he'd punched her in the face when they were children and thought he'd love to do it again.

"Our niece has quite a pleasant curves, don't you think, brother? Is she tight, or has uncle Daemon managed to stretch her out properly already?" He muttered while taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet – he looked at him with a gaze from which his elder brother merely rolled his eyes and fell silent.

As the King was carried into the chamber everyone took their seats; he felt his jaw clench at the sight of her sitting at the end of the table to the left of Daemon, as far away from him as possible. His impatience and gloomy musings were interrupted by the voice of his mother, who had decided to pray for Vaemond, and then make a toast.

"I would like to raise my cup for Jace and Baela and Luke and Rhaena, hoping that their marriages will be prosperous and blessed. I would also like to raise my cup to my son, Aemond, who will soon marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters." She said softly; an uncomfortable silence fell around her, his heart pounding like mad.

He looked at her, but her blank gaze was fixed on her plate, her lips pressed together, her face pale; he had the impression that her body was trembling almost imperceptibly.

Say something, he thought, although he couldn't tell if he was directing his thought to himself or to her.

"I do not recall my brother's decision to marry Prince Aemond to my daughter ever being called into question." Said Daemon, startling him completely, he and his niece cast quick, horrified glances at each other, shocked.

Oh fuck.

Alicent laughed nervously, shaking her head, glancing at her husband for support.

"We've made a mutual decision that it's not worth stinging an old wound, haven't we, my love?" She asked, but his father remained silent.

He pressed his lips together, feeling the rapid beating of his heart as his King looked at him, breathing heavily through his mouth, looking at him thoughtfully, his gaze weary.

"You have made it, Alicent. I never had a say in the matter. But the House of the Dragon will not remain strong unless it is finally united." He said impatiently, in a hoarse, broken voice, slamming his fist on the table, complete silence all around him.

"I do not want my decisions to lead to another misfortune. I am allowing our children to decide." He said with difficulty, his mother shook her head saying that it was impossible, that everything had already been settled.

There was a commotion at the table, Rhaenyra stood up saying that she would not force her daughter to do anything, however, she had already begun courting her to marry her cousin. Aegon laughed out loud, covering his mouth with his hand trying to hide his amusement, glancing at him with raised eyebrows.

He looked at her at last, the woman he had spent the night with, her eyelashes, her dark, wise, warm gaze, her lips parted in pain and fear, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her hair, her neck, her breasts that he caressed with such devotion, her thighs and what was between them, what could only be his if he said the word.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

"Aemond." His mother's pleading voice snapped him out of his thoughts; he looked at her with wide eye, in her gaze a plea for him not to let her down, not to betray her, to stand by her side.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her again, at the woman who was his curse.

"My niece is disgusted with me, is she not? Tell us what you think of me, my Lady Strong." He said coolly, wanting to shift the burden of this choice onto her, not willing to embarrass himself or show himself as desperate if she were to respond that she would never marry him.

He figured he'd give her a chance to end it once and for all, and then when she left him for the next and final time, he'd kill her with his own hands.

"My place is with you, uncle. It always has been."

Her answer, her expression, her plump lips parted in anguish, the tears at the corners of her eyes, her breasts rising and falling rapidly in horror at what she had just done made him simply stare at her in disbelief, silence all around them.

My place is with you, uncle.

It always has been.

He felt his heart squeeze so hard that he had trouble catching his breath – he lowered his gaze and, with a trembling hand, raised his cup to his lips, taking a deep sip from it, feeling that chaos reigned in his mind.

Despite the fact that for years he did not answer her.

Despite the fact that she was afraid of him.

Despite the fact that he hurt her.

Despite everything.

He looked at her and licked his lower lip, feigning indifference, raising his cup to his lips again to hide the thrill that lurked in his voice.

"So it is decided, father. We will marry."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

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