#WAIT NO I HAVE TWO. I have a red cloak from that one year I dressed as Mao Mao for halloween

[fi3stazo]

watch me make this man my entire personality

[kingsandbastardz]

So for basically my whole life I'd grown up with and was resigned to accept that the chinese concept of formal/nice clothing of my and the previous generation has been western clothes. So at any awards ceremonies or performances, entertainers would show up mostly in western suits/dresses and maaaaaybe you'll spot the occasional cheongsam if they're going for a Wong Fei Hong vibe. Which, you know, kinda sucks if you have any concept of western cultural imperialism in asia.

So when the hanfu revivalist movement started, I was waiting to see when it would enter the mainstream -- my hope was for fashion designers to integrate traditional/dynastic elements into their work and make it common place enough that I can buy this shit online for ME. Because I WANT.

Though some of the designs can be a bit hit or miss, I am LOVING what various stars and entertainers are wearing out and about now.

Anyway - here's a collection of Xiao Shunyao's modern hanfu inspired/hybridized stage outfits from the last couple years. For his MLC performances, his stylists seem to be borrowing inspiration from his Di Feisheng and possibly other character costume silhouettes.

I'd been seeing a few comments about how his outfits play with gender - and some of his outfits do! But I think the interesting thing to discuss is from which standard is he playing with gender? Because from a western perspective, the things he does with his western suit tops, belting on top of the jacket for a tightly cinched waist, and the addition of a trailing skirt = femme. But if you're talking from a hanfu-hybridized pov, that's just a modern take on hanfu and having any of those elements is not inherently femme and would often read masc to me.

So these things aren't necessarily gendered because they exist traditionally in chinese men's clothing or costume designs (ie video games, comics, historical fiction illustrations and film, etc, so therefore in the modern lexicon of masculine/acceptable for men):

presence or lack of a skirt

silky, velvety, gauzy or sparkly material choice, esp in formal or stage clothing

short or long length of skirt

embroidery

flowers/floral/bird designs

folding fans

certain styles of makeup

beading, gold, tassels, jewels

non-chunky jewelry

headbands

widely flowing silhouettes

What XSY's stylists are doing with some western clothing items are interesting. I'm convinced there have been one or two western jacket tops made of thinner material that they're folding over the front, and belting down instead of buttoning (which then matches with his other outfits that are designed specifically to do this). Then they're adding a skirt, cloak or bracer element to it.

The western portions often bring a military minimalist feel which they balance with a more gauzy material in the skirt or cloak portions.

Things I think are playing with gender:

row 1 - image 1: red di feisheng-inspired outfit

The lace-up girdle is there to match the bracers in both material and style. And it's positioned to be similar to the heavy belt that Di Feisheng wears. HOWEVER. That style of girdle/corset-like clothing item can't be divorced from the modern idea of sexy leather corsets. So imo, this waist piece on that outfit was a choice. Especially when paired with his allergic-to-collars-higher-than-his-sternum necklines. And if you take into context how masculine yet female coded his character is in the drama, the whole look evokes that.

row 2, image 1: black western suit with belt on top, hat, cloak, black boots and not-visible but also a black tassel fringe skirt

Hat and cloak moves the intention of the outfit from western toward a more Asian slant, because alone, it looks like a western black suit with western heeled boots, cinched waist with a lady's belt (seated photoshoot) and western style tassel skirt. The suit top consists of a vest and a shrug-like sleeve portion that appears masculine at first glance. But take the shrug and pair it with the tassel skirt (I can't find the red carpet photos but here is a better view of the skirt when seated), and I think you got a look that's both intentionally edging toward the femme in a western sense but also confusing matters by hiding within the parameters of both western and chinese traditional male styling.

row 2 - image 2 : white asymetrical western jacket styled in a front fold-over style, gauze skirt, trailing pearl embellishments

The more traditional leaning version of this is the white outfit in row 3 that he wears to the Hi6 Hello Saturday variety show -- the skirt portion on that outfit is one I'd consider non-gendered. Row 1, images 2 and 3 are examples of masculine/neutral uses of gauze that plays with flow of form but isn't inherently femme. This stage outfit is very western-appearing masculine suiting, until you hit the skirt which is giving me long ballerina tie-on skirt with the additional swan/mermaid pearl strings. Imo, another example of deliberately using traditional masculine styling but switching it up with the combination of material choice and make that is feminine.

row 2, image 3: black space military boots, black suiting, black -silver ombre sequin trailing skirt and white gauzy shawl with black floral design

The over all design is going for a masculine military-feel. (think this outfit for shen langhun) But instead of a thicker military cloak, it's replaced with a woman's gauze shawl and a skirt that trails behind him very much like the back of a woman's formal fish-tail gown when he moves around. If you take into context Wang Herun's outfit is a white-silver sequined dress cut in a way to also give a space-military-queen vibe, imo they both coordinated their outfits to balance out with both femme and masc qualities.

Thoughts? I'm curious what others think about this.

While I wait for the CNY photoshoot for XSY's red and black look, here's him with his stage collaborators with a nice range of skirt lengths, period influences and material choices. The woman in the center is the one with the most military-fighter design out of the bunch. The dudes are all in variations of formal-wear-with-good-kicking-boots (and lots of crotch space).

[everythingisromant1c]

It's Always Been You - Chapter 7

james potter x fem!reader

summary - Now that things were seemingly going back to normal with James, the time had come for the marauders' next prank. But that doesn't mean you weren't in for some surprises of your own.

wc [5.0k]

all chapters | <- Chapter 6 - Chapter 8 ->

Classes for the next day went remotely better, considering the fact that no more potions had exploded and you'd given up on trying to avoid James. It seemed like it was physically impossible to do. You supposed that made sense, since you'd had him in your life for as long as you were old enough to form proper sentences. It was hard to imagine your life without him, no matter how much it may hurt to be around him.

You were forcing yourself to ignore that feeling now and focus on this impossible prank you were trying to pull off. You and the rest of the Marauders were stationed out in one of the hidden passageways within Hogwarts' walls, one that led you right in front of the Slytherin common room.

You lit the dark passage with your wand, the others having lugged the shampoo bottles you'd filled with red hair dye in a makeshift sack within the invisibility cloak, much to your displeasure.

"Remind me why we can't just accio all the shampoo bottles to us and get the hell out of here?" Sirius dropped the invisibility cloak and the bottles with a cringe-worthy slam to the floor, a sound that echoed through the dark passageway.

"Of course, Sirius," chimed Remus, smacking a sarcastic hand to his head. "Why hadn't we thought of that before? Let's just accio every single bottle at the same time and-"

"Okay, I get it," Sirius grumbled, rubbing at the shoulder that'd been carrying the bottles. "Someone's cranky."

James rolled his eyes at him. "No arguing with Moony, it's almost that time of the month."

"I wasn't arguing, only asking a reasonable question."

"Enough talking you guys," you butted in. "If we want this prank to work we need to start as soon as possible, alright?" You took their silence for compliance. "We remember the plan, yes?" From what you could see in the darkness, the four of them gave you a nod, albeit unsurely. "Okay, good."

You peeked around the corner towards the Slytherin common room and watched as the door swung open, a first-year girl walking through the doorway. With urgent eyes, you gestured for Peter to carry out his part of the plan. He didn't budge.

"Peter," you whispered, nudging him in the arm.

He turned to you cluelessly. "Hmm?"

You held back a groan, watching as the heavy door shut behind the first-year, your opportunity disappearing. "Okay, so we don't know the plan then?"

Peter looked at you guiltily. "Sorry, I spaced out when you went over it the first time."

"It's okay Pete," chimed Sirius. "I did too."

It took everything in you to stay quiet and not scold the two of them. You were already nervous enough. "I'm gonna go over it one more time, so everyone listen this time." You heaved a breath in. "First we need to make sure we can get the common room door open. Pete, you're going to wait until a Slytherin opens the door, and then run out in your animagus form and nudge that stone on the ground over there into the doorway. Got it?"

You turned to Peter, who was listening this time rapt with attention. He nodded.

"Good. Then, all we need you to do is make sure the Slytherins' bathroom doors are open, and that way James can hold the main door open so Remus can summon the bottles, about a dozen at a time."

"What?" Peter's eyes were wide and shifting around unsurely. "I have to go into the dorms? No way."

"It'll only be for a quick moment, Pete," you said, trying to comfort him.

"Yeah," encouraged Remus. "And you'll be in your animagus form, so nobody will even notice you. You don't even have to go inside the bathrooms, just make sure they're opened a crack. You'll be in and out."

You all stared at Peter expectantly, watching as he seemed to mull over the plan in his head. "I don't know."

"What's the worst that can happen?" sang Sirius. "If anything, they notice a rat in the dorms and go yelling. But this school has had rats before, so."

James stared at Sirius with widened eyes. "Don't give him any ideas, Pads." He put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "It'll go great. If anybody can do this, Pete, it's you."

James's determined words mixed with the sincerity in his eyes seemed to work, something you figured came from all his practice giving pep talks as Quidditch Captain. It took him a moment, but Peter eventually nodded, though he still didn't seem perfectly convinced.

You you looked at him meaningfully. "We won't let anything happen to you Peter, promise." That seemed to help, and you finished explaining the rest of the plan to your friends hurriedly.

You stared at the four of them once you finished. "Is everyone good with the plan now?" You rolled your eyes as Sirius raised his hand.

"All I'm saying is, everything would been a whole lot easier if we just drank Polyjuice Potion and turned ourselves into Slytherins like I said."

Remus sighed. "I already told you that Polyjuice Potion takes at least a month to brew."

"Yeah," you countered. "And besides, did you want to morph into Marcus Craggy, or were you planning on making one of us do it?"

"Oh please," Sirius laughed like you were the crazy one. "Don't be silly. Everyone knows I would've turned into a girl. That way I could-"

You held up a hand, cringing. "Don't finish that sentence, please."

Another ten or so minutes went by, though the way some of the others were acting would've had you believe it'd been close to ten hours.

"Remind me again how much longer we're going to have to sit here for?" Maybe it was the stress you'd been feeling for the past couple of days, but Sirius's sass had never been as irritating to you as it was then.

You sighed. "We could've been halfway done already if you'd all listened to the plan the first five times I said it."

"Well, we wouldn't need the plan if you'd just gotten the passwords to the Slytherin common room from Vance like we asked you to."

You reeled at the aggravating topic that he and James seemed to love to bring up. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm serious."

You squinted your eyes at him and whatever joke he was trying to make in a moment you did find funny whatsoever. "How would I have even gone about asking for a thing like that anyway? It's completely ridiculous."

Sirius barked out a laugh much too loud for the setting you were in. "Oh please. The bloke obviously likes you. All you would've had to do is bat your eyelashes and he would've handed it right over."

You squinted at him annoyedly in the dark lighting. "What the hell are you talking about?"

To your surprise, James groaned, leaning back against the wall. "Enough Sebastian talk, please." His tone was grim and tight, contrasting Sirius's overly loud drawl.

"Come on Prongs, just because you're jealous that-"

"Shh, look."

You all stopped arguing at Remus's call, turning to peak back towards the hall where a Slytherin boy was entering. You didn't have any time to think over whatever Sirius had begun to say, your mind settling itself on putting the plan you'd spent so much effort trying to formulate into action.

"Pete," you whispered. "That's your cue."

Ignoring the fact that he looked like he was going to be sick, you watched as Peter took a shaky step away from the group and, before your eyes, morphed into a measly rat at your feet. The sight was never something you could get used to.

Just as you'd told him to, Peter scurried across the hallway behind the Slytherin boy and, right as the door to the common room was about to close, rolled the stone you'd placed on the ground into the doorway. When it shut behind the boy, you could see the gap in the doorway that told you your plan was a go.

"Alright Wormtail!" Sirius whispered from across the hall, and you all watched silently as the little rat looked back toward the four of you before scampering into the Slytherins' common room.

"Bless the lad," you heard Sirius say from behind you, sounding overly sentimental.

"Let's hope he won't need any blessings if everything goes according to plan." You let out a breath. "Okay, next step. We need to see where the prefects are on their rounds. Who has the map?"

You looked between the three boys, watching as they all stared back at you with blank eyes. Your mouth hung in disbelief. "Don't tell me we forgot the map again." At that point, it was getting harder and harder to keep your voice to a secretive whisper.

"Relax," said James, voice hushed. "Padfoot has it."

Sirius scoffed, turning towards the brunette. "Prongs, I think I would know if I had it-"

"Turn around."

Sirius frowned. "What?"

James stared back at him with a confident set in his eyes. "Just turn around."

"Really?" Sirius fawned with a smirk. "In front of all these people?"

James shook his head, though you knew he could never resist a dirty joke. He hid his boyish grin and cleared his throat, gesturing to Sirius curtly. "Pads, c'mon."

At that, Sirius turned around with his back facing you, and lo and behold, you could see the corners of the map peaking up helplessly from the back of his pants.

You put an exasperated hand up to your forehead, features twisting painstakingly. "Why the bloody hell is it in your pants, Sirius?"

Sirius looked back over his shoulder towards the map, face screwed up in confusion. "I honestly don't remember putting it there."

You stared at him for a moment in disbelief. "Well, can you take it out please so we can finish the prank?"

"Of course, m'lady." He flashed you a grin you absolutely did not like the look of. "You sure you don't wanna do it yourself?" James elbowed Sirius in the side, his smile swapping itself out for a roll of his eyes. "Alright, alright."

The three of you looked on as he contorted his body to reach for the map, his struggle not seeming anything but overdramatic to you as you waited impatiently.

"C'mon Pads," chided James as he went to reach for the map despite its location.

"No, almost got it." The site of him losing a match against his own pants threatened to make you laugh even with how on edge you were, though you dropped your smile when he finally pulled the map free, only to drop it. You watched with horror as it slid onto the ground, out into the middle of the hallway.

"Great." You sighed at the site of the folded paper sitting unguarded out in the open and the fact that you had no idea where the prefects were on their rounds.

"Don't worry," cooed Sirius. "I'll get it." He took a confident stride forward, but you put a hand out just as fast.

"No," you warned, not having faith in his stealthiness after what you just witnessed. "Just- just stay where you are. I'll get it."

With that, you checked that the coast was clear on both sides before stepping out of the hidden passageway and into the open corridor, ignoring the irritated look you knew Sirius was giving the others at your orders.

With your heart beating fast in your chest and a glance at the slightly ajar Slytherin common room door, you bent over swiftly and picked up the map. Once it was secured in your hands you could already feel your senses returning to normal, though that feeling left as soon as it came.

You stood back up and were face to face with a body in Slytherin robes, your reflexes hiding the map behind your back right away.

"Sebastian!" you put on a cheesy smile in greeting before you could even think straight, though maybe it was because seeing the familiar face gave you some relief.

"Hey," he greeted back, and then you watched him process the fact that you were in the dungeons all alone. "What're you doing down here?"

You spoke before you even thought about what to say. "I was, uhm, seeing Slughorn for some extra help. Felt extra motivated after yesterday." Nice one. How easily the lie came to you concerned you.

"That's great." Sebastian's voice was warm, though there was a tug between his brow as he glanced over your nervous figure. "Are you alright?" his frown deepened. "Did Slughorn say something?"

It took you a second before remembering what he was referring to. Your lie, right.

"What? Oh, no, he didn't say anything bad. I'm great, really." You nodded at him and watched his features lighten up again, and then you felt bad because of how much he seemed to really care, and about the fact that you were lying straight to his face. You'd been doing more lying than you would've liked as of late.

Right when you were about to say something else, maybe wish him goodbye, you heard a small clang come from the knight armor to your right, and you mentally cursed because it came right from where you knew the boys were hiding.

Crap, you thought as you remembered they were listening to everything. You'd almost forgotten. You spared a glance over to where you knew they were hiding out, and luckily couldn't see anything. Hopefully, that meant Sebastian couldn't either as he surveyed the source of the noise.

You turned back to him, offering a smile you hoped looked as genuine as you meant it to as you freaked out internally. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Sebastian," you said through tight lips. "Night."

He looked back at you with the air of confusion at your rushed tone but didn't question you. "Yeah, goodnight." He nodded back and you, trying not to look suspicious, walked past him as if you wouldn't turn around in a second once he left.

"Actually," he called, and you turned right back around fast enough to give you whiplash, trying to keep the map hidden behind your back. "I've been meaning to ask you something. I wanted to yesterday, actually, before we got interrupted."

"Yeah," you rushed in, cringing at the memory and mentally cursing James. "So sorry about that. James feels sorry too, about the whole potions thing, in case he hasn't apologized already." You said the last bit with emphasis because you knew he hadn't, even after all your chiding.

"It's alright, Madam Pomfrey didn't even have to do anything. And, I hope you fixed your emergency, by the way." He was referencing the 'emergency' that James had interrupted you over, one that made you fight shaking your head at the memory.

You only smiled. "Yeah, we did, thanks."

"Great," said Sebastian, and he put his hands in his pockets, looking visibly tense. Then he took one hand out to rub it over the back of his neck, not saying anything for a moment as you both stood in the hallway.

"Sebastian?" you called, and that seemed to bring him back to life.

"Right, sorry." He exhaled, looking at you meaningfully. "I guess what I've been meaning to ask was, would you want to go to the Hogsmeade trip this weekend? With me?"

You paused your thoughts, stilling at his words. Whatever you'd expected him to say before, it was certainly not that.

You didn't know what to say right away, or how to react. He was waiting for you to say something, and you definitely wanted to, but you just didn't know what. Something warm did bloom in your stomach though, and the shadows of a smile grew on your face because someone was asking you on a date. Sebastian Vance was asking you on a date.

"So?" Sebastian asked softly and you turned your attention back to him. You didn't know how long you'd left him standing there as you became lost in your thoughts, but looking at his hopeful eyes and friendly smile, you felt like the answer you came up with was plain as day.

"Yes."

"Yes?" he asked, and maybe you hadn't spoken loud enough, or maybe he was in disbelief, but you could see a smile breaking out on his face and it felt almost contagious.

"Yes," you repeated through a smile of your own. "I'd love to go on a date with you, Sebastian." Your eyes widened. "It is a date, right?"

He laughed, soft and quiet in the empty hallway. "Yeah, it's a date. That is, if you're alright with that."

You chuckled shyly, feeling unfamiliar in your own skin. Was this really happening? "I'm alright with that."

"Great." Sebastian clapped his hands together low in front of him, chest rising and falling steadily as if some great weight had been lifted from him. He looked almost radiant—he was a good-looking boy, might you add. "You know, I wasn't exactly sure you'd say yes with Potter and all."

You paused, smile swapping out for a confused frown. "What?"

Sebastian looked at you like then like he'd hit a nerve and was suddenly cautious. He put his hands in his pockets again, shrugging it away. "It's nothing, never mind."

You tried to make your face more casual and less alarmed. "No, really. What do you mean?"

Sebastian seemed to pause for a second in thought like he was weighing his options, before letting in. "It's just that, I don't know, I thought you and Potter were kind of an item. At least at one point. A lot of people do." His words seemed to flow out endlessly and you couldn't believe you were hearing them right. "And you know, with the rumors about you guys, er, in the broom closet and all, I wasn't sure-"

"On my God no," you cut in quickly, feeling both mortified with flames at your cheeks and angry at whoever started them. "Those were just rumors. Godric, I don't even know how they started. James and I are friends. Just friends."

Even if Marlene and Lily had always poked fun at you about the topic, you'd never actually thought about what others thought of you and James. Could they see your crush on him during all these years too? The fact that Sebastian had assumed you might be together made you feel ... you didn't know how it made you feel.

But none of that mattered now. What you said was true: you and James were just friends. You wouldn't let the possibility of anything else interfere with your love life, or your lack of one, rather. At least not anymore. You thought about what Sirius had said to you the other night and hated him slightly less for it.

"Well that's good to know," said Sebastian contently, taking you out of your spiraling thoughts. "So, I'll see you then?"

You were about to say "yes," and finally wish him a goodnight until a high-pitched and truly ear-cover-worthy scream sounded from the Slytherin common room. Not more than a second sooner did you watch as a rat, not just any rat—Peter—scurried out of the small crack in the doorway and down the hallway.

You'd momentarily forgotten where you were and exactly what you'd been in the middle of doing before Sebastian had stopped you, and the site of Peter was a blaring reminder. You thanked Merlin that Sebastian had his back to the door because somehow he hadn't noticed Peter running panicked right past his feet.

He turned to you in confusion and some horror. "What the hell was that about?" he looked between you and the common room door, laughing, and you laughed too, albeit nervously to mask your horror.

"No idea."

Thanks to the commotion that the rat spotting had caused in the Slytherin dorms, your carefully planned prank had, for lack of a better word, gone to shit.

Peter had returned to the boys' dorm early after the chaos of his being discovered and hadn't come back. None of you blamed him very much, though. Especially not after Filch's cat Mrs. Norris made an unexpected appearance on the Marauder's map, and you all watched anxiously as she chased him all the way back to the dorms.

"'Was bloody horrifying," shuttered Peter as he took a seat on his bed. You'd all headed back to the dorms once you realized there was no way you'd be able to finish the prank after that.

"We're so sorry Pete." You sat down on the bed next to him. "I really didn't think they'd notice you. They usually don't."

"Yeah," added Remus. "And I don't know how we missed Mrs. Norris on the map. It's our bad, really."

"Some first-year girl threw a book at me. Nearly missed my head!" Peter rubbed at the back of his skull as if he could still feel the almost-impact.

Sirius walked over, patting him on the head. "We'll get our revenge soon, Wormy. Don't you worry."

You stared up at him wryly. "We will not be 'getting revenge' on an eleven-year-old, Sirius."

"Of course not," he rang, patting you on the head too, which you batted away. "I only meant with the hair dye, is all." You ignored the wink you saw him give Peter as he went to sit on his own bed.

You watched as James walked into the dorm room last, sitting on his bed next to Peter's wordlessly. You all had a defeated air to you because of the failed prank, though James looked the worst.

"C'mon guys," you urged. "It could've gone a lot worse."

Peter shook his head from next to you. "Could it have? I almost got eaten by a cat."

"Yeah," Sirius said, tone sour. "Excuse us for being so down about that disaster of a prank. Not all of us scored a date from it, you know."

You looked down at your lap with a scoff. "I knew you wouldn't let that go."

"Did you really expect us to? I mean, really? That Slytherin bloke?"

"Oh my God." You shook your head. "I am done listening to you all groan about your house rivalry. Him being a Slytherin has nothing to do with whether or not I should date him."

Sirius looked squinted over at you, looking like he had a thousand responses on the tip of his tongue, but then he shrugged. "Okay, fine. But house aside, Vance is a total player."

You scoffed again in annoyance. "He is not." You traced back all memories of the boy in your mind and could think of maybe two other girls that he's dated. You rolled your eyes. "And I find it pretty ironic that you of all people are calling someone a player, Sirius."

He laughed, obviously finding the conversation much more amusing than you were. "Do you even like him?"

You were getting more worked up than you would've liked, confused as to why Sirius was challenging this so much when he was just lecturing you about never going on dates. "What is there not to like?" you retorted. "He's nice, smart, he's a great Potions partner-"

"But do you like him?" Sirius cut you off with a seriousness in his tone, looking at you challengingly. A silence filled the room for a moment, the others all sprawled around it as an audience to the argument you wanted nothing to do with.

You stared back at him, considering things in your head for a moment before answering. "Yes, I do." You put a hand on your hip. "Are you happy?"

Sirius didn't respond to your frustrated question, shifting his gaze to something behind you. "Prongs, what do you think about all of this?"

You frowned at the unexpected change of focus, following Sirius's eye-line over to James, who sat on his bed, hunched forward with his elbows to his knees. He looked pensive, maybe still defeated from the prank, but something unidentifiable simmered behind his gaze, seeming to harden it. You didn't know what it was and you didn't know what Sirius was trying to do by involving him either.

He was silent for long enough that you were beginning to think he hadn't heard Sirius, until he shrugged. "I just can't believe you're missing our first Hogsmeade trip of the year."

If there was anything you were expecting James to say, it wasn't that. You ran a hand through your hair. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that." You turned to James thoughtfully. "It isn't like I'll be gone the whole day. And there will be other Hogsmeade trips for us to all go to, right?"

"We always spend the first one together, though," James said, tone heavy.

"He's right," Peter agreed. "It's practically a tradition."

You sat back down on the bed, feeling tired. "What do you guys want me to do? Tell him I can't go out with him?"

"Of course not," Remus chimed. "We're happy for you. They're just saying they're gonna miss you being there on Saturday, is all." He stared at the others expectantly. "Right guys?"

It took a second, but they all nodded, some apologies muttered, and you'd never been so thankful for Remus.

"Thank you," you said sincerely. "That means a lot." You sat in thought for a moment, before an idea sprang into your mind. "Why don't we all go get butterbeers from the kitchen like we always do after a prank?"

"After a successful prank," Sirius corrected.

"Yeah, I don't know if I'm in the mood to celebrate." Peter looked like he was reliving the horrors of the rat fiasco in his head again.

"It would cheer you up though, wouldn't it?" You nudged Peter's side before standing up. "Come on." You pulled on his arm until he was standing up lazily, though you knew he was fighting a smile. "Let's go. The house elves would love it if we paid them a visit." You motioned for them all to follow as you walked towards the door, Sirius and Remus doing just that, but James stayed put. "James?" you called. "You coming?"

He looked up at you from where he sat, face seeming drained of any excitement at the prospect of his favorite drink, eyes avoiding yours. "I think I'll just stay back."

Your brows furrowed in concern at his dejected voice and unconvincing flash of a smile, and you took a step closer to him. "Are you sure? You never turn down a butterbeer."

His face had gone stonelike and revealed little to nothing, but you knew something was off. "Just don't feel up to it. You guys go."

You didn't budge right away, looking at your friend more closely in an attempt to figure out what was wrong, but Remus stepped in front of you.

"You guys head to the kitchens. James and I will catch up, just give us a minute."

You stood there, looking back and forth between Remus and James unsurely like there was some unspoken secret they both shared. Remus met your eyes, nodding at you assuredly, and you relented, glancing back at a confused James before leaving the dorm room. Sirius and Peter followed behind you.

"What do you think that's all about?" Peter asked as the three of you walked through the common room to the portrait exit.

"It's James," Sirius responded naturally. "It's probably either about Quidditch or Evans."

By the time the three of you all made your way down to the kitchens and ordered up five butterbeers, Remus had followed through on his promise and had James following him into the kitchen, though he looked a tad off. Not his energetic James self, his head was slightly hung forward with his hands in his pockets.

Remus took the spot next to Sirius at the table you sat at, and James took the spot next to you. You peeked over at him concernedly, but he didn't look up from wherever he was staring off.

"Alright," Sirius announced. "Now that we're all here," he picked up his butterbeer, "let's make a toast, shall we?"

"To what exactly?" asked Peter. "Not like we can toast to a good prank."

"I know," you said as you raised your glass. "To a great school year and successful future pranks."

"Yes," agreed Sirius. "And to many more hot Hogsmeade dates."

Laughter bubbled from Peter and Remus with your lips parting in alarm, though you were holding back laughter too. "Sirius," you chided, and he shrugged.

"Only being supportive."

With a roll of your eyes, your glass collided with three others, one glass missing from the toast.

"James?" you called. His eyes snapped up like he hadn't even noticed the conversation going on. You turned to him with a lowered voice that revealed your worry. "Is everything okay?"

He cleared his throat slightly, eyes not meeting yours, though you could've sworn he shared a look with Remus. "Yeah, sorry." He hurriedly raised his glass too. "Cheers," he added, and took a sip of his butterbeer that had his head tipping back.

The others seemed to overlook James's odd mood and conversation flowered regularly for the rest of the night, though you noticed time and time again James's offness in the way he talked less, or the times he'd space out or seem distant.

After some time the five of you headed back to the common room. Even during the walk back James was a few feet ahead of the group, veering off into his dorm room before you could even say goodnight. You stood there in uncomfortable thought, staring at the staircase he'd just climbed before Remus came to stand by your side.

"You alright?" he asked, and you could see from your peripheral the way he peered at you in curiosity.

"What happened back there with James?" You shifted to face him, watching as he waved an arm casually.

"Nothing, really." You gaped at him disbelievingly at his obvious avoidance of your question. "He'll be alright," he added under your scrutiny. "He's just having an off night."

"What'd you say to him to get him to come with us to the kitchens?"

"You just have all the questions lined up, don't you?"

You glared at him and his sudden annoying sense of humor. "Remus."

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets. "I just told him to lighten up," he shrugged. "Be happy for you, is all."

Your mind faltered, eyes widening. "You think he's upset about me?"

Instead of answering your question, Remus simply tipped his head down, a one-sided smile tugging at his lips.

"What?" You pried, feeling like there was some big joke you'd been left out on. Remus looked back up at you, shaking his head, but you were feeling more irritated than playful. "No seriously, what?"

With a knowing glint in his eye, Remus bowed his head before taking a step back towards the steps. "Night."

It took you a second to realize he was going off to bed and ignoring your question, leaving you clueless in the common room.

"Remus Lupin!"

Your shouts only met his back as he disappeared up the steps. You huffed. When Remus really wanted to, he had it in him to be even more aggravating than Sirius in a bad mood.

taglist!! ->

@hisparentsgallerryy @msmk11 @garfieldsladybird @empath-bunny @urmykindofwoman

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Eight

Alastor x F!Reader

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest, and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, I give you my favorite chapter :)

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Eight - The Headliner

Content Warning: Obsession, Blood, Minors DNI!!!

Fuck.

Everything hurt. 

Was that music? 

You blinked. Hard. Forcing the world into view. The shapes were fuzzy until they formed the ceiling of a canopy bed. 

You vaguely registered Nat King Cole’s “Too Young” playing from the radio on the side table. 

God, everything hurt. Did you already mention that?

With limbs of concrete, you attempted to sit up, but a burning pain shot through your core making the world blur into darkness once again. 

You couldn’t have been out long; “Too Young” had entered its final stanza when you came to. Again, you were met with the red of the bed’s canopy top. 

🎶And yet we're not too young to know🎶

Little movements this time. You turned your head, noting the red silk sheets beneath you. Okay, now the fingers and toes - good they were still intact. The legs? Both still present and working. Arms? Yeah, them too. So was it just your torso? You rolled up, but were just met with more pain. 

Okay, let’s try rolling to the side. You rolled onto your shoulder and slowly pushed yourself into a seated position. The effort and pain made you see stars, but at least you hadn’t passed out. 

Okay, where to begin. Instead of your cloak and leather gear, you found yourself in shorts and a white button-down shirt two sizes too big. The fabric was slightly askew, revealing the bandages crossing your chest underneath. You peeked down the shirt and followed the stained cotton to your belly button. 

Fuck, Velvette practically gutted you from your right hip to your left chest. 

Bitch. 

🎶This love will last though years may go🎶

Your arms and legs had been washed, and your other wounds had healed into scars. A poultice soaked through the cotton wrapped around your feet. Whoever took care of your wound also addressed the blisters still plaguing your toes.

How nice.

Your silver hair had been braided into a long ponytail that reached your lower back. And the shirt you were wearing... Images of deep woods after a rainstorm swam in your vision as you breathed in the fabric - it felt almost familiar. 

Slowly pushing yourself to your feet, you wandered over to the glass doors leading to a balcony. Pentagram City waited twenty floors below. You held your arms around your body as you walked, afraid the stitches would burst and your insides would fall out. Shallow breaths only. Deep breaths hurt. 

🎶And then some day they may recall🎶

It was late, City lights illuminated the night. On the balcony sat two chairs, a single table between them. It finally clicked where you were the exact moment the static prickled the back of your neck. 

🎶We were not too young at all🎶

“Alastor…” you spun meeting the demon face to face, but the view took your breath away.

The Radio Demon stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his weight on one hip. He looked disheveled, his hair a ruffled mess, his monocle missing. His suit jacket was probably hanging in a closet somewhere, revealing a white button-down rolled to the elbows. No bow tie, suspenders hanging around his hips, and no shoes. For feet, he had… hooves.

It was the most skin you had ever seen from the demon and it felt oddly intimate. Maybe you should look away and give him some privacy but part of you didn’t want to stop looking. His shirt top was missing a few buttons, revealing his collarbone and upper part of his chest. From what you could tell he was very… defined. 

His arms were stronger than expected, with a layer of muscle that was obvious in the low light. Scars, grey and faded, criss crossed his forearms like battle wounds. His arms ended in a shade of black much like your own - but his hands. 

Alastor wasn’t wearing gloves. 

That got the butterflies stirring in your belly. Why did that make you so excited? 

The Overlord stared at you with a soft smile on his face but a gaze so intense it could knock you over where you stood. You felt trapped. You felt possessed. And you liked it. 

“What happened to ‘Mr. Alastor’?” He purred. 

You pulled your arms in close, trying to hide the shiver his voice sent down your spine. It was deeper than you remembered. 

Keep your guard up, Thestral, be prepared for anything.

“I think we’re past formalities, don’t you?” You gestured to the clothing. “Didn’t know you even owned a pair of shorts. Didn’t take you for the sort.” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

He tipped his head back and laughed, a deep rumble from his chest. “I saved your life, and your first concern is my wardrobe?” 

You fell silent. He took that as a sign to change the subject. 

“Come, I just finished dinner.” 

You stifled a gasp as Alastor turned on his heels. A tail, the Radio Demon had a tail. The black tuft of hair sat at the crest of his hips, a red undercoat where a white tail deer’s white stripe should be. 

“You have a tail,” you whispered, desperately trying to hide the smile fighting to breakthrough. 

Be prepared for anything.... You snorted into your palm. Anything but that!

Alastor froze, his tail shooting up, ramrod straight. He tipped his head back, his eyes nonchalantly finding yours. “I am a dear demon, darling.” 

Yeah, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world! Is that why he always wore the jacket, to hide his tail? Did he not like others knowing or just assumed that they assumed? God, you didn’t know why he would be ashamed of it, it was adorable!

The demon scoffed before disappearing, you following after him, trying your best not to flat-out stare at the thing the entire time you walked. Alastor led you down a hallway and into a kitchen where a pot was steaming on the stove. Pulling a chair out for you, he sat you on the corner to himself. Silently, you waited for him to ladle a bowl of food.

Why did the silence feel so... weird? 

“Be careful, darling, it’s still hot.” He sat in the chair next to you and just stared.

Your eyes locked on his, you tried searching them, tried to figure out what was happening in this moment, but your mind felt so… distracted by the image of him in an unbuttoned shirt. 

“Eat.” He commanded.

And you obeyed. 

“God, this is amazing.”

He smirked. “I assure you, he had nothing to do with it.” His shoulders relaxed when you ate another spoonful, finally allowing himself to join in with his own bowl. Alastor’s tail wiggled as if it was... happy? You reread the demon’s face - neutral disinterest. Hmmm… Interesting. 

“What is this?” 

“Jambalaya.” 

“Ugh, I’m devastated I hadn’t discovered this sooner,” you smiled, taking another mouthful. Swallowing hurt, but in little amounts, it was manageable. 

As the excitement of the dinner waned, a deep sadness began to settle into your heart. “Is Angel okay?” You practically whispered the question. 

Alastor didn’t skip a beat, continuing to eat as he talked. “It took the spider a few days to get back on his feet, but he is doing well, thanks to you. Don’t fret, the Hotel has not been touched in your absence.”

You nodded, taking more small bites. “How long have I been out?” 

Alastor pulled a newspaper from the Void and handed it to you. The headline read “Shadow Presumed Dead. V Tower To Be Rebuilt.” The date was a week later than you remembered, seven days - damn. 

“I missed my headline.” Mimzy is going to be furious. 

“Darling, you are the headline,” Alastor chuckled, his soup spoon collecting the bottom remnants of his bowl. He got up, taking yours as well as his despite it not being totally empty yet. He filled both to the brim and rejoined you at the table, his tail wagging away. 

Page two had a huge photo of Velvette and Vox grieving and some article filled with bullshit designed to garner sympathy. The story, of course, pointed the blame on you as the aggressor - accurate. Yet no mention of Valentino and his cruel ways. Vox controlled the media, so it made sense. 

Folding the newspaper and tucking it away, you started on your second bowl. “So, how long have you known?” 

His tail froze, his half-lidded eyes finding your own. “That you’re the infamous masked Overlord or a Fallen Angel playing Human Sinner?” 

Your lips parted in surprise. 

“Darling, I had you picked the moment you stepped foot off the elevator at Carmine’s office.” 

You clenched your jaw to prevent it from falling open. “How?” 

He paused for a moment, not looking you in the face as he said, “Jasmine.” 

What had the egg bois said to you before you walked into the elevator? They said you smelled like Jasmine. 

“It’s…” you start but wait for the rest of the pieces to click into place. 

“… your favorite tea.” Alastor finished for you. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Rosie might have mentioned it in passing.” 

Of course, Rosie did. The Overlord hated it but only ever got it for you. 

Oh my God, everything makes so much sense now! He served wine during your midnight meeting, a cabernet - your favorite - as opposed to his usual rye. He gave you the radio not because he cared about your sleep but because he needed an ally at the top of their game. The way he felt threatened by you even as a Hotelian and not an Overlord - why he always had his shadow following you. It explains his heightened irritation with Vox and the attention the media demon gave you. It explains the unprompted kidnapping to the bayou! He was going to confront you about it! Alastor knew from the fucking beginning because, of course, he fucking did.

That's why he's been so interested in you.

“The second mystery was solved as you bled to death all over my bed sheets.” 

My bed sheets. My bed. His bed. Not a guest room bed but his room. His sheets. His pillows. His clothes.

Oh my God, you were in his clothes! 

You felt a blush creep up your neck. “You…” You dropped your spoon with a clunk into the bowl as the realization hit you. “Did you see me naked!?”

Alastor laughed, his tail wagging yet again, “No. No. As soon as I got you here, I had Rolf summon Rosie. She let me help with the less… intimate parts of your injury before kicking me out. She cleaned you up and dressed you after.” 

He didn't see your back. He didn't see your tattoo.

Oh, thank the stars for that woman. She was a gift from above. Heaven really fucked up on that one. Oh, Rosie. She was going to kill you the next time she saw you. 

Wait… 

“Rolf?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“You didn’t think my shadow had a name?” He smirked his iconic lopsided grin. 

You looked down at the darkness swirling about his feet, which snickered in response.

No, actually, you hadn’t really thought of it as something sentient enough to need one. 

You turned back to the bowl, forcing yourself to eat more. You were full, but damn, was this good. 

Having gone a week without food your stomach had shrunk - only enough room for three-quarters of a serving, but that didn’t stop Alastor from refilling your bowl again and again. 

“I’ll summon Rosie in the morning. Have her bring by some of your things. Satan knows she will scold me for not summoning her sooner, but it is late.” 

You checked the time on the stove. It was three in the morning. 

“Why are you still awake?” 

He looked away from you, “I don’t need sleep to function - correction, I need some, but the number is inconsequential compared to others.” 

So his bed was barely used? If at all? Why was it so grand then? Maybe he used it for other… activities. What had Angel said the other day? The Radio Demon has never been seen with anyone. Rumor has it that he was a virgin - well, that was coming from Vox. 

“I’m not a virgin,” Alastor’s words purred in your memory. Your mind drifted off to pondering the number of other people whom he had shared his bed with before you realized what you were doing. 

Wait, what were you doing? 

You were sitting half-dressed in Alastor’s clothes, sharing a home-cooked meal at his apartment.

ALONE. 

What… 

The Radio Demon brought his spoon to his mouth and licked it, sapping up the juices at the bottom of the bowl. His tongue was black and forked. 

Your face heated with the ideas swimming in your mind of what that tongue could… 

No! 

You jumped to your feet abruptly, knocking the chair back and causing the plates to jump on the table. 

A searing burn shot through your core causing you to bend over in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor bent to meet your eyeline, his arms grasping your shoulders. 

Butterflies and bubbles. Butterflies and bubbles. Butterflies and bubbles. You didn’t know what they meant anymore, and it terrified you. 

“I just…” You stepped out of his grip, not daring to meet his gaze. “I can’t…” You turned and exited the kitchen searching for the door. 

Alastor followed with hurried steps on your heels. You tried a few doors, but none of them were an exit. 

Was it getting hot in here? It was definitely getting harder to breathe, but you didn’t know if that was from the injury or something else. 

“Stop,” Alastor commanded, but you ignored him, turning down another hallway. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the slaps of your bare feet on hardwood. 

Another door, this one open, leading to a small library. 

Fuck, this place was a maze. 

“Stop!” Alastor’s tone turned dark. As did the hallway. Were you starting to black out or was that his doing? 

“I need to leave…” You breathed, now in a full panic. 

Another turn… There, an elevator! 

You sprinted for it, but Alastor wrapped his fingers around your wrist and spun you around. He gently backed you into the cement wall. Cupping your cheeks, he tilted your head, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“I said stop.” His tone was soft. “You’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down, or you’re going to pass out. Just breathe, Thestral. Breathe.”

You did as he said, squeezing your eyes shut. Focusing on your inhales and exhales, you willed the beating of your heart to slow. You stood there and just breathed, trying to match his own pattern of breath before you. 

“Look at me,” he commanded. 

And you obeyed. 

His irises were a deep crimson, his pupils blown wide in the low light. You felt some sort of veil lift between the two of you, his magic reaching out for your own. It caressed your form, willing your heart to slow, cooling the burn of your blood in your veins. Alastor was somehow calming you down using the connection you had formed between you.  

God, why was he being so nice to you? The last time the two of you were alone together, he was actively hunting you.

“Why did you save me?” You ask, but it comes out as a whisper. 

“We had a deal,” he answers too fast. 

You didn’t buy it. There had to be more to this - more to why Alastor needed you and your power. Technically, your death benefitted him in the long run, didn't it? Killing you eliminated you as a rival, as an Overlord vying for souls, as a Sinner scheming for Charlie's power - whether he actually knew that or not, but Alastor wasn't stupid. He's had an entire week to think about every move you've made, every word you've said. He's had time to piece things together, enough to know that you weren't at the Hotel to be redeemed.

“Why did you save me?” You ask again, a bite in your voice, tears of frustration forming at the corner of your eyes. 

He exhaled deeply, contemplating his words carefully, before finally leaning in and placing his forehead against yours.

“I had the pleasure of arriving just after you shattered the top floor of V Tower. The way you incinerated Valentino from within... By Satan, you were a vision…” 

You went still. 

“I was sure you were going to kill Velvette and Vox as well until Velvette pulled the Angelic blade and sunk it deep into your chest.” His breathing quickened, his voice deepening to a smokey edge. 

“And that’s when I decided that she was not worthy of owning your death.” Alastor’s grip on your cheeks hardened till he had to let go. He placed one arm against the wall, his forearm and elbow flush with the cool concrete, entrapping you in place. His other found your chin, forefinger and thumb gently caressing your skin. “No one was.” He closed his eyes, guiding his nose to yours. The bridge of it rested against your own. 

You couldn’t think anymore. All manner of logic left your brain the second Alastor's forehead found yours.

“If anyone was going to draw your last breath from these lips,” His thumb finds your bottom lip, and you gasp, drawing a growl deep from the demon’s chest. 

Your lips parted even though you begged them not to. Even though you told them you didn’t want this. Even though they disobeyed and you found yourself okay with it anyway. Even though you wanted more…

His claw traced the curve of your lip oh-so-gently, before wrapping under your chin once more and pulling you closer.

He whispered onto your lips, “It was going to be me…” 

DING-DONG! 

“Ow!” You head-butted the Overlord as a loud chime deafened your left ear. 

Tension broken, the demon rubbed his face as he leaned over and pushed a button on a com. “I told you two to go home!”

“Ay, listen here ya’ ol’ timey prick! We tried! Vaggie won’t let us until we have a fuckin’ update! You don’t have a fuckin’ phone for us to call, like a normal person. So, how the Hell do we know what’s goin’ on!?” 

Angel? 

“Give me that.” You heard what you thought was a shove before a different voice echoed through the machine. “Look Boss, Charlie’s been worried sick. She hasn’t been sleeping. She hasn’t been eating. She’s making the rest of us miserable. Angel took her out and got her drunk, and now she’s an emotional wreck. Just give us an update, and we’ll go home.” 

“Husk?” You gasped. 

“At least tell us she’s breathin’ ya’ strawberry pimp…”

You didn’t hear the rest of what Angel had to say as you slid out from where Alastor had cocooned you against the wall and headed for the elevator doors. You managed to hit the button before Alastor reappeared from a puddle of shadows, blocking the exit.

“What are you doing?” 

“You are not going down there.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at you with cold eyes. 

“What!?” You practically screamed, a burn ran up your throat with the effort. Fuck it hurt. 

Alastor didn’t elaborate further. 

You scoffed. “It’s Husk and Angel, Alastor. They’re friends! If Velvette wanted me dead I doubt she’d send them to finish me off!” 

“You are not going down there,” he repeated, cold malice slithered through his voice. 

You stood for a moment, searching his hard eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking. 

DING! 

The doors slid open. 

“Oh, yeah,” you drew yourself to your full height - well, almost full height. Your posture pulled on the stitches if you stretched too far. “Stop me, then.” Your gaze met his, hardening to steel. 

A challenge, Radio Demon. 

“You know what I am now, right? Go ahead Alastor, stop me.” Arms out to your sides, you waited for the demon to say something. But he was hard as stone. 

You considered summoning blue flame to make your point, to remind him of how easily you had eviscerated Valentino, but you didn’t have to. The demon yielded. Stepping into the elevator, he waited for you to join.

The ride down was far longer than you expected. Or maybe it was the silence that drove you crazy. No elevator music? Or maybe you had ticked the Radio Demon off to the point he shut it all off. Either way, you didn’t care because when those doors opened and Husk and Angel finally laid their eyes upon you, a wave of relief flooded through you so strong you collapsed into their arms. 

It hurt but you didn’t care.

“Holy, fuckin’ shit balls,” Angel breathed into your hair, making you giggle. His sclera were both white. No more black to be seen. His soul contract was over...

“Hey, kid,” Husk grabbed each of your hands, holding them in his paws. 

“Hey, Husky,” you smiled back. 

“You have a lotta fuckin’ explainin’ to do, Hair clip.” Angel crossed his arms, turning on his overprotective big brother mode. “And yous!” He took a step towards Alastor, finger pointed at his chest. “You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve keepin' her locked up this week! We was worried sick! Husk and I thought we watched her die on television, and the next thing we know, she’s locked up 'ere in your ivory tower! No calls! No updates! No nothin’! You…”

Wait, what did he say?

“Angel!” You stepped between the two of them, cutting off the spider demon’s protests. “Did you say television?” 

“Yeah! Vox was filming the whole thang! Well, minus you burnin' Valentino to a crisp. He wanted your death broadcasted so he could claim the stakes of finally unmaskin' the infamous Overlord. Until, he…” He juts his finger back at Alastor. “Shut down the whole grid! All of Pentagram City was plunged into fuckin' darkness” 

Your eyes find Alastor’s but again are met with a wall of cold steel. 

The blood. Did they see? 

No. His eyes seemed to say. 

You pulled the collared shirt closer around you, buttoning an extra level to hide the gold-soaked cotton bandages underneath.

Rosie had taught you how to magick your blood, to have it appear red as opposed to its usual gold. You’d bleed red unless met with an Angelic blade, unless met with a blow promising death, unless you were too weak for the magic to hold. 

Husk and Angel knew who you were but not what. Not yet. But Velvette and Vox? Velvette still has the blade, which means she saw the blood that stuck to it after she cut. Which meant the remainder of the Vees knew what you were - but not who. 

They knew how to kill you. 

Fuck. 

“We searched for you for hours!” Angel hung his head, his voice cracking. “And he had you the whole fuckin’ time.” 

“We thought you died,” Husk added, his eyes shooting daggers at Alastor. 

We thought you died. Died. You never thought about death. Angels never did because Angels can’t die. Even when Velvette pulled the blade, you didn’t think she would kill you. Maime you horribly, yes, but not kill you because Angels don’t die.

But couldn’t they? 

Your mind flashed back to the last extermination. The Overlords always disappeared in the hours before the Extermination. It was policy. Yes, souls came begging for protection - as they always did - but what protection could be offered? You couldn’t fight the Exorcists and even if you tried to hide the souls you owned, it just made for easier pickings when they eventually found you. Groups were targets. 

So the Overlords “left.” Technically, human Sinners couldn’t leave the Pride Ring, so you found other ways to disappear.

You and Rosie always went to Mimzy’s. The three of you sat in the basement and played cards. Mimzy didn’t know who you were; she thought of you more so as Rosie’s adopted daughter before she eventually brought you on as her club’s piano player. 

You were in the middle of a scandalous game of Belot when you felt a familiar tug behind your navel. Someone was using a card to summon you. And that someone was Carmilla. Orange and mint flooded your mouth - fear. Whatever was happening, it was bad. 

You excused yourself to the restroom and slid out the back door. 

Following the call, you found them at the edge of the Doomsday District. The Overlords kept their hiding places secret even from each other. You didn’t know where they were headed, and they didn’t know where you had come from. Your own hiding spot wasn’t in your territory, so why should theirs be? 

Carmilla and Odette were in the middle of the plaza, Clara in a heap of blood and broken bones between them. 

Exorcists flew in a flurry about your head. Sinners were screaming, 

It was a tornado of blood and death. A massacre of the defenseless. You hadn’t seen anything like it since… well, the time of the Old Testament. 

And a beheaded Exorcist lay ten feet from you...

Oh, Carmilla. What had you gotten yourself into? 

“Please, I didn’t know who else to call…” Carmilla grabbed you by the collar of your cloak and dragged you down to the cement. 

Odette sobbed, curling into her sister’s dying form. 

“I can’t…” You breathed. The feeling of her soul fading was like a whisper against your skin. She was fading fast. 

“Please!?” Carmilla begged. 

“I… I…” There wasn’t anything you could…

And then Carmilla screamed. 

She screamed your name. 

Not Thestral. 

Your name.

Your God-given name. 

She grabbed your arm and ran it against the silver in her leggings. Golden liquid bubbled from your skin and dripped onto the pavement before she thrust the wound into her daughter’s mouth. 

She knew. She knew you weren’t just any Angel. 

Not like a low-level Exorcist. Low-level Exorcists can't heal the dying. Low-level Exorcists can't summon Holy Fire.

You weren't a low-level Exorcist. You were special. 

The three of you held your breath as Clara’s wounds began to restitch themselves, as the blood finally stopped flowing. 

There was a gasp as Clara’s eyes fluttered open. Carmilla collapsed into a heap of sobs, holding her daughter close and whispering in Spanish into her ear. Odette pulled you in, thanking you before joining her mother. 

You were numb to the world until you got to your feet and locked eyes with a Sinner. 

At some point, your hood had fallen down.

He had seen your face. 

He had heard your name.

And so had about fifteen others now standing awestruck around you. 

Fifteen people who had to die. 

Fifteen innocent Sinners who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Fifteen people you turned to ash. 

“We didn’t tell the others what happened.” Angel’s voice brought you back to the room. “They think you were caught in the crossfire.”

“They don't know about Angel either,” Husk added. 

Fuck. 

Alastor must have seen the blood drain from your face because he took one step between you and the boys. “This meeting is over.” 

“What?” The boys gawked. 

He was right. The pain in your torso was throbbing, bringing a sting to your eyes. 

You reached out, hesitating before fingering the edge of his rolled sleeve. The demon turned to you in surprise, a look of… we’ll you didn’t know what sprawled across his face. You waited for the flinch, for the smack, for the scowl, but, to your surprise, he didn’t shove you off. “Twenty more minutes?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please?”

Something in his steel gaze softened. He wanted to say no. He wanted to drag you back upstairs and lock you away - but he didn’t. Instead, he locked the front door, pulled a chair from the Void for you to sit, and trudged back into the elevator. 

“Twenty, not a second more. Rolf will keep an eye on you.” 

The shadow detached itself from Alastor’s form and wrapped itself around your torso. For once, you found its coldness soothing. 

“Where are you going?” 

DING! The doors shut. 

“Okay,” Angel started, a pair of arms on your shoulders. “First question, who the Hell is Rolf?” 

____________________________________________

It was like a bomb going off. 

You hit the penthouse first, knowing the Overlords enjoyed a nightcap before turning in. Your weeks of spying had paid off and, luckily, Voxtek’s Angelic Security still wasn’t online. 

Valentino, Velvette, and Vox were spread out along their giant three-piece couch, looking absolutely dumbfounded when you crashed through the window in a blaze of blue flames. 

You went for the moth demon’s throat before he had a chance to react. Wrapping your claws around his neck, you jumped back into the night. You fell, summoning your wings to beat harder, garnering as much speed as possible. 

When you hit the pavement, Val first, an explosion ripped through the Entertainment District, taking out half a block of storefronts, cars, and anyone caught in the crossfire. 

You pulled a broken Valentino to his feet in a crater fifty feet deep. The pimp was barely breathing, his eyes unable to focus on anything. The demon was dead, and he knew it; unable to put up a fight, he just watched you and breathed. 

“This is for Angel,” your deep voice spewed.

And then the burning began. You made it slow and torturous, starting with his feet and the tips of his wings and moving upwards until it consumed him completely. He screamed - his last moments filled with the stench of orange and mint - with fear.

You had killed so many times before, but never had it felt this good. 

And then he was a pile of ash. 

“No!” Velvette screamed. The brat demon and Vox were huddled over the edge of the concave abyss, watching the ash of their fallen partner blow away in the wind. 

“You fucking arsehole,” she screamed. “You’re going to die for this!” 

She lept, her claws sharpened to talons. Behind her Vox transformed into his demon form. Nearly three stories tall, the demon was a mass of electrokinetic energy, his claws digging into the cement of the street as sparks of blue scattered across the street.

Now this was a fight!

Velvette didn’t have a chance to land, for you back slapped her so hard she went flying into the wall of the crater, cracking cement beneath her body. 

Vox was next, but you were faster. A surge of electrical wiring launched at you like a cobra striking its prey. You spun, easily dodging, and blasted through his screen like a missile. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but you were merely aiming to temporarily blind him while you dealt with the Bitch Queen herself. 

Velvette climbed out from the crater, calling you every swear word in the book and then some. 

She pulled a silver dagger from her jacket - a Carmilla Carmine blade. “I’m going to gut you like a fish!” 

And then she attacked. 

Eventually, Vox recovered, using any opening Velvette gave him to compliment her onslaught. And you were holding your own for a while, attempting to find various ways to stall Vox so you could get to Velvette, until...

You sent a wall of flame at the female Vee before turning to Vox and...

“Unknown.” A familiar female voice chimed. “Unknown. Unknown. Unknown.”

“What the fuck!?” Vox screamed, shaking his phone before slamming it against the ground. 

The Soul Scanner. He was trying to get a read on who you are, but the technology couldn’t register your soul.

The media demon paused before his eyes met yours, the gears behind his irises turning in his head. And then something like recognition flashed in his eyes. Before you had a chance to think, a cackle echoed behind you. 

Vox’s distraction left an opening, and as you spun, the female Vee ran that blade diagonally across your body. 

You collapsed, your back to them, golden liquid pouring onto the pavement.

Velvette cackled, “Fucking, finally! Now I’m…” Velvette screamed, her sentence cut off abruptly. 

You needed to get out of there. You needed to flee, but before you could summon your wings, a wave of darkness swam over you. 

In one blink, you were in the Entertainment District; the next, you were outside Pentagram City in the Nothing. The outskirts of the City dropped off to nothing but endless black dirt and red sky going on for what everyone assumed was forever. Natives called it the "Nothing" because that was what was here: nothing. 

A pair of red and white dress shoes appeared at the edge of your vision before everything went black. 

____________________________________________

“And then I woke up here,” you finish - you left out the part about bleeding golden Angelic blood, of course. 

The boys were silent until Angel leaned in and wiggled his eyebrows at you. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Seriously?” Husk shot him an exasperated look. 

“What I wanna see 'er wings! Can I see ya' wings? I mean where the Hell do you put ‘em, anyway? I don’t see you carryin’ a purse or nothin'." 

You giggled, the action burning through your chest. “Uhm,” God, your body hurts. “I can try, but I’ll rip the shirt.” 

“So? Smiles probably has like fifty more up in his castle.” Angel waved it off. 

You looked to Rolf for permission but the shadow was oddly still. “Okay.” 

You stood and summoned your wings, but the wave of pain that came because of it manifested as dizziness and nausea. Luckily, Husk caught you before you fell. 

“Get her upstairs, Rolf,” he passed you off to the shadow who somehow was able to hold you up despite being incorporeal. 

Your vision blurred with the movement as he loaded you into the elevator. 

“Ah, shit! I’m sorry I didn’t know!” Angel? 

DING! The doors closed, and you ascended. Shivers wracked through your body, drowning you in sweat. Suddenly, the lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, and the world began to blur.

DING! 

Alastor was there, his face full of worry, his usual smile replaced with straight-lipped concern. With elbows under your knees and hands behind your shoulders, he carried you back to his room, your dark wings scraping the floor as he walked. 

His face was so foreign in this moment, like seeing him without a smile somehow made him a completely different person. It almost felt like he was sharing a secret with you, one only you knew about and one only he let you hear. 

The demon pushed open his bedroom door with his foot, the lights of Pentagram City illuminating the air about him. Alastor was glowing, his form ethereal as golden hues danced about his ashen skin. He was almost angelic...

And that made the lack of his smile all the more disconcerting.

“Huh,” you slurred as he set you on the bed, the world beginning to blur. “I always wondered what you looked like without a smile.” 

Darkness took you. 

Al - "I will kill you!" You - *actively starts dying* Al- "No, wait!"

The Vox blowup is coming, Hoteliers, don't you worry ;)

-> Chapter Nine

Link to Masterlist: Masterlist

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added): @sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526 @eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @its-a-dam-blue-brick @sillywormtrixareforkids @cloverresin20

[garagesesh]

HOTD headcanons

I can hear the bells // p. 2 & p. 1

gif source

⤷ pairing(s): aemond targaryen x reader, s*r criston cole x reader, jacaerys velaryon x reader

⤷ warning(s): unplanned pregnancy, angst, criston cole

⤷ a/n: idk criston cole is fun to write and it helps that he’s pretty, this isn’t my favorite work and I’m sure I’ll rewrite someday but I wanted to get it out now before my vacay

masterlist

―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―

★ aemond targaryen

You are not a highborn lady or any type of Targaryen or Velaryon Princess, you met Aemond in the bowels of Flea Bottom at a tavern by chance, not knowing who he was. The two of you connected, talking until dawn about adventure and the history of Valyria

Aemond was charmed by your ignorance of his standing in society, reveling in the secret but simple life affair

It wasn’t two months later that you figured it out. A gold cloak addresses him by his title out in the streets in a tavern. You’re not thrilled by this revelation and in fact swear to never see him again but he’s persistent, determined to keep you

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to resume your relationship and suddenly-

You’re pregnant a year into your affair with the one-eyed prince, he was overjoyed with the news but you were scared he was going to abandon you like his elder brother had done time and time again

You call him mad and laugh, thinking it's some sort of cruel jest when he confesses his intent to marry you and make you royalty. He will not raise a bastard, he says as you kick him out of your small one room

It takes a month before you finally accept his proposal, it took sleepless nights and worried days before finally talking yourself into his idea as a good one

There are no flowers except the ones he brought you at dawn on your wedding day, it is a warm sunny morning when you both enter the sept of Baelor, a skeptical high septon, and his sworn guard

It is rushed but Aemond is determined and ready as he swears his vows and barely waits for you to finish your own before kissing you hard

You have never met a dragon before when Aemond takes you before Vhagar and tells you that you’ll be riding south for a fortnight, there is no fear that runs in your veins but excitement

You spend a sennight in Dorne, hidden away from the world, unbeknownst to the wrath awaiting you and Aemond in the Red Keep

Alicent is cold and unwilling to understand the situation. It is not easy or happy meeting for you.

★ criston cole

After the dance of dragons, criston cole is given a choice. To be stripped of his white cloak die within the cells of the Red Keep or to be stripped of his white cloak, return to Dorne and live a quiet life out of the realms politics. Cole chooses the latter, of course. It’s far more kindly than what he assumed would be his fate.

Dorne is not what he remembers it being, it’s dry and vast with little in it’s lands. Cole doesn’t consider this desert his home.

His father was not proud of him, but he needs to still secure the house lineage and secures a marriage pact

As the youngest daughter of house Dayne, you’re not thrilled at the prospect of marrying the fool (one of many nicknames they’ve aptly named Criston in Dorne). You have only heard of the most vile and selfish stories about your now betrothed.

When you first meet Criston Cole, you’re shocked. He’s attractive, his hair has grown out to his shoulders and there’s a scar running down his neck but the weeks leading up to your meeting you had envisioned all sorts of monstrosities, considering you and the realm had decided he was a cruel inept monster

He is quiet and replies with a soft voice, you’re puzzled how the ex-Lord Commander and Hand of the King for the traitor king is gentle. However it is hard to see past what he has done to tear the realm apart

When your wedding day comes around, he replaces your cloak with a rough cloth with colourless dots adorning the back. House Cole is not wealthy and the dowry wasn’t large.

He kisses you well not really. His rough hands squeezes your own gently and barely brushing his lips to your cheek

There is no feast, just a family meal that is supplied well with meat and wine in the gardens well into the evening

The bedding is just like his kiss, hardly anything to recount to your sisters or companions. It isn’t romantic and your sure he doesn’t even finish. You hope that this isn’t what it’ll always be

★ jace velaryon

Growing up alongside your future husband isn’t the norm, but you are glad for it. As many ladies are stuck with brutes and old men for husbands

Jace has matured into a handsome man that you can’t bare to look at without blushing. With every look he gives you, you can’t help but turn your head with cheeks red

But despite your embarrassment, you are both more than excited to finally be married

You opt for a traditional Valyrian wedding, the same as Rhaenyra and Daemon had done. There was no fancy ceremony with cloaks of golden threads, just Jace and you

Sleep did not come the night before, as the excitement and giddiness ran through you like shots of lightning. You couldn’t even feel the exhaustion in your muscles as you readied yourself in the robes and headpiece

Jace could not find sleep himself, as he was too excited as well at the prospect of finally calling you his

Jace’s eyes watered while waiting for you, he choked on his Valyrian as you laughed at his sweet mistake

The kiss wasn’t needy or greedy, but it wasn’t the cordial kiss of the Lords & Ladies of the Seven would display. It was tender and loving and gentle.

The feast was celebrated through the night and full of laughter. When it came to the bedding ceremony, you and Jace instead fell asleep quite quickly in your now shared bed

However the next evening…

[razorblade180]

Union

In the midst of going over blueprints for their future home, Jaune’s concentration gets interrupted by flowing petals. He cracks a smile before turning around to see Ruby completely obscured by her cloak.

Jaune:Have you come for my soul?

Ruby:Might as well. Already have your heart.

Jaune:Heh, then I kindly ask for you wait. Your payment will be paid in full down the aisle.

Ruby:How stingy. I’ve already given you both of mine; and a little extra~

Jaune:*red* How was work, you gremlin?

Ruby:Patrol duty was fine. Starting to think crooks know my schedule.

Jaune:Or you threw most in jail.

Ruby:Organized crime calls for chaotic heroism. Anywho, house plans going well?

Jaune:More or less. If all goes well then we’ll be living outside Vacou before our anniversary.

Ruby:Always thinking ahead. Meanwhile I’m struggling with awesome vows.

Jaune:You brought a world together. I’m sure you’ll think of something.

Ruby:Feelings are a little harder than a battle cry or call to arms. Speaking of feelings, I have a little something for you.

Jaune:*looks at cloak* Is that so~

Ruby:*blushes* It’s not what you think! Not this time. This gift is way better!

Jaune:I don’t know Rubes. Last gift that started like this was pretty amazing. *smiles*

Ruby:Just close your eyes and hold your hands out!

The knight chuckles as he does what he’s told. Immediately something weighted and cool to the touch lands in hands. Jaune opens his eyes and stars at a white scabbard. Somehow, this took him by surprise. It had his symbol in the middle and was surrounded by red thorns.

The grip of the hilt was this dark blue with a spiral of fierce red that went up and outlined the golden hand guard that was modeled in the shape of his symbol. He pulled out the gift from the scabbard to reveal cold, shining white steel that had its double edge and tip run red like hilt. If Jaune was being honest, he’s never seen a sword look more like a work of fantasy. Ruby stood right in front of him and put her left hand in the hilt, showing that his symbol had subtle thorn and rose engravings that matched her gold and red on her engagement ring.

The accomplished and proud Huntress then took a step back and started twiddling her thumbs while swaying, finding it hard to meet Jaune’s gaze; so she pulled her hood over her head. At this point it probably matched her face.

Ruby Rose:So uh yeah, that’s a Ruby Rose Original.

Jaune:You made this!?

Ruby:*nods* I’ll be honest. I spent so long shopping for wedding bands with Weiss helping. I’m still definitely getting one! But none of them really… felt like they were saying how I feel. There’s not a moment I want you feel like you’re fighting alone; even when we’re far apart. With this, I’m always by your side ready to help. The scabbard is a shield too but if I’m being honest I’m still a rookie when it comes to that kind of smithing. Consider this my own form of engagement to you.

Jaune:Ruby this is…I don’t even know what to say.

Ruby:*trembly* I uh..it’s fine if you treat this as a ceremonial blade too. After all…there’s history in Crocea Mors and I don’t want to step on that or make you feel like you have to stop wielding it because of m-

Two hands gentle hands pull back her hood and reveal teary, anxious eyes. Honestly, Ruby felt so ridiculous right now. All this effort into a heart felt token of affection and yet anxiety gripped her mind on how he’d take the jester. His thumbs run across her cheeks to catch a few stray tears.

Jaune:Hey, talk to me. What’s with the tears? This is an amazing.

Ruby:I just…Crocea Mors is its own vow. It has been for years and I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty or nervous but I do. Gods, it’s so dumb hehe. Pyrrha would totally give me an earful for being so-

Jaune:Thoughtful? *smiles*

Ruby:..Heh, yeah. Yeah she would.

Jaune:Well, I don’t know if your beautiful brain and smithing skills have noticed, but you’ve really gotten good at knowing my style.

He briefly lets go of her and grabs his sword along with the new gift. Jaune pulls out both and puts them against one another. Yeah the hilt is different but it’s wide enough to work. Without hesitation, Jaune took the scabbard of Crocea Mors and slid it on the new sword easily; right down to the satisfying click in place that took Ruby by surprise.

Jaune:If you really feel guilty, then I can do this! Not gonna lie, I’d feel like shit getting that scabbard dirty in the future. It’s my first Ruby Rose original! Also gives you time to hyper fixate on shield crafting. As for the blade, I know this bad boy will keep me safe and sou-

Once again, petals flowed. Each one danced around him while the rose itself pressed her lips against his with gratitude and overflowing joy that dispelled fears like magic.

Ruby:Jaune Arc, you truly are my fairytale ending. My happily ever after.

Jaune:Hehe, And you said your vows would be hard? C’mere.

He pulled his loving fiancée into a deeper kiss before matching her smile. She was right. This present was the best.

Jaune:Does this engagement sword have a name?

Ruby:The deepest part of my soul wants to call it Bloody Moon but that doesn’t inspire luck as wedding gift.

Jaune:I kinda like what you said a few moments ago.

Ruby:Oh, so Ever After?

Jaune: Tale’s End

Ruby:That’s so- damn I’m marrying the right person. That’s such I good name! When our house is done I think my first order of business is mounting the scabbard with Crocea Mors somewhere nice and proud. Gonna need your height though.

Jaune:Naturally. And who knows. Maybe it’ll protect the both of us in a new way someday?

xxxxxxx

Several years later

Jaune:Alright squirt, ready for your first real sword sparring!?

A foolish question for a young girl waiting to dives out the front door and slide across a sand dune into a wide battle stance, her grin in full bloom with Crocea Mor ready to aid her first step towards greatness.

Carmine:Born ready!

Ruby:Do your best! Show him who’s boss!

Carmine:Ha! With this by my side, I might as well be invincible.

[holylulusworld]

Little Red Riding hood lost in the woods

Summary: You knew it was a mistake to go into the woods at night.

Written for: This is my dark and mordern interpretation of Little Red Riding Hood for @boxofbonesfic​​ 𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒰𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝒜 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒…challenge. Congratulations on your milestone again.

Square G2 filled for @allcapsbingo​​: Claim fuck 

Ship: (Alpha) Werewolf!Bucky Barnes x Omega!(LittleRedRidingHood) Reader

Tags/Warnings: angst, chasing, fear, dark!fic, werewolf trope, a/b/o, scenting, marking, mating, huge cock, dub-con, non-con due to monster fucking (yes, you heard right; we will get the big bad wolf this time), smut, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, biting, blood, transformation, manipulation,  implied kidnapping, the reader is an adult and at age, this story is 18+ 

Words: 1,8+

A/N: Please consider I stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote something dark this time. Head the warnings and read at your own risk. Don’t like, don’t read.

Little Red Riding Hood. 

That’s what people call you. You found it cute when you were younger, adorable even. Now that you are a grown woman, a feisty and stubborn one, it’s not adorable anymore, it’s an offense.

You’re still wearing a red hooded cloak in honor of your grandmother. She passed away some years ago, and you just can’t forget about her, or the fairytales she told you.

About wolves lurking in the dark. Finding their mates by watching, searching, and sniffing around humans. She warned you not to go into the woods after dark. You could only visit her cabin nestled deep in the woods during the daytime.

All your life you listened to her warnings. Never enter the woods after dark. All your life, until tonight. 

Grief held your heart in such a tight grip that you had to visit her cabin. 

It’s not too far from your home, and you believe nothing will happen to you if you follow the path you know by heart. The one framed with wildflowers and the sigils your grandmother carved into the trees. For protection – she always said, while mumbling words you didn’t understand.

If only you listened to her. 

Now you are on the run, chased by a man-sized beast. You only got glimpses of the beast hunting you, but it was enough to know it would kill you if you let it get closer.

“Omega,” it snarls in your direction, knowing that you are hiding behind another tree. “Come to me.”

You gasp as the large wolf-like creature stops in front of the tree. It looks directly at you for a moment. The wolf throws its head back and howls loudly.

“Go away,” you whisper more to yourself than the creature. You place your hand on the tree trunk, praying that the sigils your grandmother carved deep into the tree will protect you from the beast.

The sigils are faded, but the beast won’t get close.

“Omega.”

The wolf snarls at you. It waits and waits as you remain behind the tree. You hold your breath as it steps toward the tree. 

It whines, and you swear its features are twisted in pain for a second before the wolf steps back again. 

“No.”

“You’re mine,” it says. Or at least you believe the wolf speaks to you as it moves back. The wolf sits down, waiting patiently for you to come closer. “Come here.”

You violently shake your head. “Go away, beast,” you reply. You’re still out of breath from all the running and try to find a way to escape the wolf without running again. If there is a way.

“You’re scared,” a deep guttural noise leaves the beast’s throat. You still have no idea how you can understand its words. “Good.”

Your eyes widen as the beast stares back at you. Up close it looks even taller than before, and you know you won't stand a chance.

“Come here,” it insists.

When you don’t move a muscle, the beast stomps its forepaws on the ground. The ground shakes violently. You scream in terror as the tree protecting you from the beast splits into two halves.

All you can do is jump out of the way to avoid being hit by the tree’s branches. You land on your back, crying out in pain as the beast purrs in your direction. “I will tame you, feisty omega.”

You’re shaking in fear. Whatever the beast is after, it’s not its next snack. That wolf wants something else, so you fear.

“Go away.”

You stare at the beast, watching it tilt its head. It listens to your ragged breathing and silent whimpers. Whatever the beast in front of you is, it knows you already lost this fight.

“Go away…just go away,” you chant. “Please let this be a nightmare.”

The wolf watches you for a heartbeat, and another before howling again. This time, the beast straightens its back. It keeps its eyes on you.

It rolls his shoulders back, whining low as you hear bones crack, and muscles tear. You can’t look away, you can't run as the wolf turns into a human-like beast. 

The beast stands on its hind feet and clenches its fists. Even though it looks more human now, it’s still a beast ready to devour you.

“No.”

You stand up and go for a sprint. Panic rises in your chest as you hear the beast follow you close behind. You look over your shoulder, screaming in terror as the wolf chases you again.

Its speed is inhuman. You can’t compare. While you aimlessly run through the woods, praying you’ll find one of the trees your grandmother marked, the beast is right behind you.

“Stop now," it calls for you. “I’ll be kind to you. I won’t hurt you.” 

You keep running, but the beast won’t have it. It stomps his left hind foot again, shaking the ground. You fall to your knees and crawl away.

“These woods belong to me and my kind. Our ancients walked these grounds ages before your kind was born. Soon you will be one of us, my omega and mate.”

“Leave me alone. Please just go away,” you sniffle as you scramble to your feet. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

"I smelled you from a mile away."

He stalks toward you, chuckling darkly. “I like the cloak, take it off and put it aside. We don’t want it to get dirty when you are on your hands and knees for me. Be good, and I won't hurt you.”

You’re frozen to the spot. It feels like your body obeys the beast’s orders. “Do it now, omega.” You unclasp your cloak with stiff fingers. “Good girl. Now put it aside and come here.”

It’s a struggle not to scream as the beast pounces on you. You end up underneath the enormous beast, trembling as it's nose buries into your neck. It inhales your scent, snarling and purring as its claw-like hands rip your clothes to shreds.

“You’re mine.”

You sniffle silently as the beast manipulates your body. It runs his furry hands all over your body, as you try to let your mind wander. One of its claws pushes your upper body down and holds you to the muddy ground.

You struggle to not lose your mind. The last thing you want is to feel the beast spread your legs or his face buried in your cunt. Its long tongue teases your folds, making you whimper at the odd sensation. This monster forces you into submission with every swirl of its tongue.

“No,” you whine and scream, hoping someone stops the beast. It’s no use. The wolf slips its long tongue into your cunt, slowly fucking you with the skilled muscle. “Oh god, no. This can’t be…no.”

Its hot breath fans over your exposed ass while his tongue slides in and out of you. You have never felt so helpless before. A beast pushes its tongue inside of you, and all you can do is drool and moan.

You writhe on its tongue, hips rolling on their own as you chase a high you didn’t ask for. The beast growls against you, greedily drinking your juices when you gush over its snout.

“Good omega,” the beast purrs as you feel like in limbo. A boneless body, getting lifted by the beast. You feel it shift behind you. With its enormous, dense body, it covers your trembling form. Its fur tickles your skin as the wolf wiggles its hips. “Have all of me now.”

Your eyes snap open the moment you feel something bigger prob at your entrance. You took a big cock before, even a knot. But the thing slowly pressing into you is far from normal. “No…too much…stop.”

“You can take it, omega,” it purrs in your ear. “Take me. All of me.”

The fight is over. You must surrender. 

The beast slowly inches its way inside your body. You cry as the wide stretch is painful. It's too much of the beast, and it still pushes further in. “Almost.”

Tears spill from your eyes as the beast snaps its hips into your ass. You are entirely at the beast’s mercy. It covers your body and presses you into the ground. Its huge cock is nestled inside your body, and all you can do is let it have whatever it wants from you.

“So good.”

The beast starts to move, and it feels like it tries to be careful. It doesn’t make sense. The wolf was chasing you, and now it forced its cock inside of your body. “Relax, ‘mega,” you hear his voice turn softer. “You are doing so well for me, Y/N.”

You gasp. How can the beast rutting into you know your name? 

“How…?” you choke out a moan as the beast angles his hips, now hitting that spot making you see stars. Your vision becomes blurry as the beast on top of you starts to slam into you in abandon.

“You’re mine.”

Your body surrenders first. Your walls tighten around his thick cock, and you feel slick run down your thighs. It’s over. The beast got what it wanted and will kill you after it’s done with you. You’re sure of it.

“Mine.”

A scream tears from your throat when the beast’s teeth sink into your neck. It breaks your mating gland, growling against you as you pass out.

The last thing you feel is the blood running down your neck and its cum filling your abused cunt. “Mine…”

You wake. It’s odd, but you wake. 

After what happened last night you didn’t expect to breathe another day. But here you are sleeping on a soft mattress.

“You’re awake, good.”

Your eyes widen in shock. You recognize the voice from last night, but it's not the wolf standing in front of you. It’s one of your regulars from your library.

He often comes to town to borrow books. His name is James or Bucky. 

“What?”

“You must be very confused,” he bares his pearl-white teeth while speaking to show off dominance. “You will adapt soon, doll. I had to mark you before anyone else got the chance. You were ripe for harvest and I’m alpha prime, the one who can choose his mate first.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you whisper as you touch your neck. There is a scar in form of human teeth, but nothing else. “What happened…it must’ve been a dream.”

“Not a dream.”

Bucky morphs his face. 

“No! No!” you scream as the beast looks back at you. “This can’t be…why?”

“Because you are mine and this is your new life. You never have to go back to town ever again. Soon my pups will grow in your belly. We are going to be a big happy family.”

Your blood runs cold as you press your hand to your belly. “No…no…”

“If we didn’t make it this time,” he grins wolfishly, “I love trying…”

I won’t do tags for this story because it’s a dark story. I don’t want anyone to read a story which isn’t their cup of tea.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight Part.10- Finale

Description: In which the Blackwood Knight and his lady get their happy ending.

Playlist:

Royalty~ Egzod, Maestro Chives, Neoni

Dynasty~MIIA

The Alchemy~Taylor Swift

End Game~Taylor Swift

Disclaimer/writer's note: Thank you for all your love and support for this story. Featuring a subtle Merlin reference and a not-so-subtle Peaky Blinder's reference. Considering doing a companion series following the couple now they're married if that would interest you guys :)

A blue mist swept through the Riverlands on the morning of Y/N’s wedding to her knight, turning the grass blades crisp, as a gentle breeze blew the red cornflowers of the Blackwood plains this way and that. Her own crimson gown, embroidered with the sigil of House Blackwood, closely resembled the colour of these flowers, as she passed the, now, arbitrary border demarcating Bracken lands from Blackwood territory. The flecks of gold on her jewel coloured gown were a small signal, however, that such a physical and marital crossing between Houses was not also a severance between the two, but rather a union of its own. The red and black Blackwood flags decorating the battlements of Raventree attested to this, with the addition of a splash of gold on the tree of the sigil, which Benjicot had requested be added, in homage to his golden queen.

That morning, Benjicot had met with his friends in his chamber, whilst frantic preparations for the wedding ceremony were continuing around them. Stalking intimidatingly in front of each one, his gloved hand pointing to each man individually, he warned them, “no fighting, no fighting, no fucking fighting.”

Robb pouted, “you’re telling me I can’t even look a certain way at a Bracken without you finding me at fault?”

Benjicot glared at him disapprovingly.

“Not today. I want this day to be the day of my lady’s dreams and if you do anything to jeopardise it, I will have no qualms about using my new authority as Lord Blackwood to have you punished for it.”

Robb scoffed, “Right, you’ll put me in the stocks for roughing one of her cousins up a bit.”

Benjicot stared at his friend with a serious expression, responding straightforwardly, “immediately and without hesitation.”

Unaware of the precautions her betrothed was making to ensure that her wedding day did not descend into all-out warfare between the Bracken guests and the Blackwoods, Y/N made her way to the ancient hall of Raventree, as two bannermen respectfully pulled the oak doors open, when she approached. Holding Aeron’s arm as he led her down the aisle of grand hall of Raventree, lit with lanterns all along the stone walls, she saw her knight at the end of it, his back held in tension as he waited for his love to approach. Seeing him before her, his crimson cloak matching her own gown, swept dashingly across his shoulder, her heart was full at the realisation that all of dreaming of knights and castles was finding its result in her own fairytale, in which she would be the heroine, and Benjicot her devoted knight.

Hearing the swell of music which heralded her entrance, he turned and struggled to keep composure of his expression as he took in her beauty and felt his long-held dream of her becoming his wife and Lady Blackwood becoming a reality. Smiling encouragingly at her, with a wink, he strode forward to meet her.

Removing her hand from Aeron’s arm, she took Benjicot’s proffered arm, as they ascended the stone steps before them and knelt, Benjicot helping Y/N to arrange her long train so she did not trip on it. Taking her hand in his, he leant close to her ear to whisper, “you are a vision, my love” before kissing her bejewelled hand, adorned by the Blackwood ring, as they said prepared to begin their new life together.

Three Months Later

“A small skirmish has occurred on the border between the Blackwood plains and the Red Ford, my Lord.” A wizened bannerman, hardened by years of battle in the Riverlands, informed Lord Blackwood.

Holding his index finger and thumb to pinch the bridge of his nose, Benjicot released an exasperated sigh.

“Who began it?”

“A lower Bracken bannerman.”

Lady Blackwood looked up from the book she was reading at this, ensconced on a window seat in the corner of the room, as she often was during her husband’s council meetings. Whilst she enjoyed being in his presence, she preferred to listen, rather than contribute to these discussions, despite his frequent encouragement to do so, if she wished, and his reminders that he valued her opinion above all others.

“And no one was seriously harmed on either side?”

“A small spat, my Lord, no major injuries incurred on either side. Nevertheless, the Brackens have grown bold following your relaxation of the borders. We must repay such insolence with a firm hand.”

At this, the Lady Blackwood began to speak.

“I’m not sure…”

“Pardon me, my Lady, but this is not a matter for ladies to discuss.”

Turning his head sharply to meet the gaze of his bannerman with a cold expression, Benjicot spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ll have you remember, that you are addressing Lady Blackwood who I, myself, have asked to attend this council, so that we might benefit from her invaluable insight on how to proceed in these matters. I do believe you were ‘insolent’ enough to interrupt her speech and I will thank you to remember your position and manners towards the Lady.”

Lowering his head in reluctant deference to his liege Lord, the bannerman did not verbally respond.

This did not satisfy Benjicot, however.

“Apologise to Lady Blackwood, Ser, or remove yourself from the room.”

Turning to Benjicot in shock, which he quickly attempted to school from his features, the bannerman turned to Y/N, bending his head before uttering his apologies for interrupting her.

Directing one more cold stare at his bannerman, Benjicot turned to smile at his lady, holding his hand palm out to request that she approach him.

“Now, my Lady, please continue with what you were going to say before you were so rudely interrupted.”

Placing her hand in his upturned hand, as she stood beside his chair, Y/N continued.

“I meant to say that I’m not sure violent retribution for a minor border spat between lower bannerman, not following either of their Lords’ orders to behave peaceably will be conducive to maintaining peace on the border. Nor does such a minor infraction call for such a response.”

Smiling approvingly at his lady and squeezing her hand affectionately before continuing, Benjicot turned to the address the rest of his council.

“Lady Blackwood has spoken the only sensible words I have heard throughout this whole session. I will meet with Ser Aeron Bracken and we will discuss the imposition of sanctions for lower bannermen who have the audacity to transgress our orders, before we proceed further. I see no reason to harm the strong alliance we have forged between our Houses over such a small matter.”

Dismissing his council, each man filed out, as Benjicot continued to retain his lady’s hand in his.

When the room was clear, excepting himself and his lady, he turned towards his lady, opening his arms out towards her.

As she sunk onto his lap, encircling his neck in her arms, she was surprised to see the smile which illuminated his features, and a glint in his eye which usually heralded mischief.

“And why are you so smug, Ser?”

Benjicot winked at her, his smile only growing.

“Only because my lady has finally asserted her right to speak her opinion on my Council, and I am proud of her. And I would be lying to say that I did not also enjoy putting Lord Tywin in his place. I will, of course, have to remove him from my Council, in any case. He has only given me further reason to do so, following his treatment of you at today’s session.”

Bringing his hand up to gently cup her face, he kissed her cheek.

“I do hope you will grace us with your opinion at future sessions.”

Patting his chest affectionately, Y/N responded in a teasing manner.

“I might be so inclined to favour you with my invaluable ‘insight’ at future sessions, should the mood so take me.”

Smiling at her adoringly, he was inwardly buoyed at how much her confidence had grown over the last few months, and he pressed his lips to hers, as she tightened her hold around his neck.

Breaking the kiss, he pressed an affectionate kiss on her nose, as they talked over the events of the day, and laughed at the antics of his council men.

As he gazed lovingly at his lady Wife, the Blackwood Knight felt a degree of contentment he had never yet felt, to have found the Queen of his heart.

@lovebabe18-blog @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @drwho-ess @dancingbaek @aemondslove @cheendrella @rebeccawinters

[cherryheairt]

Hi :)

I’ve had this headcanon for a while where thranduil, upon falling in love again, makes it quite obvious he feels strongly about reader but won’t push physical limits of affection quite yet. Due to him having been married before he wants to be sure the Gods approve of him falling in love/marrying again as to not cause ill intend to fall upon reader because of him not being in control of his carnal desires. Reader is oblivious to this and pushes/teases him relentlessly.

Might end in smut upon him knowing reader is safe and he may pursue them fully or just him saying fuck it I see no god but me down here lol

Or just might end in him teasing back big time n leaving reader high and dry (but maybe with an explanation lol we love some open communication ✨)

Thank you! And feel free to mix it up and or change ending I’d just love to see a take on this 🙂‍↕️

hello! I'm so sorry that its been forever since you submitted this. thranduil is a character that we only ever got to see in super serious king mode, and had little screentime at that so I wanted to think through his personality a lot. might be ooc

I personally don't know how to write smut, so I didn't include it. I hope that's okay.

The character will be named Myria (meer-rhea), but have no skin color, body shape, hair color, etc description. She is eleven though, if that matters.

👑

The Gods had long since forsaken Thranduil. After he lost his wife, Legolas' mother, the world seemed to darken along with his own attitude. He changed, and everyone in Middle Earth knew it. Legolas never grew up to know the kind and magnanimous person his father was before his late wife's death.

To him, and the world, Thranduil was a stoic and unforgiving King.

To all, perhaps, except Myria. Myria had been born not too long after Thranduil—in Rivendell. Though the two never met until well into adulthood, Myria liked to say that they hit it off well. Thranduil would never admit the same out loud.

Myria moved from Rivendell to Mirkwood for her studies, thanks to her friend Elrond's advisory, and had since lived there for thousands of years. Youthful as ever, Myria made it her unofficial duty to occupy the King of Murkwood's free time.

She had even befriended his only son, Legolas, despite their age gap. The young elf was approaching 3000 years old soon, and he swore that he was more mature than the she-elf that graced their halls.

Myria didn't mind the head shakes or comments from royal advisors, telling her to mind herself around their King. Thranduil had long grown used to it, anyway.

Myria made her way to his royal chambers, uncaring about her unpropriety with visiting without being called upon. This was their daily routine. Thranduil had his meetings before breakfast, then went back to his chambers to dine alone. Or, he would, if Myria wasn't always waiting right there at his table for him.

"What is for breakfast today, My King?" Myria asked jovially, perched upon one of his carved wooden chairs. Originally, there had only been one for himself, but he ordered a matching one to me made after the woman's incessant visits. Before there was a seat, she simply stood at the table. The thought bothered him, a tinging in the back of his mind telling him that she must be on the same level as him, at all times.

Thranduil's long flowing sleeves and cloaks followed behind him as he entered the room. "You ask this every day, Myr. And what is my answer every day?" He asks, though there is no bite to his words.

"That you 'do not know'. Quite amusing, the all-knowing King not knowing something so simple." She mused, scrunching her nose up at his tall frame.

He fought an amused eye roll, sitting in front of her. He poured himself a chalice of sweet red wine, sipping on it as he replied. "Simple, or trivial? I do not concern myself with such affairs, the food is brought to me and I eat it."

"Careful, Thranduil. That may one day get you poisoned." She mirrored his movements, having waited for him to start drinking.

"By whom? Yourself?" He chuckled darkly, amused at the prospect of such a thing. Mirkwood elves' loyalties ran deep, the chances of him dying suddenly from a cold where higher than dying of poison. "You are the only outsider residing here."

Myria 'hmphed' vehemently, lifting her nose at the accusation. "I hardly can be called an outsider these days. How long have I lived here? Four...five thousand years?"

"Five thousand, two hundred and thirty." He answered for her.

Shocked, she stared at him, mouth agape. "You know the exact year?"

"How could I not? That is the year when my life started to get ten times harder."

She snorted, shaking her head. "I disagree. I think it only got better."

Two servants entered the chambers, one plate in hand each. Platters were lifted to reveal the neatly presented food, a light breakfast of fruit and toasted bread.

Myria and Thranduil dug into it, a pleasent chatter filling the room. "What are your plans for today?" She asked him.

"Same as usual, final preparations for the Feast of Starlight. Though, there is a task I wanted to assign you–" Thranduil was interrupted by a guard rushing into the room. He lifted an unimpressed brow, staring the guard down for his brash action.

"Your majesty, a party of rogue Dwarves have been apprehended in the Mirkwood forest!" To this, Thranduil immediately stood and strided past the guard out of the chambers. Myria, struck by the news, eagerly followed in suite.

"You are not supposed to sit in on prisoners being interrogated, Myria." Thranduil told her sternly, knowing the sound of her light steps trailed behind his own heavy ones.

"When has that stopped me before?" She laughed. It had been a nearly a hundred years since she'd seen a dwarf, and much longer than that since one had been in the depths of the Elvenking's Halls. She was excited to see what brave adventurers had come, and survived the dark forest's curse.

Thranduil seated himself at the head of his lifted throne, elegant giant antlers rooting themselves out from behind the throne like a crown. The one perched on his head mirrored that, thick branches striking in contrast to his pure white hair. Myria took a moment to admire him from her spot at the base of the stairs. The guard next to her didn't even blink at her intrusion, knowing the relationship between the ward and the King was a complex one that even the elders didn't bother to deduce.

Myria stayed silent during the precedings, not moving an inch except to lean her head forward and inspect the Dwarves. The party was quite large, a whole gaggle of Dwarves were bravely setting off to reclaim Erebor's keep and defeat the dragon nested under it. The leader, Thorin, was quite handsome for a Dwarf, not that Myria would say so aloud. For all her teasings, that would surely be the tip of the iceburg for Thranduil's patience.

As the majority of the Dwarves were escorted to the dungeons, only Thorin was left in Thranduil's audience. She listened as Thranduil made his offer, then got rejected harshly by the Dwarven King. Screamed at, being told off by a life form deemed lesser than an Elf, Thranduil had enough. He sent the man away with a flick of his wrist.

As he slowly desended the steps after the dwarf 'king' was escorted away, Thranduil placed a hand on Myrias shoulder.

The cold rings on his hand raised goosebumps on the back of her neck and arms, shivering at the feeling. She cursed herself for wearing an off-shoulder dress, dressing herself for the nice weather that morning. If he noticed, Thranduil didn't say anything. But the tiny lift to the corners of his mouth said plenty. "Do not fraternize with the filth that dirties our halls."

Our halls. The brief words pleasently rung in the back of Myria's mind. She nodded. He knew her well, guessing that she would try to sneak into the dungeons during the feast to try to speak with the curious Dwarves.

He moved his hand down, resting it gently on the small of her back. "Let us go, the feast will not oversee itself."

👑

Myria and Thranduil lounged in his chambers, simply biding time until the Feast of Starlight had begun. Admist muted chuckles and jests, mostly from Myria, Tauriel entered the room. "You called for me, My King?" She bowed shortly. "I have come to report to you." Tauriel glanced briefly towards Myria, nodding when she lifted a goblet towards her silvan friend.

"I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed." Thranduil said, voice taut with frustration. The spiders had been plaguing their forest for years now, unrelenting.

"We cleared the forest as ordered, my Lord." The woman insisted. "But more spiders keep coming from nests in the South. If we could kill them at their source–"

"That fortress lies beyond our borders. Your orders are to keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task."

"And when we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?" Ever the bleeding heart, Tauriel worried for other people.

"Other lands are not my concern." Thranduil said coldly. "The fortunes of this land will rise and fall. But here in this kingdom, we will endure." As had been the way for thousands of years. Thranduil insisted that Mirkwood keep to themselves, not needing or offering help from any others.

Tauriel nodded stiffly, excusing herself from the King's presence. Before she left, however, he spoke again. "Legolas said you fought well today. He has grown...fond of you."

She paused, thinking his words over carefully. "I assure you my Lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than captain of the guard.

"Perhaps he did once. Now, I'm not so sure." Thranduil pushed.

"I did not think that you would allow your son to pledge himself toward a lowly silvan elf." She responded, voice slightly hopeful.

Myria leaned forward, too, curious of his answer. Would he allow his heir to love an elf with no royale blood?

"You are right, I would not." Thranduil chuckled humorlessly at the thought of it. Myria bit her tongue, hurt by the comment indirectly. She was no common-born Elf, sure, but had no royal blood to speak of either. She deflated in her seat, drinking down the rest of her wine. "Do not give him hope where there is none."

Is that what Thranduil had been doing for Myria, merely giving her hope? Slivers of special attention, with no intentions of truly loving her. She stood from her seat, leaving the chambers without a word.

Tauriel, too, left quickly after that.

Thranduil stood alone in his chambers, looking at the spot where Myria had once been.

👑

The feast came and passed quickly, Myria in no mood to sing or dance like she usual did at such events. She attended for the sake of politeness, leaving when she had greeted enough people for the night.

She spend the rest of it wallowing in her chambers.

Word got out that the entire party of Dwarves escaped, and Myria silently applauded them for their boldness. She hoped, for their sake, that they were successful in freeing their home.

Days passed, and news of Smaug's death had spread to every corner of Middle Earth. Thranduil was quick to organize his army to march toward Erebor, wasting no time to retrieve his precious gems. Myria had come along on her own white elk mount, following behind Thranduil silently, if only to satiate her curiosity. Last time they had come, Thranduil had rejected the Dwarves' desperate plea for help. This time, he came to declare war if they refused to return his gems.

The damned gems. Always on his mind. True, they were a physical reminder of his late wife and Queen. But it seemed as though he dwelled on them more than he cherished her memory. He did not speak of her, ever. Even to his own son, his wife was but a ghost haunting the halls.

Myria couldn't begin to understand the loss of a spouse, but she did understand that he was too caught up in himself.

Even though she had little intention of fighting the Dwarves, Myria still brought a dagger and bow on the march. Could never be too careful, Thranduil always reminded her. She guided her elk to stand behind his, watching him greet the human leader stiffly. It was almost laughable how mad his manners were, his kingly presence deemed to good for polite small talk.

Myria had been given a temporary quarter near Thranduil's, their tents close as they usually were. He had been too busy to notice her absence lately, both to her joy and displeasure. She missed his daily warmth around her, but knew it was best to distance himself from him. Just this last journey, then she sould go back to Rivendell to live out the rest of her long and lonesome life.

Thranduil plotted with the human leader, Bard, and a wizard by the name of Gandalf. Myria wandered the decrepit town while they did, having no place in war council, nor did she wish to.

By the time she had returned, night had fallen and all the humans of the town were asleep. Myria ducked into her tent, desperate for some solid rest before a potential battle on the morrow. She was surprised to see Thranduil sitting awkwardyl on her cot.

"Thranduil? What are you doing here, you should be resting." Myria insisted, brow furrowed.He stood at her entrance, possibly being left waiting for quite a while.

"I wished to see you before we go to Erebor's gates in the morning. I suspect that the Dwarf will have something up his tiny sleeve. I know you are a capable fighter, but I want you to stay in town tomorrow just in case."

She protested sharply, "I am just as much a fighter as any elf in your army. I will not sit around and wait for you to return–"

"Please, Myria." He rested both of his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with his deep blue eyes "I could not focus if I knew you were behind me somewhere. If I know you are safe, I can retrieve the jewels easier." Always about the jewels. He should have married them, she thought bitterly.

"Is that an order?"

"It is a request. From a friend." Thranduil said softly.

Myria bit her cheek, crossing her arms. "Fine. I will stay here on the morrow. But, if any fighting breaks out, I will join."

He seemed content with her answer, knowing its as far as he'll get with her stubbornness. "Very well, I'll see you when this is over." He planted a tender kiss to the top of her head before he left to his own tent.

👑

Myria could only watch from afar as negotiations with the Dwarves had clearly gone to shit. More dwarves had shown up, an entire army to match the Elves' golden one. Myria rushed back to grab her bow, bursting out of her tent to the sound of screams in the town. Surely the Dwarves wouldn't target the women and children who had stayed behind?

She was right. It was orcs who had invaded the town, cutting off exits as they slashed through defenseless crowds of people. Myria rushed to help whoever she could, shooting down orcs' fat heads whenever they got too close to a fleeing human. With her dagger, she slashed through whoever she could reach to retrieve each of her arrows.

This arduous process repeated for some time, Myria panting with effort as she continued. The sounds of screams toned done as golden-armored soldiers flooded into the cobble streets and started to push back at the beastly creatins. Myria breathed a sigh of relief, engaging another orc. It was larger than most, with armor protecting its head and chest. She slashed at his with a sword she had taken from dead enemy, yelping when he stabbed into her abdomen with his own weapon. She gasped, trying to keep her composure as he approached above her menacingly. As he lifted his sword above his head again, ready to strike down the Elf, his head was detached from his body in a spray of hot blood.

Myria flinched at the feeling on her skin, feeling disgusted more than she already was with the sweat and dirt covering her. Thranduil came from behind the orc, who was now dead on the floor. He crouched down in front of her, a frantic look in his eye that betrayed his regal appearance. "Myria, look at me!" He shouted, her blurry vision shakily focusing on him. He held her face in his hands, watching her try to keep them open. "It's okay, I'll get you help." Thranduil promised her, gingerly lifting her up princess style. He flinched when she protested in pain, clutching at her stomach to stop the blood from gushing out.

"It's okay, you'll be alright, sweet." He told her, repeating himself multiple times as if to convince himself, too.

He brought her outside of the town, where Elven medics had set up a discreet few tents disguised to the orc's vision by Elven magic. The King layed her gently on a stiff cot, petting her hair comfortingly as she screamed in pain at the medic disinfecting and stitching her wound up. He glared at the Elf assigned to help her, making the poor young fellow sweat in fear of messing uo in front of his King.

Eventually, the sounds outside died out. Thranduil regretted taking his forces to this pit of death. He had lost more Elves today than had ever been lost at one time since the Great War. Elves did not die easily. This was a massacre of great damage to their ranks, to their people. Thranduil mourned the deaths of his kin dearly.

Myria had calmed, pain dulling when given some numbing herbs. She focused her attention on Thranduil, "you came for me." She said, voice barely a whisper.

"Of course, I did. Why wouldn't I?" He asked, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"Your gems...they're still locked away in the keep, aren't they?" She asked.

"The gems are not my priority. They are merely objects, remembrances. You are alive, I need you."

Myria felt tears blurr her vision, clamping her throat shut. "But–I am not from any important bloodline. I am not a Princess, nor—"

"I do not care. You are Myria. The woman who has been by my side for five thousand years. The only lady worthy of being Queen by my side is you."

Thranduil took her into his arms as she cried. He shushed her gently, hands locked into her hair as she clung to him.

"I love you, Thranduil. I have for a long, long time."

"And I, you, my dearest Myr."

[neptuneiris]

for the crown (01/02)

what is more important in prince aemond targaryen life, the crown or you?

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you gave yourself to him, you love him, he said that despite your low status at court, he will still marry you, because you are his, the woman who was his friend since childhood, until the war comes.

next part • series masterlist

here with another story my beautiful people, where I have more warnings for you regarding this story hehe🤭 here aemond is mean and reader is very naive. this is not a story with happy moments and a happy ending, be warned.

this is something I came up with because I apparently love writing angst so much, so here it is, enjoy!

warnings: sex content, angst, denigration, abusive behavior, possessiveness.

It all started as a children.

Him being a lonely child and judged for not owning a dragon as all Targaryen are accustomed to from birth by having a dragon egg placed next to them in the cradle so that eventually the egg will hatch and a dragon will be born.

And you being a child learning from an early age to become a woman and attend to the duties for your future husband.

Your mother died of a serious illness, your two older sisters eventually married men from the Vale and in the end your father, despite his house coming from a low status, got a place on the King's Small Council in King's Landing.

Having no one to take care of you, and seeing this as an opportunity to find you a future husband with more benefits and definitely more convincing, he decided to bring you with him and introduce you to the sons of noble men.

You remember since you were ten and twelve that even men who could be your father or even your grandsire, asked for your hand. But your father always politely turned them down.

You were not ready yet, you were still attending your lessons with the Septa and your father asked Queen Alicent if she could give him the opportunity to have his youngest daughter join as a lady-in-waiting for her daughter, Princess Helaena.

The Queen fortunately accepts and you soon find yourself making friends with Princess Helaena.

Although Helaena didn't really show any interest in you, she was still grateful to have some company. But in the end, no strong bonding happened between the two of you because the princess preferred to whisper to herself and get lost on her own thoughts.

When you were ten and three years of age, one night on your way to your chamber after attending your lessons with your Septa, you turned down one of the hallways and bumped into someone else and saw that it was Prince Aemond.

You could tell, not everyone had the silver hair characteristic of the Targaryen nor did anyone else have that eye patch.

You instantly apologized, when in the middle of your apology, he lowered his gaze and avoided looking you in the eye at all times, you instantly realized that something was wrong as you noticed his eye was red, swollen and watery.

"Are you all right, my prince?"

You had asked him politely and willing to help, but he wouldn't let you.

"If you will excuse me," he says to you in a low, serious tone without much emotion to step around you and continue on his way, leaving you behind.

You watch him walk away, noticing his wrinkled clothes and also the cloak on his shoulders, as if he had wanted to go undercover a few moments before. You don't know what happens to you that night, but the prince catches your attention, curiosity invading you.

You have never exchanged words with him before, nor with Prince Aegon, the future husband of Princess Helaena, of whom your father has warned you to be very careful if you meet him.

But your father has told you nothing of Prince Aemond.

You know a little of his history, such as that he lost his eye at the age of ten and eleven and that he claimed the largest dragon in the world on the exact same day he lost his eye.

You also hear around the Court how the prince at his young age is becoming an excellent knight and an impressive swordman. That is all you know.

But you wonder at that moment what has happened to the prince to make him cry. That night you can't really know anything and you resume your way to your chamber.

It is not three days later that you decide to flee your responsibilities even for a day and you take refuge in the library of the Keep, quickly entering the place to avoid being caught by your father, his guards or even your Septa.

When your movements draw the attention of someone already in the library.

A seated figure also instantly catches your attention and you are surprised to see that it is Prince Aemond, who is clearly watching you intently for interrupting his reading.

His presence makes you nervous but you quickly remember your manners and how you should behave before royalty.

"Prince Aemond," you bow your head to him, "Forgive me for interrupting you, my prince."

The prince immediately recognizes you, that girl who saw him crying after that horrible night that he still can't stop thinking about.

"Are you running away from someone?" he asks you attentively and curiously.

You lower your gaze, beginning to twist your fingers on your hands, nervous.

"No, not truly, my prince," you observe him, "I just wanted to let my lessons pass for a day, nothing more."

The prince continues to watch you attentively and curiously for a few moments without saying anything, while you don't know what to do, whether to stay or leave for having interrupted him.

Although the library is public and not reserved only for the royal family, you still decide to leave since you don't want to disturb him.

"I won't interrupt you anymore and let you continue to enjoy your time, my prince," you give him a small smile despite still feeling nervous and turn to leave the way you came.

Aemond lets out a long breath and doesn't think long to call out to you and stop you.

"Wait," he says and you stop before touching the doorknob.

Again nerves overtake you but curious, you slowly turn to him and show yourself at his disposal, where the prince now shows a more relaxed posture but continues to be attentive on you.

"Enjoy the reading, my lady?"

His question takes you by surprise, since women are not supposed to waste time on things that are not related to learning how to be a good wife in the future and how to please their husbands.

And along with that come everything that is expected of them after marriage, as loyalty, devotion and the heirs they are supposed to give birth to.

And yet with all this, in your four walls, where no one sees you and where no one can tell you what to do and what not, you secretly enjoy reading. But before you can answer the prince, he points to the book in your hands.

"You know the history of my family?"

"Not much, to be honest with you, my prince," you confess.

"And what do you read?" he asks you attentively.

"I enjoy reading a lot of everything, my prince. But lately I have been reading the stories of the First Men."

The prince continues to watch you intently, thinking about your words, then lets out a "hmm" and makes himself more comfortable in his chair, reopening the page of his book in his hands to resume his reading.

"Come. You can hide from your responsibilities here."

And from that moment, your friendship with Prince Aemond began.

Both he and you could not always avoid your responsibilities, but on the days that you did or in the small moments of the day, you both found each other and spent time together, whether it was in the library or in the gardens taking a walk.

Just as Prince Aemond expected, you learned more about the histories of his house and he learned a little more of yours, though there truly isn't much to learn coming from a small house that the truth is almost irrelevant.

You never left Helaena's side, but you began to accept that you enjoyed spending more time with Prince Aemond as you shared a taste for literature, so you distributed your time well to spend time with both of them.

As the years passed, the prince began to demand that you privately call him Aemond, as you began to be present at his training, watching as he gradually became a truly feared knight with impressive brutal skills.

Trust began to grow, so you dared to ask him to tell you about how he claimed the largest dragon in the whole world and he did, feeling proud of his story even though he lost his eye that very night.

The trust was there but he still wouldn't open up to you about how he lost his eye and you didn't bring up the subject either.

You were curious about it but you didn't want to make him upset by asking him something so personal, thinking that Aemond himself would talk to you about it when he felt ready and confident.

The friendship between the two of you did not go unnoticed by your father and Queen Alicent, nor by Otto Hightower, who were disinterested in the matter, knowing very well that Aemond could never marry you, a lady of such low status.

Prince Aemond is only a few moons older than you, so by the time he is ten and seven years of age, he begins to feel the pressure of his mother and grandsire to take a wife and fulfill his duty as prince of the Realm.

And that duty is to form alliances so that when the time comes and his father dies, they can put Aegon on the Throne since that is the right thing to do instead of his half-sister succeeding the Throne, after her succeeding his bastard nephews.

But for Aemond it is a constant war he has in mind. He doesn't want his half-sister, a woman, to succeed the Throne so that his bastards do as well, but he also knows that Aegon is not fit for the Throne.

But he is.

And he resents more the fact that his grandsire sees more for Aegon than he does for him, he who is more fit than Aegon to rule but no one sees that, not even his mother, supporting her first son more and seeing her second as support of the first to further secure his Throne.

And he hates that, hates it very much.

But when his grandsire starts putting on the table the ladys he could marry, all Lannister, Tyrell and Baratheon, Aemond hates it even more.

"I do not wish to marry yet," he tells him serious and disinterested.

"It is not a matter of whether you wish it or not, Aemond. You must do it because this is your duty to secure Aegon's throne," his grandsire reproaches him.

"And Aegon is fit to rule?" he inquires expectantly.

Otto lets out a long sigh.

"He is the king's first born son and that is all that matters," tells him annoyed, "Or is it that you wish Rhaenyra to sit on the Throne instead of him? So that later her bastard son sits next and Gods knows if the boy who took your eye sits as well?"

Aemond didn't know it at the time, but his grandsire's words were beginning to make him think eventually, and began to let himself be carried away by it.

But not only that, Aemond began to have a strong temper and to feel a pressure that made people fear him even more. You never feared him when you heard the rumors about his missing eye, let alone as the two of you began to grow up together.

But unfortunately, Aemond began to take his bad temper out on you.

You were walking through the hallways of the Keep, when a drunken Prince Aegon intercepted you and touched you to take you by force in a dark and lonely hallway. Fortunately you immediately reacted and hit him in the crook of his leg with your knee, quickly running away from him, crying.

You didn't want to cause a scene with the Queen nor was it a good idea to tell your father, who would probably go mad with the thought that his daughter could have been ruined when her maidenhead is the most indispensable thing to be able to marry you off.

So you seek comfort and help from your most trusted person in your entire life, Aemond.

As you enter his chamber, you know it's a bad idea since you can't be here, but your sobs and your body trembling with fear make you take courage and seek reassurance from your dearest friend.

But sadly Aemond didn't feel the same way.

When you explain to him what happened, Aemond watches you almost disinterested, still listening to you attentively.

"H-he touched me but h-he didn't manage to do anything," you tell him through your tears.

Aemond says nothing, rather he continues to watch you attentive and serious. And when he finally speaks, it was not what you expected him to say.

"Hmm."

That's all he says.

You watch him painfully, not understanding his behavior when your state is proof enough that you're not lying, but Aemond thinks further, not truly realizing it, having the meetings he's forced to attend with his grandsire more on his mind than what just happened to you.

"So what did you do or say to my brother to make him take such a liberty with you?"

You look at him confused, trembling and with tears falling down your cheeks.

"E-excuse me?"

"You provoked him, didn't you?"

"N-no, Aemond," you look at him hurt, "I-I would never—

"I would not be surprised."

He interrupts you serious and this makes you look at him confused and in despair.

"Coming from such a low house with your father extremely desperate to marry you off, an event like this would make my mother reward your father with a convenient husband," he tells you watching you badly, "But if you want so much to be taken as a common whore, try the Street of Silk. But don't involve my brother to affect my family and our image Y/N."

His words are like a dagger to your heart, while you look at him completely hurt and bewildered by his words, that being your sign that you are alone in this and Aemond does not support you as he considers them to be vile rumors against his brother.

Humiliated and crying now because of the insensitivity of the one who supposedly is your dearest friend, you run out of his chamber, not even having the strength to look him in the eye because of his cruel words.

At this Aemond does not even flinch when you run out of his chamber and continues with his duties, unbothered.

It is not two days later that Aemond comes to his senses that he himself looks for you after you spend most of your time avoiding him as much as possible.

His words has deeply hurt you and are constantly repeating in your mind, feeling a sharp pain in your chest. And when he finally finds you, he apologizes for his behavior.

You thought you couldn't forgive him for what he said and how he made you feel, but inevitably you melt at his touch as he leaves a soft kiss on the back of your hand and hugs you to comfort you as he should have done at the beginning.

Aemond then goes to look for his brother, where he finds him in his bed with a Silk Street whore and all of him and his chamber stinking of wine.

Abruptly he pulls the sheets off him and he along with the woman wake up startled, but before Aegon can react, Aemond grabs him tightly by the collar and pulls him dangerously close to him watching him with the most menacing and deadly gaze.

"Try to touch Y/N again and I swear I'll cut off both of your hands myself, you fucking cunt."

Aegon does not understand anything, beginning to feel discomfort, but before he can say anything, Aemond releases him abruptly against the bed, to finally leave the chamber.

The weeks pass quickly and you turn seven and ten years of age, not being something that truly catches the attention of all the people in the Court, but for your father and Princess Helaena, yes.

The princess presents you with a pair of beautiful gold earrings and eventually Aemond also has something for you but he wait until the two of you are alone.

He enters your chamber and presents you with a beautiful silver necklace with a drop-shaped gem of an ocean blue sapphire, also a beautiful dress of the same color, letting you know that this is his favorite color.

That night, almost at the end of the night of your name day, Aemond is the one who claims your first kiss and also claims your maidenhead.

That same night you realized that you have always loved him, basically since you were children, since you started spending time together, getting to know each other and sharing the same tastes.

Besides, how could Aemond not be to your liking?

Prince or not, he is absolutely handsome, paying no attention to rumors, if he doesn't have an eye or that he is extremely brutal in combat, it doesn't matter to you, you don't care about anything but you and him and that's why you give yourself completely to him.

A forbidden action and that you should not have done, since your maidenhead is important to be able to get married, but you think that if you marry a man you do not love, why not give yourself to someone you truly do love?

You didn't care that this would bring serious consequences for you, that if your father found out, everything would probably fall apart.

You didn't care at least that night when you were in Aemond's arms and felt his caresses all over your body. He made you feel completely desired and made you experience in the act of lovemaking things you couldn't even imagine, wanting more from him in the moment.

"You're mine, aren't you?"

He murmurs huskily against your lips, as he enters you again with a firm, hard movement that makes you see stars and makes you cling completely to him, moaning.

"Yes, Aemond," you sigh, "I am yours. Completely yours."

"You will never leave my side, not when I have already claimed you, do you understand?"

"Yes."

You sigh again, dropping your head back, moaning.

"Say it," he demands, starting again with his back and forth, more steady and harder, "Say you understand."

"I understand," you say as best you can as you are being completely carried away by the pleasure.

Aemond smirks and begins to thrust in and out of you faster and harder, as you moan and try to be no too loud, as he brings his lips to your neck and begins to mark your skin, area by area.

Then he bites and sucks on your breasts, while you place your arms around his shoulders and pull him further into you, avoiding screaming loudly from all the pleasure, biting his shoulder, being more motivation for Aemond as he continues to fuck you hard.

That night he spills all his seed inside you with a grunt, filling you completely, as he wipes the tears from your eyes from the overstimulation and how he brought you to the peak several times.

You watch him with complete adoration, just as satisfied as he is, but terrified of what just happened.

"If the Queen finds out…" you tell him fearfully, "If my father finds out—

"Don't worry about that, my love," he murmurs to you, beginning to gently pull out of you, "You're never going to leave my side, remember?"

"But…

"No one's going to find out."

And you believe him, you truly do. And fortunately his word is kept.

The next morning no one notices the night you shared with the prince, not your maids by acting careful and certainly not your father by sharing breakfast with him.

You cover Aemond's marks on your body with dresses a little more covered in the collarbone area, hoping they will disappear soon and looking forward to sharing more nights with him despite being very risky.

And that same day in the library you meet Aemond, he makes you drink moon tea, telling you that this will be indispensable every time you both share a bed, as he doesn't want to sire any bastards and you certainly don't want that to happen either.

And the nights with your prince are a little more constant, with no one knowing about that little secret you share in the darkness of your chamber to the fortune of both of you.

And as a result of Aemond claiming your body, his behavior towards you becomes more… possessive.

On the name day of little Prince Jaehaerys and little Princess Jaehaera Targaryen, Queen Alicent prepares a grand feast in honor of the twins where the entire Court attends and other members of important houses in Westeros.

Your father sees this as a great opportunity for you to finally meet the sons of the nobles and asks you to wear your best dress and exaggerate your beauty to attract the attention of some of them.

And you do so even though you don't want to.

Once at the feast, you find Aemond at the table that belongs to all the royal family, while you share tables with all the other nobles. He also finds you among all the people and that is all that happens between you.

Immediately your father introduces you to the sons of the nobles and when the dance begins, you can't refuse their offers and very soon you find yourself dancing with some of them.

All the time you feel a piercing, burning gaze in which you don't need to try to figure out who it is, you know it's him. But you can't be rude to all those men, just like him, you must also do your duty and you don't want to make your father angry.

But you wouldn't have to do this if he asked for your hand.

You don't understand what keeps stopping Aemond from asking your father for his blessing, but for now, you must do this.

When on one of your trips for some fresh air and to stop feeling overwhelmed, wanting to calm your pressure with all those sons of nobles, suddenly a hand grabs your waist and another on your neck to slam you hard against one of the walls of the balcony, leaving you motionless.

You open your frightened eyes wide, about to scream but the hand on your waist goes up to silence your mouth, while you watch in surprise, in terror and without understanding at Aemond with a deadly and more than furious gaze towards you.

When he brings his lips to your ear.

"Next time I see you acting like I'm not in the same place as you and enjoying the company of other men right to my fucking face, I'm not going to be gentle with you Y/N, at all," he warns you, "Don't forget your place and who you belong to, or else I'm going to have to start beheading heads and your father's will be the first."

And without another word, Aemond releases you without tact and walks away leaving you behind, not even flinching at his behavior, while you watch him completely shocked and in horror, tears starting to want to spill out of your eyes.

After that night, your father begins to arrange an betrothal between you and a man from Highgarden, but you, thinking correctly, refuse the request for your hand and that of several other nobles.

Your father was furious, but you didn't care much, only thinking of Aemond, who again came in search of you after a few days, asking your forgiveness for his behavior.

"You must not make me angry again, Y/N. It wasn't smart at all what you did that night and you won't do it again, will you?"

You just nodded and again he claimed your body, as he is wont to do almost every night, claiming everything from you, because you are his, completely.

Again the years pass without any change and now both ten and nine years of age, all over the Court it is rumored that Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon are returning to the capital along with all their children to attend to the matter of a succession.

Immediately this causes Aemond to have an almost insufferable humor and behavior, especially with you.

But at the end of the day he comes back to you and apologizes even though you don't understand what it is that bothers him so much.

You don't ask him anything about his half-sister, and when the day comes and you don't meet Aemond anymore because he has to attend to all that matter, you wait for him to come back to you, not truly wanting to disturb him.

It's not until one night when you find yourself heading to your chamber after spending some time in the library that you accidentally overhear the conversation of some maids down the hallway, unnoticed by them.

"That was an intense fight."

"Yes."

"I don't think things between the princess and the Queen will mend after this."

"They never will," one of them says in a whisper, "Peace between the two families was never meant to happen after Prince Lucerys was the responsible for taking Prince Aemond's eye."

"And now the fight between Prince Aemond with Prince Jacaerys has made everything more difficult."

Such words leave you completely paralyzed and breathless, listening to it all with your lips parted and your eyes wide open, unable to believe what you are hearing.

Aemond has never told you about what happened that night, but you never ever imagined that his own nephew was responsible for that horrible event that marked his life forever, now also finding out that there was a fight now with prince Jacaerys.

And that is why you decide to go to him, instantly worrying and wanting to know if he is well and if you can help him in whatever he needs.

You make sure there are no important people in sight and after that, you make sure the guards don't see you and you quickly and carefully enter his chamber, where you see Aemond sitting near his fireplace with a tense posture and his back to you.

"Aemond?" you call softly to him, slowly approaching towards him, but he does not move an inch, "Are you alright?"

Instantly you reprimand yourself, since of course he's not alright.

With what you heard, you now understand his behavior since it was announced that his sister would be returning to King's Landing with her entire family, including the boy who took his eye.

You let out a long breath, observing him with some pity and understanding and then continue your slow walk towards him, observing him attentively.

"Do you need to talk?"

You watch as his hands make them into fists, continuing to watch the fire in the fireplace intently, his jaw clenched and his whole posture screaming danger.

"Get out," he orders you low and threatening.

But you don't want to leave him alone, you care about him.

"I just want to make sure you're all right," you insist softly, trying to convince him.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, Y/N."

You let out a long breath again, still not obeying his word.

"I know how you must be feeling," you tell him in understanding, finishing moving closer towards him, "But if you need to talk, I'm here to listen," you assure him, "I care about you and I just want….

Your words are suddenly interrupted violently when Aemond stands up in a quick movement that you don't have time to anticipate and surprisingly grabs your neck with one of his hands in a strong and brutal way to look at you more than angry and threatening.

All the fear consumes you and you watch him in horror, all your air in suspense, your eyes wide open and bringing your hands to his to try to free yourself with tears starting to run down your cheeks.

You try to speak to him, to tell him anything, desperately asking him to let you go, but Aemond continues to be blinded by his own madness and his own anger at what happened at that dinner.

You tap weakly at his chest, trying to breathe, but he won't let you, slowly making his grip tighter.

"I don't know where you heard it, but I don't need your pity nor do I need your sympathy."

He tells you serious and menacingly while you continue to try to free yourself from him

"I am the prince, the rider of the largest dragon in the world and the next time I order you to do something and you don't obey me… you're going to start learning the hard way and no one is going to save you, Y/N."

He squeezes your neck a little tighter, hard and watching you almost as if he dislikes you, while you can't take it anymore, not acknowledging him, basically not understanding anything.

When he finally lets go of you and you fall completely on the ground, gasping and catching your breath with tears streaming down your cheeks, feeling bad about yourself, feeling a sharp pain in your chest as you catch your breath and strength, watching him for a second completely scared.

Aemond doesn't dislike seeing you at his feet, but still the anger continues to consume him and he continues to stare at you as if you were nothing.

"'Get out. Now," he spits at you without any tact.

And you don't need him to repeat it one more time, you quickly get up and run away from him completely horrified, crying and feeling like a complete fool.

You want to tell yourself that it's all right, that he didn't mean it and will ask for your forgiveness, just this being another one of his bad days where he made the mistake of taking it out on you, as he always tells you.

But now… you expect nothing from him.

His action leaves you completely scared and terrified, not even wishing to see him nor wishing he would come to your chamber to ask for your forgiveness once he returns to himself.

This time it takes Aemond a full week until he does indeed search for you and finds you in your chamber, where taking your distance, with your face muffled and without much emotion, you greet him and continue with your embroidery, beginning to tremble slightly for fear that he will explode at you again.

This Aemond notices immediately and lets out a long breath, resignation overtaking him. Then he takes a step towards you and you stand very still, alert, not trusting and fearing for his next move.

Aemond at this stops and looks at the marks on your neck that are just beginning to fade, marks that you hid very well with your clothes, but considering that he has come in the middle of the night, you are wearing your night gown.

So he doesn't come any closer and instead extends one of his hands towards you, looking completely harmless and wanting to fix this, but you don't trust him at all yet.

"Come," he asks you kindly, waiting for you to take his hand.

You don't say anything to him, you continue to stare at his hand fearfully, trying to hide how terrified you feel, but you can't, considering you're both alone here and there's no one who can save you.

"I won't hurt you, I promise," he tells you again in a soft voice.

But you continue without moving and he doesn't press you, wanting to give you time until you feel comfortable and safe with him again.

Until eventually you too resign yourself, thinking that you must obey your prince's word and finally you take his hand, shaking but you do. Aemond immediately slowly begins to pull you closer to him, showing you that it's all right.

Until he finally has you in his arms and starts kissing your cheeks, comforting you, asking for forgiveness over and over again, caressing you, while you slowly start to let yourself be carried away by him.

You shouldn't, but you love him in spite of everything.

That night Aemond tells you everything, everything that happened that night after he claimed Vhagar and the years that followed after he lost his eye, everything he had to face and learn on his own at such a young age.

He tells you about his bastard nephews, about the danger Rhaenyra is to him and his family if she sits on the Throne and also what happened at that dinner that made him react in that brutal way against you, asking for your forgiveness over and over again.

Now you understand Aemond's side and let him once again take you, feeling just as wanted as ever, feeling how much Aemond needs you, just the same way you need him.

And that night, after he spills his seed inside you, you confess it to him, you tell him that you love him, not being able to go another day without him knowing it and not knowing how much he means to you, in spite of everything.

Aemond doesn't say anything to you after your confession, he just watches you and smiles softly, then kisses you and locks you in his arms, that being distraction enough to make you believe that he doesn't need to tell you that he loves you too when the actions speak for themselves.

And one day after another of the nights you share with Aemond, King Viserys dies and Prince Aegon is crowned as his successor.

Your father has no choice but to bend the knee to King Aegon while everyone knows that war will break out at any moment after Princess Rhaenys escapes from the Red Keep on her dragon by destroying DragonPit and bringing the news to Princess Rhaenyra.

Exactly that is what happens and then two sides are formed, the blacks and the greens. And you belong to the green ones.

Queen Alicent and the Hand begin to form their alliances, where these alliances is the duty to fulfill Aemond who in the end chooses to marry one of the daughters of Lord Borros Baratheon.

And he has no choice but to let you know what happens next.

"This is necessary. Securing this alliance for Aegon will give us more opportunity against my half-sister's forces. I cannot fail my family. I will win the loyalty of Lord Borros and I will win all of Storm's End."

You can't help but be filled with complete disappointment, feeling your heart shatter into pieces at Aemond's very firm and willing words.

"What about me?" you can't help but ask him in your weak, sad voice.

But he looks at you confused and uncomprehending.

"What do you mean?"

"You're never going to ask for my hand, are you?" you stare at him with tears beginning to fill your eyes, "You don't want to fail your family and in order not to fail them you have to marry one of Lord Borros' daughters."

He avoids looking completely annoyed by your behavior, annoyed that you don't understand that they are at war, that this is his duty and that it is necessary.

"We are at war, Y/N. I cannot afford to choose you over my duty. Besides this is nothing more than a marriage for political purposes to form alliances and strengthen my brother's Throne."

His words hurt you, completely, but still, you don't want to feel more humiliated than you already are and you nod slowly in his direction, lowering your gaze and holding back your tears, because it's not like you can do anything about it.

He's the prince, he has the power to do something about it, but in the end he won't do anything.

"Then I wish you a safe journey and good luck to your brother's cause, Prince Aemond."

Prince Aemond, not Aemond, just his title.

You continue embroidering, trying to make yourself forget his presence in your chamber, still holding back much as you can your tears, understanding that this is the end of what you had and that it can be no more.

Let alone that he will not ask for your hand as he has to marry for political purposes as is his duty.

But Aemond is not tolerating your attitude and behavior at all, so in an instant he stands in front of you and takes your chin with one of his hands, making you raise your gaze to him in a demanding manner and observe him.

At first you feared he was going to hurt you again and scare you like last time, but he continues to make you keep your gaze on him, him with his serious and determined look.

"I don't know what you're thinking Y/N," he tells you in warning, "But don't even believe for a moment that I'm going to leave you for a girl and for a marriage I don't even wish for."

He lets you know and your heart flips, watching him in surprise and definitely not expecting this, as he smirks and delights in your reaction.

"Or what? You truly thought I'd give all this up between you and I for an arranged marriage?"

"B-but—

You try to speak but he won't let you.

"Oh you silly little thing," he mutters without wiping away his amused grin, "You really thought about that? You should know better." he makes his grip on your jaw tighter, "You're mine, remember? And you're never going to leave my side, ever."

He tells you and then lets you go and walks out of your chamber while you are surprised and bewildered. You want to believe he didn't mean it, but he's right… maybe you should know better, because Aemond wasn't messing around at all.

And that same night, Aemond flies to Storm's End.

You found it hard to find sleep, all the time thinking about Aemond and what is going on with him on his journey, thinking about the daughters of Lord Borros, which one of them he chose to marry and how he must have gotten that alliance.

But not only you think about that, you also think about the war, about your father and how desperately he is trying to find you a good husband, telling you that the best thing would be for you to leave the Keep, wanting to put you safe for everything that is happening.

But you reject him at every turn, knowing full well that you cannot leave Aemond and fearing that if you obey your father, Aemond will do something against him and their secret relationship will be revealed.

When in the midst of your thoughts, suddenly your secret door opens and a drenched Aemond enters your chamber, completely pale and with an expression on his face that you have never seen on him before.

You quickly get up and go to him, asking him if he's all right, what has happened, asking him to tell you something, anything.

But he doesn't, he's thinking too much.

When he finally speaks up and tells you… he has killed his own nephew, Lucerys.

You freeze completely, listening in shock and disbelief to everything he tells you, as he really intended to scare him, not kill him. But Vhagar didn't obey him and lost control, killing his nephew, the boy who took his eye.

The first thing you instantly think of, is to comfort him and that's exactly what you do.

This time Aemond lets you be there for him and you let him vent, knowing full well that you could never judge him and that you understand, you understand what really happened despite the full gravity of the matter.

Because now the war has really begun.

Her action later leads to taking responsibility for the brutal murder of her nephew, Jaehaerys, all orchestrated by two people sent by Prince Daemon, taking revenge for the death of Lucerys.

Revenge that the now Queen Helaena has to pay for, slowly slipping into madness after witnessing the murder of her own son, where not even her mother could comfort her and be there for her.

During all these events, Aemond can't truly do much, only bear the consequences of his own actions and continue to support his brother to gain more allies, at all times seeking comfort in you.

Now Aemond takes his anger and frustration out on you by fucking you, not even being able to get enough of you while you let him by wanting to make him feel good and make him forget for a moment about everything that is happend outside.

But the war continues, more battles on the ground and also in the sky with the dragons, resulting Aemond and King Aegon victorious in the battle of Rook's Rest.

They brought with them the head of the dragon Maleys and announcing the death of an important ally of Rhaenyra, Rhaenys Targaryen.

But King Aegon is severely wounded with burns from the battle, as well as his dragon Sunfyre is wounded, which leads to someone else sitting on the Throne until the King's recovery and Aemond is the chosen one.

With the crown of Aegon the Conqueror on his head, Aemond becomes Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.

This gives you hope, especially because now Aemond's word is law and everything he says has to be done.

Which results in you thinking about Aemond possibly finally asking your father for your hand, since his marriage to Lady Baratheon hasn't happened and it's a possibility that it's not going to happen soon because of the war.

But with you it could happen.

All the while you watch proudly as Aemond's desire for the crown happens, as he delights in all the nobles kneeling before him, him being the great voice of the whole Realm and the King for now.

Considering that Aegon is gravely ill, perhaps his drunken brother will not make it and so he will become the King. It is not as if he would wish death on his own brother, but there is no better person to rule than him, seeing on the side of the Realm.

As a consequence, the war still continues after the strong response of the Blacks to the loss of the great Rhaenys Targaryen. And this is why you begin to spend less time with Aemond due to his new and important position.

With so much to think about and plan for, Aemond is truly dedicated to his duty as Prince Regent, knowing that he can't even give himself a day off from leading his entire Small Council and the entire army at his disposal.

When you are finally able to spend even a moment alone with him in the middle of the night in his chamber, clearly without your father's knowledge.

He has asked you to run him a bath and you comply, always wanting to help him in whatever he needs, assisting him.

You finish helping him wash his magnificent silver hair while Aemond relaxes completely at your touch and feels that peace he needed so much since the crown was placed on his head.

You then help him dry off and dress him in his sleeping clothes, deciding to subtly bring up the subject.

"I know that matters about the war don't concern me, but what are you going to do now?" you ask him softly, "I have an intuition that you won't stay here forever."

He lets out a long breath, finishing pulling on his most comfortable pants.

"The blacks are gaining more ground than we are. I will have to move if I let them get too close to the capital. I have already sent a raven to Oldtown, my brother Daeron should be here soon to protect the Keep while I am gone."

You watch him intently, listening very carefully to his words.

"And will you take your entire army with you?'

"Certainly not. I will leave a part at Daeron's command. Only Cole and the Lannister army will have to come with me."

You let out a long breath, already hating the thought of Aemond leaving again like last time for battle.

All the while you lay awake until the Hour of the Wolf praying to the Seven for him, for his safety and health, that he would return to you.

And now you will be just as worried about him again, hoping for his soon return, fearing and thinking that you may never see him again. And that's what you fear the most.

"And where will you go?"

"I don't know yet, we're considering several important points on the map. But I shouldn't be too long with it, we can't give my half-sister nor my uncle any more time and chance."

"And will you also take Lord Borros' army with you?" you observe him attentively.

"No. They will stay here, protecting my family and you."

He tells you softly to then lift one of his hands and hold your left cheek, while you finish with his clothes and let yourself be completely carried away by his touch.

You close your eyes and let out a sigh, all of him completely invading you and feeling good, but at the same time fearing for his life as you really don't want to lose him.

Then you look at him again with some hope and longing, not wanting this to end so thinking of worst case scenarios, needing him to be yours and you to be his by law, before the Seven.

"Then your wedding to the Baratheon girl won't happen, will it?"

Then all that peace Aemond was feeling vanishes and you stop feeling his touch.

"And what does that matter?"

"It matters to me. You can marry me now. You are Prince Regent, no one could oppose the idea, least of all my father."

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"Of course no one could oppose it, Y/N," he tells you serious, "But still I can't afford to lose Lord Borros' entire army to please your whims," he tells you annoyed, "The betrothal to his daughter assures me of having him and all his men on my side and that is what matters."

His words again hurt you, hitting you hard to understand that you are no more important than an army of a thousand men.

You truly understand that there is a war, but you are not a man and you still have to do your duty, not having the time or the same privileges as he does.

You try not to dwell on his words too much and continue to insist.

"I am not telling you this to make you angry Aemond, truly," you clarify softly and pleadingly, "I am telling you this so as not to anger my father," you explain, "His patience is running thin and he is already upset enough with me for turning down very good suitors who asked for my hand."

"As you should."

He tells you serious and disinterested, while you say nothing for a few more seconds, watching him as if you don't know him and his comment not being able to make you more upset, also his attitude about it and how he doesn't care at all.

Because he does want you to understand his point, his position, his army and the war, but he can't understand yours.

"We are not all princes, Aemond!"

You exclaim to him annoyed, catching him off guard, instantly watching you attentively.

"It is my duty to marry too, that is what is expected of me and my father might even come to an agreement without consulting me first out of his desperation and wanting to keep me safe for all this, while I am here, wishing you to finally react and do something about it."

"You want me to do something about it?" he repeats to you serious, "Then what I will do is threaten your father not to give your hand to anyone and that you stay by my side until I wish otherwise. That is what I can do Y/N, but I cannot marry you."

He makes it clear to you as you feel him again breaking your heart without even caring, his words not being in any sense the right ones, while you want to yell at him and make him react, ask him if he even cares a little bit about you.

"You can't do that," you tell him as you hold back your tears, "Everyone will know about us and you'll put my maidenhead in question."

He lets out a sniffle, hurting you again to see how he truly doesn't care about you at all.

"That I can't do it? Just watch me."

And without another word to you, again completely disinterested, he heads out of the chamber to his bathroom, while you continue to hold back your tears and try to hold on to your dignity, following him and watching him completely firm with your words.

"If you do not wish me to leave your side, then marrying you is the only way," you tell him with a lump in your throat.

He looks at you in a curious, but still serious manner.

"Are you threatening me, love?"

"No! I'm doing no such thing, I'm just warning you!" you exclaim to him wearily and needing him to finally act.

"Then what the fuck do you want me to do, Y/N!?"

He finally reacts, but not in the way you expected, walking towards you annoyed and with all the frustration and anger, as well as again that weight feeling it again on his shoulders, looking at you really annoyed and tired of you.

"What don't you understand? For you it would be a great benefit but for me? Will your father give me a thousand men to fight and win the war or a fleet of ships?" he asks you again expectantly, "Your father cannot give me what I need, you are not convenient for me and that is why I cannot and do not wish to marry you!"

Then that is when Aemond again breaks your heart into pieces without even him realizing it and where all the realization hits you like a wave.

Now you truly understand the role you play here because of his words. And now you just feel an emptiness in your chest and watch him with total indifference.

You really don't want to regret having chosen him over your duty, to have risked giving yourself body and soul to him, because he doesn't lose anything, but you do and yet you did it because you love him.

But now by telling you those cruel words… now you no longer feel the need to make him react.

For him to let you know that you mean more to him than just warming his bed and supporting him in his bad moments as well as his good ones.

In times of war… you are not important to him and certainly not convenient. And even if the war wasn't on your mind, you wanted to believe that perhaps he would choose you over his duty, just as you did.

But how wrong you were.

And Aemond doesn't notice any of this because in an instant he again comes towards you and holds your chin with one of his hands firmly and tightly.

He makes you not dare to look away from him, while you do so with no expression on your face and your eyes completely empty.

"You're going to stop with this fucking foolishness, do you hear me? I don't need to also carry you on my shoulders when I already have enough."

He warns you between his teeth and extremely annoyed,

"You're going to stop harassing me with your fucking little girl whims, because I assure you that I have more important things to take care of, have you understood me?"

And you once you also have enough of all this, you have no choice but to hold back your tears and swallow the lump in your throat to answer him in the same way; without emotion.

"Yes, your Grace."

This takes him completely off guard, while you hold his gaze for only a few seconds longer, until you waste no more time and turn away from him to head out of the chamber, while Aemond watches you at all times attentive and even curious about your behavior.

And when the doors close, he finally lets out a long breath as he runs one of his hands over his face, deciding not to do anything else for the day and decides to sleep.

The next morning, Aemond doesn't see you all day, nor the next one, nor the next one after that, and continuously until a considerable number of days pass without your presence.

Still too occupied to do anything about it because of all the meetings he has to attend, yet he notices your absence and finds it strange that by the end of the day it is the maids who assist him when you used to do everything necessary for him.

Until one morning he asks one of the maids to discreetly look for you and let you know that he needs your assistance, threatening the poor girl that no one will listen to her when she says his orders to you and that you will be all alone.

The maid successfully carries out the order, but only to return to the prince and let him know that Lady Y/L/N is apparently unwell.

This immediately catches his attention, but again he is too occupied to attend to the matter.

While you… was not a lie what you told the maid who sent for you on Aemond's orders. After that night when you left his chamber, you never again felt even the desire to stand around him and look him in the eye.

It hurt.

Everything about him hurt.

You lost your appetite completely, preferring to stay in bed all day, not having the energy or the courage to face the world, let alone him. And that led you to start feeling the same way the next few days.

You didn't want to get out of bed, you didn't want to eat, you didn't even want to see daylight through your windows, you just wanted to lie there, thinking about Aemond's words that hurt you more and more.

This behavior was not allowed to pass by your father, who instantly ordered you to eat, not allowing that he would see you all the time pale, without energy and without any food in your stomach, always locked in your chamber.

Until one day, your behavior only got worse when your father let you know the unexpected news.

"I have accepted the offer to give your hand in marriage to a nobleman of House Redwyne, Sr. Ralph Redwyne, son of Rowan Redwyne."

You instantly look at him in complete surprise, your eyes wide open and your lips parted, as your father looks at you serious and firm with the news, making it clear to you that this decision is truly going to happen.

"I have already sent a raven to the Arbor where I have agreed to all of their terms. It is only a matter of time before they can let me know when you will be able to meet your betrothed."

"But why didn't you let me know before about this?" you ask him completely bewildered and alarmed.

"And for what? So that you could avoid your own betrothal?" he asks you serious, "I don't know what has happened to you in all these years Y/N, nor do I know what you were and are thinking, but I've had enough and this union is going to happen, do you understand?

You watch him silently, still shocked and incredulous at the news, while he watches you completely steady and determined, attentive to your reaction.

"We are lucky that a good man like him has asked for your hand," he tells you with a certain bitter tone, "His offer is generous and beneficial."

"But—

"I don't want to hear it," he interrupts you instantly, "This will happen, you understand? I'm already tired and I'm certainly not going to waste such an opportunity, just as it's in your best interest to not waste it either."

As Aemond had told you one day, he would have to leave with part of his army and leave the Keep protected by his brother Daeron and his dragon Tessarion.

The blacks gain more and more ground, so the time comes to act and impose to win the war, where the final piece is positioned in Harrenhal.

Aemond orders days before that his army begins to prepare, taking Sr. Criston Cole with him to take the black castle, where according to his assumptions he will have more opportunity to attack his uncle Daemon.

With the death of Rhaenys Targaryen, killing her uncle may also be a possibility and Rhaenyra will lose another even more important piece of her chessboard and her life.

The news that the Prince Regent is leaving to go to battle reaches your ears, but still you continue locked in your chamber, trying not to let this news make you think too much, although in the end it is impossible.

You don't want to worry about him, you know he doesn't deserve it.

But at least you can pray for his safety, which is the only thing you allow yourself to do, and as much as you want that to give you some peace of mind, it still doesn't.

Then the day comes and you find yourself watching the army ready to march through your windows, all Lannister banners and you also recognize one specific group with that dark green on their banners, the color of the Hightower.

Then you assume that very soon you'll see Vhagar flying away across the skies.

When suddenly your doors open firmly and unexpectedly, to which you jump and are surprised to see Aemond enter with his armor on ready to leave, this drawing the attention of some maids passing through the hallway to see their Protector entering your chamber so suddenly.

You watch him completely bewildered, not understanding what he is doing here when he should already be leaving by now, while he walks towards you in that majestic way as only he knows how to do and determined, his firm eye set only on you.

This matters to you, but it also matters to you and alarms you more that he has just walked into your chamber through your front doors without any discretion at all, still leaving the doors open and in full view of anyone.

"What are you doing?"

You don't even greet him after so many days without seeing him, you just ask him directly what you want to know, attentive and alarmed, but of course he can't blame you because of his own behavior.

"Why haven't I seen you in days, my lady?"

He asks you strangely in a soft voice and watching you intently, to which you can't help but feel nervous about this,

"The maid said you were unwell. But I get the impression that besides that, you're avoiding me, aren't you?"

You swallow hard, remembering what had happened with him, again feeling that sharp pain in your chest and that sadness and disappointment invading you.

But again you hide it as you don't want to upset him again with your little girl whims, as he had told you.

"Aemond, what do you think you're doing? You should be leaving by now. And you shouldn't have come in like that, in fact you shouldn't even be here."

"You didn't answer my question."

You swallow hard again, nerves invading you at his words and his presence.

"If your mother or my father found out—

"They don't matter," he says without much ado and all the confusion and panic sweeps over you, "I'm actually here to take you with me to Harrenhal. Take everything you need, quickly, we should be heading to DragonPit by now."

You look at him completely flustered, bewildered and confused even though he is being more than clear with you, although you do understand.

What you don't understand is why he is doing this, that's why you start to panic, because of his determination to really take you with him.

"What? B-but…I-I don't understand—

He lets out a long breath, showing that he is beginning to lose his patience.

"Take whatever you need, Y/N. We should go now."

"But I can't leave," you insist with worry.

"I wasn't asking."

"You don't understand, my father has given my hand in marriage."

You knew that sooner or later Aemond would know, mostly because news among the Court spreads fast. But honestly you are relieved that he found out from you than from someone else.

However, Aemond's gaze changes completely to a hard, dark and utterly annoyed one.

You flinch a little at his reaction, fearing his behavior about it, but surprisingly Aemond remains still, though his look totally tells you that he's far from feeling good about it, not at all.

"We are waiting for the wedding discussions," you tell him rather fearfully and at this Aemond's gaze only darkens more.

Then you begin to alert yourself the moment he takes a step towards you, his posture completely tense and his whole look showing you that he was not at all pleased to hear this unexpected news.

"We?" he repeats to you in a deadly, low, threatening tone.

You let out a long breath, then swallow hard and watch him still a little nervous.

"My father did everything without consulting me, like I told you he probably would," you remind him in a soft voice so as not to upset him further.

"So you were waiting for the perfect opportunity for me to leave and not let me know about this," he tells you annoyed.

You bite your lips, holding back the real words you want to say to him, but which will probably only make him more upset; I told you so.

You practically warned him, but he didn't care because you're not convenient for him and now he wants you to go with him to Harrenhal, as if that wouldn't make a huge scandal and not only at Court, but also with his family and your father.

"And what could you do about it?" you ask him without much emotion, "I'm not convenient for you, you said it yourself. Or is it that you don't want me to marry anyone else but I'm not going to marry you either?"

Still annoyed, Aemond has no choice but to avert his gaze from yours for a moment as he lets out a long breath, resignation beginning to invade him, for which this gets your attention.

When suddenly he comes fully towards you and holds you by the waist, pulling you fully towards him, closing his eye and bringing his forehead together with yours.

"Forget what I said that night, my love."

He asks you in a soft voice, now his demeanor more than anything else completely getting your attention, not expecting it to go from one completely annoyed to this one more sympathetic to your words.

And though it surprises you, you really don't want to fall at his feet again because of his soft behavior after how he made you feel the last time you saw each other.

You don't want to be that weak, which is why you're neutral and don't hug him back, nor do you melt at his touch like you would have.

"I was angry and under a lot of pressure at the time, but you know you must not make me angrier when I find myself that way, that's why I said those cruel words to you."

He reminds you softly.

"Though I was honest on some matters Y/N," he tells you a little more serious, "I cannot lose Lord Borros' men nor his support by breaking off my betrothal to his daughter."

So there it is again…that pain and that feeling that you are not important to him than a thousand men ready to fight his war, that he has never really felt the same way you feel about him.

Instantly you try to subtly pull away from him, with the pain in your chest, but he quickly holds you firmly and prevents you from moving away, not letting you go.

"Listen to me Y/N…" he asks you, "I can't do it now but I can do it later, when the war is over."

So that's when you slowly stop putting up resistance and slowly begin to let yourself be led by him, listening more attentively to his words, watching him intently and almost curiously, as Aemond continues.

"I don't want any other man to take you, I want you all to myself," he murmurs to you, leaning down to your face, as you watch him intently and with your lips parted, "When the war is over, that's when I can marry you, I promise."

You continue to watch him completely attentively, almost not believing his words, with your heart beating very fast and all that hope being reborn within you, for those were just the words you wanted to hear so badly.

Still, you don't know if he is saying them just to convince you to go with him.

Then Aemond, just to be a little more convincing, leans in and leaves a soft kiss on your lips where at first you thought you wouldn't reciprocate, but you can't resist and melt under his touch.

He glues your body completely to him just in that way where he makes you feel completely desired by him, where you are his and he is not willing to let you go.

"You promise?" you repeat in a murmur against his lips, letting yourself be completely carried away by him, absorbed.

"Yes, I promise," he assures you softly.

He kisses you again, in a firmer, needier way, as you gasp into his mouth and place your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you if possible.

And when they pull apart and you look directly into his eye, you see only the honesty and how terribly serious he is being with you at that moment, almost watching you in a loving way, bringing one of his hands to your cheek to gently caress you.

Still, even though he has practically convinced you already that this is all you have ever wished for, you still think of your father and your marriage to Lord Beesbury.

"But what about my father and my marriage? He won't let me go with you," you say beginning to worry, "So will your family, your mother and grandsire, what will they think? The news will reach Storm's End if you take me with you."

"Don't worry about any of that. I am the Prince Regent, remember?" he says softly as he looks at you expectantly, "Now take what you need. We need to go now."

[lost-in-fandoms]

A little kitten knight Max AU prompt because honestly, I will never have enough... Also, don't worry about fulfilling it any time soon, just for when the brain worms want to worm, and if they never want to, that's fine too. But I noticed, a common trend in this AU is that Max turns into his cat form when Daniel least expects it and its like a welcome surprise to him when it happens, cue cuteness and love.

So what about a time, well in their established relationship, probably when he's used to Max's shifting pattern, something happens and he's expecting Max to shift, and it doesn't happen? And Daniel is just like ???? but cat form????

OR one where Daniel is the one in the need of comfort at the time, which is rare, despite Max being the Knight Captain and supposedly the tough one, and Max tries to help him in his human form but nothing works, so he shifts into his kitten form and that's the one that does the trick...

I'm sorry, this AU really corrupted my brain now, I will shut up now and patiently wait for another bit at some point

Thank you so much for sending this! It means a lot to me that you enjoy this universe so much <3

It took me a few days, but I hope you like this! I took the two prompts and combined them into one! Also this is accidentally almost 1.8k.

Daniel loves his life.

It's not perfect, and it's not the easiest, he could do with less dead hour watches and more hours in bed, preferably with Max, but it's good. He has a group of friends he loves dearly, even if they're mostly dickheads, and the last time he lost one was because he left the guards to go live on a farm with his family, not because of war and death. The kingdom has been mostly peaceful for years, and even the occasional border skirmishes have become less frequent, mostly solved with words and carefully placed marriages and threats.

And he has Max. Max, who is his own little piece of magic, who would make this life worth it even if it was worse than this.

So yes, Daniel loves Max, and he loves his life, but sometimes... Sometimes, when the nights are long and cold, and the rain seems endless, he can't help but miss the searing hot burn of red sand and the blinding glare of the sun. Sometimes, when one of the guys leaves the castle to have a meal with his family, his own food turns to ash in his mouth, tasting nothing like the things he used to love. Sometimes, when him and Max take three days of leave to go visit his mother or his sister, he can't help but think about how three days would not even cover half of way home for him, no matter a whole round trip.

Sometimes he's homesick.

He doesn't regret leaving, doesn't regret the adventures that brought him here, doesn't regret this life, will never regret putting down roots by Max's side, but he wishes it didn't have to be that far away. He never stopped exchanging letters with his family, with his mom especially, but it's not the same. It's not the same when he thinks about how useless he'd be if someone grew sick, or died. It's not the same when, even if he'll never tell anyone, he misses his mom's arms around him more fiercely than anything.

In those times, he pulls himself away. He doesn't hang out with the others outside of his shift, he doesn't spar for fun, he doesn't sit down with them in the hazy vapor of the baths, doesn't share meals with them. It's not easier to deal with the feeling by himself, but it's not harder, and that will have to do.

He's sitting on top of one of the high towers, eyes fixed on the horizon as if he would suddenly become able to see all the way home, when Max finds him.

He's still wearing his fancy cloak, the one he wears when the King has important visitors and Max needs to look less like a random guard and more like his Captain, he must have come straight from his duties, but he still leans against the wet stone ramparts with Daniel.

For a long moment, they stand in silence. Daniel can feel Max's eyes on him, but he doesn't look, busy trying to pierce insurmountable distances.

"Are you alright?" Max finally asks, shifting closer, their arms brushing from shoulder to wrist, their fingers knocking together. Even if they're alone, it's not safe to touch any more than that, and Daniel appreciates the gesture.

He nods, not really feeling like talking, suddenly wishing Max could hold him right there. He doesn't want to take his eyes away from the horizon, doesn't want Max to move further away. He wants both, always wants both, and it would make him laugh if it was any other moment, how simply the ache in his heart can be summarised in this single moment.

Max shifts again next to him, moving his weight from one foot to another, an unusual show of hesitance from him that doesn't really surprise Daniel. As lovely as Max is, he never really knows what to say when Daniel is like this.

Where Daniel had been raised with gentle hands and words of love, Max had known bruises and reproach, and even if he's come a long way, he still struggles sometimes with reassurances and feelings.

Max shifts again, their arms no longer touching, and Daniel almost expects to look to the side and find a kitten watching him instead. It's what Max does when he doesn't know what to say to Daniel: he turns in a shape where things are easier and then pours out his love in purrs and kitten licks, cuddling as close as possible to Daniel's heart.

But when Daniel looks, Max is still there, taking off his cloak to carefully drape him across Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel shivers, surprise and sudden warmth making his chest feel weird. He hadn't even realised he was cold.

It's not quite a hug, but he accepts it with the best version of a smile he can muster at the moment, and it seems to be enough to satisfy Max. They stand on top of the tower in silence for a long time.

The feeling doesn't go away the next day. Or the one after that.

It's unusual for him to feel this heavily homesick for so many days in a row, but he doesn't know how to make it go away, and it's clear Max doesn't know either.

He's been staying as close to Daniel as possible, taking care of him in many small different ways, holding him tight when they find each other in bed, but it doesn't seem to be enough. There's an ache in Daniel's chest that doesn't go away.

He's walking through the courtyard, limbs feeling heavier than they should be even after a long watch in the city's streets, when his eyes catch on a shadow, slinking away between some crates, and he realises what it might be that he needs.

"I saw a cat earlier," he tells Max.

They're laying in bed, Daniel's head on Max's naked chest, both too tired to have sex but still needing to be close.

"Are you going to make a joke about cousins again?" Max grumbles, chest vibrating under Daniel's cheek. He doesn't have to look up to know Max is frowning and smiling at the same time.

"No," Daniel replies with a giggle, "even if..."

Max pinches him before he can finish the sentence, and Daniel yelps, squirming away and then closer again.

He takes a breath, steadying himself. He doesn't know if this is okay to ask, has never had to ask before.

"Is everything okay?" Max asks, serious again, one hand coming up to gently cup Daniel's cheek.

Daniel nods, then hesitates some more. He doesn't want to...offend Max, or something like that, but he also just. He thinks that would make it right. Maybe.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Max's answer come so quickly Daniel would tease him for it if it was another day.

"And if I am out of line, you'll tell me?"

Finally, Max seems to have enough of this uncertainty and he moves Daniel around until he's able to meet his eyes. There's a deep frown line between his eyebrows, and Daniel almost reaches out to smooth it out.

"You are worrying me, Daniel. Just say it?"

Daniel bites at his lip for a second, but then he nods again. If he drags it out further he'll either end up not saying it at all or turning it in an even bigger thing than it needs to be.

"Can you shift?" he blurts out, almost immediately regretting not thinking of a better question.

Max's frown deepens.

"You mean...I am able to?"

Daniel shakes his head, moving his hands restlessly.

"No, I mean, could you? Right now?" He hates not knowing if he's like making an horrible faux-pas right now, but at least he's pretty confident Max won't hate him for it.

Max tilts his head, eyes studying Daniel so carefully he feels a bit like a miniature in a gilded book, understanding slowly making his way onto his face. Daniel both loves and hates how well Max knows him.

"That would make you feel better?" he asks gently.

Daniel nods again, helpless, unable and unwilling to lie.

"It..he..." Max swallows, frustrated. Daniel is glad that at least they both seem uncertain on what way is the best one to talk about this. "It's better when I am like that?"

And oh, Daniel can't have that.

He shakes his head, hands flying up to cup Max's cheeks, crashing forward to push their lips together.

"No, no! You are perfect, and I..." he kisses Max again, tries to put too much into it. "You have been great, but I think..."

"Daniel," Max calls, half a smile on his lips, grabbing Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel takes a breath, letting Max slow him down again. The next kiss is softer, sweeter. His thoughts clearer.

"I love you, like this and like that, but I would like some furry cuddles right now."

Max smile grows at his choice of words, but he gently pushes Daniel away to get himself some space, not needing to be asked twice.

"I love you too," he says, pressing one last kiss to Daniel's cheek.

And then one second Daniel is looking at his eyes, and the next he has to look down to find the small kitten already fighting with the bunched up blankets.

He laughs, helping him out of them while ignoring the disgruntled little meows. He doesn't know what it is about this, but his soul already feels more settled, lighter.

"Hello baby," he greets, laying back down on the bed in a comfortable position. He immediately feels Max climbing over him, little pinpricks of pain following his journey towards Daniel's collarbone, but he stays still, letting him do his thing.

When Max is settled down, curled up in a little furry ball next to Daniel's neck, purrs already vibrating through him, he brings up a hand to pet him softly, feeling his wet nose press against his skin in response.

He reaches over to turn off the oil lamp, letting the moon take over. He still misses his old home, still misses his family, but the pain of it has subsided in the familiar thrum that always resides between his ribs, bearable once again.

"Thank you, Maxy," he whispers in the silver darkness, brushing his cheek against Max's little body. Max just purrs louder, and Daniel smiles.

Tomorrow he will write a new letter to his mom, will ask about his nephews and about the harvest, but for now he closes his eyes, letting Max lull him to sleep.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (17)

The Legend of Gahaelon and Aeremys

After being reunited after so long, Aemond has one request of Arianwyn: to read him a story.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Arianwyn could have spent the rest of her life with her face pressed against Aemond’s cheek, savoring the feeling of his strong arms around her and inhaling his familiar scent of parchment and steel – now laced with brimstone. But the commotion from the Velaryon arrival was fading, and she knew the crowd’s attention would soon be drawn to the prince openly embracing a young lady in a way that was not entirely proper. She opened her eyes and pulled away from him. Still, he did not break contact, keeping his arms firmly around her waist.

As expected, those in the training yard and on the ramparts were staring at them—knights, courtiers, servants… and her stepbrothers.

Luke still cowered behind his brother, fearful now that the uncle he mutilated had become such a fierce warrior. Jace was far less intimidated. His stare was filled with the promise of retribution, and Arianwyn knew that as soon as he had the chance, he would report everything he had seen to Daemon.

Desperate to escape those dark, prying eyes, Arianwyn shyly looked back up at Aemond. “Do you need to return to your training?” she asked, “I believe Ser Criston is waiting for you.”

For a moment, she thought Aemond would not respond. He just stood there, looking at her as if she were some mythical being. Like he wasn’t entirely convinced she was real. “No,” he said, his voice low and soft, a rich sound that seemed to rumble through Arianwyn’s chest like thunder through the sky. “I have been here since dawn; I am long overdue for a break.”

With that, he took her hand and surged up the stairs, pulling her with him into the passageways of the Red Keep. Arianwyn was so delighted to be with him again, her jubilant laughter echoing off the stone walls, that she did not realize where he was leading her until they came to the door.

Her door.

She released her hand from Aemond’s and laid it on the dark wood. “Why have you brought me here?” she asked, tracing the runes they had carved into the door years ago to ward off monsters and spirits.

Aemond was nearly silent beside her, but she felt his presence as if it were the air she breathed. A heavy but welcome weight upon her heart – a perfect embrace. “They are your rooms. I thought you would be eager to see them again.”

She turned back to him and could not suppress her smile. After all these years, they were together again. They stood before the rooms in which they spent half of their youth. It felt like it was meant to be. As if they were always fated to be here again.

“Surely they belong to someone else now,” she said. “It has been eight years.”

A subtle smile spread across his lips, not the broad, toothy grin she remembered as he reached around her to open the door. Then, he stepped back and motioned for her to enter. She did so hesitantly, half-expecting them to be walking in on some stranger’s afternoon tea.

They did not.

Her solar looked precisely as she remembered it.

The same furniture, the same curtains and tapestries. Her old cloak, made of thick brown wool and lined with bear fur, was still draped over her favorite reading chair. Two ancient bronze swords, their fullers engraved with Runes, still hung above the fireplace. Hanging from their handles, tied with faded green ribbon, were scraps of parchment bearing Aemond’s writing – the translation of the Runes they had written years ago.

Arianwyn approached the mantle, reaching out to read the note written in Aemond’s youthful scrawl. The paper was brittle with age, but the ink had not faded. When she tied them on so many years ago, she had not realized that he had drawn a figure, whom she could only assume was the prince himself, wielding the blades as he defended a long-haired maiden from some shapeless beast.

“How?” she asked, unable to tear herself from the artwork.

Aemond came to her side, the space between them sizzling like air broken by dragonfire. “Ser Gerold wanted to empty it and bring everything back to Runestone after he and Lady Arryn failed to secure your release. I would not allow it,” he murmured. “Though he and mother lost hope after that, I knew that eventually, you would return to me… and to all of us.”

She, at last, looked away from the note but remained with her back to Aemond as she stared into the long-cold ashes in the fireplace. “I came close to losing hope as well.” So many times throughout those years, she would fall into loneliness and despair, and not even Brynna or Ser Adrew could draw her out. “I would have, were it not for your letters.”

Knowing that he was still out there, that he still thought of her each day and cared enough to send long, thoughtful letters even when he was infirm, was like the sun breaking through dark, stormy clouds. Each piece of fine parchment bearing his seal was a lifeline she clung to, each one still resting in a trunk in her tower, just below her favorite window. She would read them so often, not only for the lack of books at Dragonstone but –

“What is that?” As she turned to face him, her eyes were drawn to the far corner of the solar, where her bookshelves had once been. Upon closer inspection, she realized they were still there, only now buried within a massive pile of neatly stacked books so high it nearly reached the ceiling.

“That,” Aemond said, setting his hands on her shoulders and leading her across the room, “is eight years of reading for you to catch up on.”

“You cannot be serious!” Arianwyn let out a barking laugh as she craned her neck to take in the entire pile. It was so tall that she would not be able to reach half the books without assistance from someone taller. She took a step back, coming to rest against Aemond’s chest. “You’ve read all of this since I’ve been gone?”

“I’ve read more,” he replied with a smug smile that she could not see but heard in the lilt of his voice. “These are just those I thought you would like, or wanted to discuss with you, or… what I wanted to hear you read aloud.”

At that, Arianwyn turned to face him, the corner of her mouth quirking/”::: up in a wicked grin. She raised her brows in an expression of mock pity. “Are you still struggling with the big words?”

Aemond did his best to scowl at her, but it quickly faltered and morphed into that new small smile of his. “Not for years, Aria.”

Her laughter faded when he laid a hand on her waist, guiding her backward until she was pressed against the wall of books, and he raised one hand above her head. He was so close – their lips so near to meeting. All she had to do was lift her chin ever so slightly.

But before she could truly consider doing so, Aemond pulled away. He held a small grey book, a ribbon hanging from within. He tugged on it, coaxing it open to the page he had marked. “Some stories require your voice to do them justice.”

Arianwyn glanced down at the book. It was a collection of Valyrian myths, illustrated with lovely gilt illuminations. She did not recognize the title, The Legend of Gahaelon and Aeremys.

“Will you read it to me?” Aemond asked, as reverently as if it were a prayer.

Entranced by the intensity of his gaze, Arianwyn nodded. She slipped past him and walked to the velvet couch where they had often read together. The fabric had faded slightly but was kept clean enough. She sat in her usual place on the right, where she so often laid her head against the armrest while commanding Aemond what to write down.

After a moment spent simply staring at her, Aemond sat in his place on her left.

The air between them – smaller than she had remembered – crackled with something that would only take a single spark to ignite as she opened the book once more. Then, with one more furtive glance at Aemond, Arianwyn began to read:

“The island of Aethios was one of the greatest jewels of the Valyrian Freehold. The sands of the beaches sparkled as if made from pure gold, the forests lush and green, and the dragons raised on its shores grew large and strong.

This paradise was ruled by the dragonriders of House Cephaeos. Its Lords ruled wisely and justly for hundreds of years, making the island the greatest power in the Narrow Sea. It was even said by some that the Cephaeosi had made a deal with the Merling King to ensure the tides were always in their favor, for no man alive could remember a ship bearing its blue-scaled sails ever meeting a bitter end. 

But so many years of good fortune so easily won often breed weak leaders. At the height of Aethios’ power, its throne fell to Lord Aeravon – whose most demanding trial came when he had to settle a dispute over the ownership of four crab traps. He was a boastful man, certain that the glory and honor won by his ancestors was also his to bear.

One day, Aeravon was feeling particularly prideful and boasted to his court that so great was the might of House Cephaeos that even the smallest of his family’s dragons – a young beast with scales the white of sea foam which his daughter had only just taken to wing – could surely best and devour any of the Merling King’s monsters.

The court fell silent. Surely their Lord would not be so foolish as to provoke the wrath of the Merling King? Aeravon’s advisors begged him to rescind his words, but it was too late.

A great wave, taller than the topless towers of Valyria itself, crashed over the castle, bringing the pale stone roof down upon Aeravon’s court. Then, the Merling King himself stood before Aeravon’s throne.

“Your tongue wags with dangerous words, boy,” the Merling King said, pointing his three-pronged spear at the prideful Lord. “You have no respect for the sea which I command nor for my children who you now insult without shame. For this, you must pay a price equal to the offense. Bring forth the dragon of which you speak, and we shall see how it fares against the youngest of my children.”

The Lord’s daughter, Aeremys, pleaded with her father to beg the forgiveness of the Merling King so he would spare her beloved dragon, but he ignored her desperate cries. He had been issued a challenge in his own castle, and his pride would not let him refuse.

The young dragon was brought to the throne room bound in heavy chains. The pitiful beast trembled in fear along with its rider when the Merling King lifted a clawed hand to summon his child.

The court cried out when one massive webbed foot, the size of a fishing boat, seized the side of the cliffs behind Aeravon’s throne. Another followed, and the blood-red head of the Caetus came into view. It loosed a horrible roar from its mouth, filled with jagged teeth longer than ballista bolts. The ladies of the court fainted as the beast hauled its enormous body over the edge of the cliff, propelling itself towards the castle with startling speed.

All that is, except for Aeremys, who continued to cry out for her poor dragon. As the creature was devoured, chains and all, by the fearsome Caetus, it was said that her wail shattered every piece of glass on the island.

Lord Aeravon looked on with unbridled terror at the dreadful might of even the Merling King’s youngest. His skin paled as white as his hair when the Merling King again pointed his spear at him.

“Foolish man,” the Merling King said. “To think that your feeble beasts could pose a threat to my children. You and your people will suffer for your vanity.”

Even Aeravon cried when the Caetus reached out and grabbed Aeremys, carrying her away from the castle and the island as quickly as it arrived.

“You shall watch as your innocent child is devoured by my waters,” the Merlin King decreed. “Only when your heart is broken, and you cry out to your fickle gods to save you, will I grant you the mercy of death. You. Your family. Your people. Your very island shall fall to my power.”

The ground beneath the island rumbled, and great spouts of water began to spray from the cracks in the throne room tile. But Aeravon was blind to the suffering of his people. All he could see was the stone pillar that had emerged from the sea, where his beloved daughter lay naked and chained, exposed to the roiling storm that had formed around the island.

He cried to the gods, begging them to spare her, begging them to spare him and his people and the island of his ancestors. They did not listen.

Aeremys resigned herself to a painful death, anticipating the sting of salt water in her lungs or the burn of lightning on her skin. But death did not come.

Her eyes, which she had kept tightly closed since the slimy hands of the Caetus closed around her, opened to find the rain falling upon her had ceased. Instead, she beheld the gleaming silver scales of the largest dragon she had ever seen, set aglow by the light of the storm.

Astride the dragon’s back was a fearsome warrior she had met once before. Gahaelon of House Belaerys, The Silver Knight of Valyria, who had flown the entirety of the world atop his steed, Tyvaros. There was no monster he could not slay.

As if it sensed the prowess of the new arrival, the Caetus again emerged from the sea, diving with an open mouth towards Gahaelon and his dragon.

“Dracarys!” Gahaelon shouted, and his dragon obeyed. A great cone of white flame enveloped the monster, boiling the water from its very blood. As the Caetus wailed for its father to save it, Tyvaros charged, allowing Gahaelon to carve it from tooth to tail with his greatsword, Aemandra.

Before the two halves of the beast could fall into the water, Gahaelon leaped from Tyvaros’ back, using the bloodied sword to cleave Aeremys’ chains and set her free. He held her close as he wrapped her in his cloak to hide her nakedness before mounting them both upon Tyvaros.

“Come, let us save your father!”

“No!” Aeremys replied. “He has made his choice. Let him suffer the consequences.” Gahaelon needed no convincing beyond the rage he found in her eyes.

The Merling King watched as the silver dragon flew away from his storm. Though he mourned the loss of the Caetus, he remembered how Aeremys begged her father to apologize and how she cried when her dragon was devoured. He watched as Gahaelon gently kissed the tears from her cheeks with a love the Merling King had not felt in millennia. Such a love deserved mercy, he resolved.

Then, the Merling King unleashed his ultimate wrath on the island of Aethios, reducing it and its people to stones and sand that sunk to the bottom of his sea.”

Aemond barely heard the story, though he knew Aria read it beautifully. She always did. But as she read, she had shifted closer and closer to him, and he to her. He could focus on little else but the way her head rested on his shoulder, his chin nestled in her hair.

She froze momentarily as if she, too, realized how dangerously close they were. Yet she didn’t pull away.

Emboldened, he slowly moved the arm he had slung over the back of the couch down until his hand was on her waist. She did not hesitate to lean back into his chest. Though his heart raced, and he was sure she could feel it, Aemond felt calmer and more at ease than he had in years.

“I never thanked you for the book of Runes you sent,” Aria whispered as she let the book fall into her lap.

Aemond took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “There is no need to thank me, Aria,” he kept his voice soft, too, as if any noise may shatter the small piece of paradise they found themselves in. “If anything, I should be the one to thank you for the gift you gave me.”

“Do you have it with you?” She looked up at his eyepatch as if she could see what lay beneath.

“I do,” he answered, though he was unsure if he wanted to show her. The last time she had seen what remained of his eye, she had fainted. He did not want her to be as afraid of him as so many were.

But then she looked at him with those perfect silver eyes brimming with fondness and reached with hesitant fingers for the edge of his scar. “Can I see it?”

How could he deny the woman he loved? How could he ever think she could fear him? Keeping one arm around her waist, he reached for the patch.

The moment his fingers touched the leather, the door to the room swung loudly open.

In an instant, Aemond realized how they must look, entangled in each other, alone in an empty room. Suddenly desperate to protect her reputation, he hastily uncoiled his arm from her waist and stood from the couch, leaving Arianwyn dazed by his sudden retreat.

Turning to the door, he was greeted by a smiling Queen Alicent, followed by Helaena and her children.

Perfect timing, he thought wryly as he forced an innocent smile to his face.

[my-on-and-off-writingstuff]

Troublemaker PT.2 | Daemon x reader

Summary: The four times Daemon happily got himself in trouble for you!

Request: Hey!  I just finished reading "Troublemaker" and I just wanted to say that I just loved it 💕💕💕💕💕 that being said, could I get more out of the daemon x baby/child reader relationship over the years, please?( feel like feel free to ignore and sorry for my english) 

Authors note: This part can be read as a standalone but is part two. (You can read part one here) Thank you for all the love! There is an age gap but nothing happens until the reader is of age. Enjoy!

95 AC

“Dragon!” Daemon was no longer Daemon; from now on he would now be known as dragon. Well at least by the four-year-old next to him. You had seen him arriving on Caraxes. Daemon had claimed Caraxes for himself after the death of Aemon, his uncle. Making him finally have a dragon at age four and ten. He often took Caraxes out for a ride and his obsession with dragons had now transcended on to you. “Can we ride your dragon?” He looked down at the small girl and nodded before winking.

Your parents were probably going to have a heart attack when they would find out, but what they did not know would not hurt them. So, the following morning when the sun only just grazed the world with its light Daemon entered your room. Often, he had to bring you back to your bed because you had fallen asleep on him or next to him and he did not trust the maids to bring you back without waking you up. Thus, ending up doing it himself.

He softly woke you up and gestured for you to be silent. Your eyes were glistering with anticipation, and he was chuckling to himself at how easy it was to make you happy. “Hold fast little one.” He whispered and put her on his back. Her little hand wrapped around his neck and feet clasped around his waist. He wrapped the cloak around the both of them, shielding her from prying eyes and him from getting into trouble. He hastily made his way through the hidden tunnels in the castle to the carriage that was awaiting him.

Before entering the dragon pit, he took her little hand in his. “Prince, Caraxes is waiting in the usual spot, he is ready.” Daemon shortly nodded to the dragonkeeper before turning his attention back to you. “Please, be careful, dragons are unpredictable, don’t do anything unpredictable, no running around, no screaming, and do not let go of my hand okay?” You smiled and nodded at him excited that you would finally be able to see a dragon up and close. ‘What could go wrong?’ he thought to himself as he felt your little hand dragging him towards the direction the dragon keeper directed them to.

While nothing went wrong Daemon almost had a heartache when in your excitement your hand slipped from his grasp within seconds you were standing in front, eye to eye with the red dragon. Caraxes turned his gaze upon you and his long neck craned around you before taking in your smell. He looked back at Daemon who had made a stance behind the girl. The dragon's face almost looked amused at seeing his master so smitten with such a tiny human. “Daemon, is this Caraxie?” You ask and without hesitation, your little hand connects with the red scales, petting Caraxes along his long neck. “Yes, love this is Caraxes, my dragon.” Just like his master the dragon was smitten with the young girl, letting her touch him and keeping a close eye everywhere she went.

That day was the first of many days that Daemon would take you on the back of Caraxes. When riding Caraxes you were just as fearless as facing him for you never panicked so high in the sky. Your little laughs of amazement and wide eyes glance to the world beneath them were compensation for the trouble he had gotten himself into after some servants had tattled to both your parents and his father. Who were not very enthusiastic about the idea of him ‘kidnapping’ a four-year-old child of noble blood for a ride on a dragon in the early morning.

99 AC   He felt your eyes on him from the balcony. Your septa had you work on your needlework and to say you were bored would be an understatement. He narrowly escaped the sword of his training partner that was aimed at his neck and returned his focus to the fight.

“Lady Y/N get back here!” A scream interrupted the sound of metal on metal. Daemon immediately turned his head toward where he had seen you for the last time, but you were no longer there. Your septa had pursued to run after you but being younger you were faster than her. You quickly jumped down the remaining set of steps before running his way. Men had continued their training and you were narrowly missing a flail. The man responsible pales at the realization that he had almost knocked you over with his weapon and quickly retreated to the other side of the courtyard.

“What are you doing love, you will get yourself hurt.” At those words, you let out a huff. “Not any more hurt than my septa giving me a needle.” As proof you held up your hand to him, tiny needle pricks lingered on your hand. He let out a soft laugh at that his little troublemaker was clearly not too keen on the more feminine tasks.

Your out-of-breath septa had finally caught up with you but hesitated to approach a prince. “Y/N, get back here before you get hurt, this behavior is very un-ladylike.” At the words un-lady like you made a face before looking up at Daemon hopefully he would save you from your septa. Almost unnoticeable the corners of his mouth went up and amused he shakes his head indicating that this time he will not save you. You turn up your puppy eyes. Begging him with your eyes. “Septa you can go, Y/N and I have an appointment, one she is not letting me forget.” Before he was even aware of it he lets out those words.

You triumphantly turn back around to give a smug look at our septa. Who retreats from the courtyard, no doubt going to get your parents or his father to get both of you into trouble? “Now can you teach me how to wield a sword?” your words surprised him, and he looks at you surprised. “Why would you want that?” He asks while walking closer to you, slightly pushing you to the edge of the training yard to keep you from harm. “Because I need to be able to protect myself, my brother is allowed why I am not?” He smiles quickly at you before bringing his attention back to the wooden training swords. “Your brother is a male, that’s why and you will always have me to protect you.” He picks out one that is lighter than the rest before carefully examining it to make sure it is balanced. “But you will not always be here.” You whine trying one last time to convince him. not knowing you already had.

“Here, but no crying, no complaining about the way I teach, okay?” Daemon trusts the sword to you before picking up his own wooden sword. Within seconds your eyes light up and you nod. Twirling the sword in your hand. “Yes, sir.” You answer him back in the way you have seen other soldiers do. Daemon lets out a laugh before showing you the first basic steps of sword fighting.

The sun was high in the sky when his father and your parents came to scold him for teaching you sword fighting. You were sweating but happily telling your father about the moves Daemon had learned you. Even showing them. While your father was easily softened by you, his father was only frowning at Daemon. Your septa was standing behind them with a smug smile, expecting the both of you to receive a punishment. However, your father was quick to diminish the incident, giving a sharp nod to Daemon before guiding you away to take a bath, clean you up and make you presentable again. His father on the other hand gave him an earful while dragging him inside the castle.

Daemon knew however that this will not be your last training. Once you had a taste of something you were not going to let it go before you had mastered it and who was he to keep you away from it, especially when you enjoyed it so much.  He will however keep the next training session from reaching his father's ears.

106 AC “Daemon?” He looked up from the scrolls towards the door. “Yes, troublemaker?” He knew it was you by the sound of your voice, but his eyes always needed confirmation. Your beautiful eyes were glistening with tears, and you were trembling.

Hastily he knocked the chair back to make his way to you. “What happened love?” He wipes a tear from your eye. “Mama wants me to learn all the dances for my ball but turns out I have two left feet.” He had listened before to your complaints about your 15th name-day ball which was happening in a mere few days. Your mother had been laying the pressure on you to be a perfect daughter. But dancing was not one of your strongest points.

Neither was staying away from you. Which was what he had been told to do, you were no longer a child, having had your bleeding and him being 10 years older. Therefore, it was no longer appropriate to be within each other vicinity anymore. Not that that stopped either one of you from spending time with each other.

“Daemon, could you teach me how to dance?” Your silent sobs were tugging at his heartstrings and while he knew to prevent trouble, he should send you away he simply could not. “Of course, love but no crying!” He wiped the last of her tears away with the sleeve of his shirt before leading you to the center of the room.

He directed your left arm in the right position before he laid one hand on your waist. You jumped slightly at the contact before smiling up at him like he was the stars in the night sky. He took ahold of your hand. “Follow my steps, I will guide you.” You beamed up at him before looking to your left like you are supposed to. “How will we dance without music?” You ask while slowly following his steps. Daemon softly on the beat of the dance started humming a song in high Valerian.

He twirled you across the room, making sure you knew all the dances. Catching you when you stumbled and letting you step on his toes without so much as a complaint. Because the smile on your face was worth the damaged toes.

While walking you back to your room the moon was high in the sky. A hush had fallen over the castle. “What if nobody wants to dance with me?” You whisper to him. “After all, I have taught you, they would be stupid not to.” He assured her grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “You will be the star of it all, you have grown into a beautiful woman and will have no trouble with catching the eyes of any of those young lords.” In fact, Daemon once or twice had knocked some heads when inappropriate words had been said or glances lingered far too long on you.”

He stopped at your room and hugged you. His breath trailed over your neck. “Keep a dance free for me love.” “Of course, daemon you are my favorite remember?” You replied within a heartbeat. He smiled and let you go before taking a step back. He watched you disappear into your room and only when the door closed, he made his way to his own. Pleased that after all these years he was still your favorite.

110 AC

Slowly he could make out the figure laying underneath the Weirwood tree. You were sitting reading a book at the root of the tree. Sitting quite un-ladylike he might add. Your dress was made in the typical colors of your house and like always you looked beautiful. He surveyed you from the shadows of the entrance to the Godswood. This had been the longest period of time the two of you had been apart.

For four years he had been fighting in the battle of the Stepstones.  While he stood there watching you concentrating on the book it felt like nothing had changed. “Don’t tell me you are hiding from me?” your head shot up to the voice who was disturbing your peace. Daemon took a sharp intake seeing your eyes roam over his body a glint shining brightly in the late afternoon soon. But just as fast as your head shot up it was back down, looking at the yellow pages of the old book. He slowly walked towards you and made himself comfortable in the grass in front of you.

Your silence was pressing on him, and he knew he had hurt you. “Normally you are the one in trouble.” Daemon attempted again. Looking at you observingly for any hit of you letting him in but again your silence continued, and he could not stand it. In a swift motion, he grabbed the book out of your hands and threw it behind his back not caring in the slightest where it landed. “Daemon!” his little plan worked although it made you seethe with anger. Your eyes narrowed in anger, and you made an attempt to retrieve the book, but Daemon was faster and grabbed your wrist. Surprising you and tugging you against him for a hug. You fought him for a bit, demanding in your most ladylike voice to let him go. However, he just ignored it and nestled you closer to his chest not letting you escape.

When you finally stopped struggling your head was laying on his chest and he softly circled your shoulder with his thumb. For the first time in the 4 long years away from you he felt content again. He also noticed how you had grown out of your awkward teenage face and now were truly the beautiful lady you were always destined to be.  It took a while before you finally broke the silence. “You did not say goodbye.” He smiled and kissed the top of her forehead finally knowing what had made you so mad at him in the first place.

“How can I see goodbye to you, my love, it would have broken my heart.” His words were true as you were the most important person to him. “What if you would have gotten injured or worse died, I would not have been able to say goodbye.” He tightened his arms around you and thought over his words carefully as your emotions could go haywire sometimes and he did not want to disturb this treaty he had created.  “I did not die, and I am not planning to for a long time. If I would have said goodbye to you, you would have surely cried, and I cannot bear to see that, I would have stayed, for you.” You lifted your head from his chest and your beautiful eyes found his.

Without thinking about the consequences, he pressed his lips to yours. His hand went to the side of your face and your hand went to the back of his neck. Those four years' certainty turned you into a woman as he was aware of your breast pressing against his chest, and he was quite sure he was not your first kiss. But he could care less as he would make sure he was going to be the only one you were kissing from now on. He swiftly rolled you over, so he was on top and deepened the kiss.  

Slowly the two of you broke apart, chasing your breath but without breaking eye contact. “You are a worse kisser than I imagined” at the sound of your breath accusation a frown made its way onto Daemon's face. “Excuse me, how do you know troublemaker?” you let out an adorable giggle and nestled against him. His frown disappeared at the sound of your giggle and he wrapped his arms around you. “I had some practice when you were gone.” You tease. His hands held you in place when he started to tickle you and before you knew it you were laughing hysterically. When the two of you had calmed you talked about every topic you could think of.

Both of you had fallen asleep underneath the tree. The moon was slowly climbing its way into the sky but inside the castle was panic. The prince had not shown up for dinner, which was not that noticeable, however, tonight was the dinner hosted in his honor for his victories in the stepstones. Lady Y/N could also not be found, and your father had a devilish premonition in his head: ‘wherever the prince was, his daughter was likely to be in the vicinity.’ And he was not so sure if he would like where this was going now that his daughter was of age to marry.

_

Part three

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

🥀 Unwary 🥀

After working on and off for MONTHS and staring at it a long time, here’s the Théodwyn story many of you have heard me agonizing over. I can’t look at it anymore, so we’re just hitting “post”!

It’s called Unwary, which is one of the few words Tolkien gives us to describe Théodwyn’s husband Éomund. He was a “hater of orcs” who often rode against them “in hot anger, unwarily and with few men.” That got him killed and, shortly thereafter, Théodwyn herself died of an illness. This story is my attempt to tie all that together.

Note that Théodwyn’s 3 (canonical but nameless) sisters are here; they came to help after Éomund’s death. You’ll see I gave 2 of them Gondorian names; more explanation of that at the bottom if you’re interested.

There is a fire inside Théodwyn that will not be doused.

It has smoldered for years, just waiting for the breath of air that would coax its glowing embers to life and send a wave of flame racing through her as though she were made not of bone and blood but of kindling and fuel. Now lit by Éomund’s inevitable death, the fire burns bigger and hotter each new day that dawns without him, and it laps at her heart, singeing and charring until there is nothing left but heat. Gone is anything soft and pliant, anything tender or understanding, replaced instead by blistering fury.

She stalks the plains outside of Aldburg in the dark, crunching heavily over glittering, frost encrusted grass. She is trying to outrun that fury, though a fortnight of this new nightly ritual has achieved no such thing so far. But if she cannot leave her anger behind, maybe she can still exhaust it, tire it enough that it can be wrestled into submission and leave her in peace. Deep down, she suspects the effort is in vain, but she has no better plan. She is bereft of ideas, just as she is now bereft of laughter and sympathy and hope. Her husband is just one of many things suddenly missing from her life, and he is not the one she most wants back.

Sweat soaks into both her dress and cloak, and large red blooms form on her cheeks. Each gale of frigid wind catches the dampness at the small of her back or along her hairline beneath her hood, and sends a wave of wracking chills across her heated skin. But her pace never falters despite the passing of long hours and long miles. Over the sound of her boots grinding delicate ice into so many shattered crystals, she mutters her mantra again and again, hissing out the words in time with the rhythm of her steps.

I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen.

The night is her time to let this anger out, far away from Éomer and Éowyn, both much too young to be burdened with the knowledge that their dead father was a reckless fool. Someone who couldn’t control his own impetuous need to act and, worse, refused to accept a cautioning hand even from one he professed to honor and cherish. She had begged him not to go, to delay for even a single hour until more men could be gathered to join his small party of riders. But he had been blind, as ever, to anything but his own rash impulses and instincts. He had scoffed at her fears, swept aside her concerns, given bold assurances that weren’t in his power to make. And now he was being hailed as a fallen hero while she was left alone with the consequences of his folly, to manage a tragic loss that she knew to be entirely of his own making.

She hadn’t always felt this way about him. There was a time when she found his passion and spontaneity exciting. Stirring. Romantic. To be the object of his attentions, to be the desire that he would overturn the world to sate, was a special brand of intoxicant, and she drank it in willingly. His quickness to action and his unfailing courage set him apart from other men, and he gained much by risking more than others could stomach. She felt his every gain as her own, and they ran heedless together through the world, two free souls as yet unchecked by the realities of life.

But what felt brave and thrilling and decisive when they were twenty had begun to look much different on the doorstep of forty, when he had already gained more than most men could dream of and only stood now to lose what had been so daringly won. Slowly, creepingly, she began to see his whims as childish, his zealotry as self indulgent. It surprised her every bit as much as him, but somewhere along the way, with age and responsibility and perspective, she became the person who would check him as life never had. The person to ask questions, to say no, to thwart his boldest ambitions and disappoint his most absurd hopes.

Whenever she did, he would look at her as though he looked upon a stranger, an unrecognizable drudge that had stolen the body of his daring and passionate wife. He would look at her as though she had broken faith with him, betraying their bond by choosing to accept that they lived in a world of constraints and limitations. And then she would hate herself, and him, too.

A dull, thudding pain hammers away in the space right behind her eyes, and her muscles and joints ache with every wearied step, calling out for rest. To sit or lay quietly for a while might ease the strain that has increasingly weighed on her body these last few days, the strain of too little sleep, too little food, too little protection from the harsh bite of winter. But she no longer cares for physical ease or comfort. She can endure without them; it has always been the way of the Rohirrim to bear such things without complaint. What she cannot bear is the seething in her mind during moments of stillness, those times of lonely silence while others sleep and she can only gnaw on the bones of her grievances and look with contempt at her memories now tainted by abandonment. And so she stomps through the cold desolation instead, the frozen cloud of her breath drifting along in the wake of a body indulging in the only escape available.

She knows she should be at home in case her children need her, and she knows that her sisters disapprove of how she has been acting. You’ll catch your death out there, says Edlenniel each night as she walks out the door. You need to start taking better care of yourself, clucks Théopryte, a critical eye cast over her increasingly bony figure, her unkempt hair. And this, too, makes her angry, the insistence of her elder sisters on treating her as though she is still a child even now. Nothing she does is ever good enough in their eyes – her home is too untidy, her language too profane, her daughter too much at liberty to run wild rather than learning the ways of respectable girlhood. And now she cannot even grieve correctly.

In truth, she had not expected to mourn this way. The day Éomund rode off, she had imagined her own reaction to the eventual return of his meager company without him. Sorrow, longing, despair, regret – these had been anticipated despite her frustrations. But when Éothain knocked at her door with the news, watery eyes rimmed with red and a battered horse-tailed helmet in hand, she felt none of those things. They vanished in an instant, disappeared from her heart and mind, perhaps never to return. Instead, she became like the cicadas that come to Rohan every dozen years and litter the ground with their delicate molted shells, perfectly formed images of themselves that have been deserted, no longer fit for use and liable to shatter under the slightest of pressures.

Now every interaction, every well-meaning friend or suffering relative, is at risk of being the next target of the dull blade of her anger, always at the ready to hack and slice ineffectually at those who draw her attention and, thus, her scorn. The neighbors who look at her pityingly as they pass by. The men of Éomund’s company who expect her to join them in their grief. Even her sweet son, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, works an inflamed nerve as he swings a sword much too big for him, vowing to protect their house now in his father’s absence. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, not the other way around, she says to the thin frame and slight shoulders that are not yet grown enough to bear his own charge. You have years left just to be a boy, safe under my care. But it is said through gritted teeth, her tone emotionless, and he doesn’t believe her.

She has enough awareness still to see what she’s become, and though she cannot change it, she knows to try to hide it. She labors each day to be the mother her children need, sitting with them as they cry and holding her tongue when they paint Éomund in their remembrances as a valiant hero, a man to rival all the greatest legends of song. But they know that something isn’t right within her; some voice inside their childlike minds warns them of peril in the one place where they were trained never to expect it. Éomer has stopped asking why she doesn’t cry, and Éowyn now clearly prefers to seek her comfort from Tadiel, whose soft arms, doughy middle and doting indulgence provide what Théodwyn’s sharp, angular body and brittle bearing simply can’t or won’t.

As it inches toward sunrise, she reluctantly turns toward home again, where soon the rest of the household will begin to stir and her absence will be noted, frowned about and tsked over. The judgment of her sisters is no real concern, but she doesn’t want to add to the worries of her children. For them, she will fight to maintain even the barest pretense of normalcy. For her children, she will sit in that house among the remains of Éomund’s life – his belongings, his clothes, his scent – and she will struggle to breathe through the poisonous resentment that is trapped in her throat because she cannot allow it to pass her lips. For her children, she will choke.

The gate comes into view and, beyond it, the garden that she once loved and nurtured into glory, now gone dormant for the winter. She stumbles on the rise to the path, and a knee drives into the frozen ground. She rights herself with difficulty, grunting in the effort, and she curses at this clumsiness. Weakness of body has never been a challenge of hers, and she cannot understand the heavy, dragging feeling that follows her to the door. For the first time, she considers whether everything – the throbbing head, the sweating skin, the screaming joints – is not just a product of exertion but something more serious. Something brought on by the refusal to rest, to eat, to stay warm, to accept comfort and support. It is an unsettling thought, and she tries to push it from her mind as she slips quietly inside.

The frozen sting in her fingertips and toes is a strange counterpoint to the burning heat of her forehead and cheeks, and she collapses into a chair by the fire, waiting out the gradual thaw of her frost-dulled limbs and the eventual return of her body to how it is supposed to feel. But though her fingers slowly lose their bluish tinge and sensation tentatively returns to her feet, the heat in her face and the exhaustion in her muscles only grow. Time ticks by, innumerable minutes that seem like hours, and she can feel it all continue to worsen. What little energy she had now spills from her body like the blood of the stags that Éomund used to hunt, their carcasses sliced open and left to drain. A shiver runs through her, once and then again and again and again, every time stronger until the shivers are full-body spasms that clack her teeth together, threatening to catch her tongue in each jolt. A low, groaning noise fills the room, and she discovers with surprise that it is coming from her own throat.

Good gods, Théodwyn. What have you done to yourself? Edlenniel is in the doorway, and the horrified alarm in her voice is enough to smother the instinct to snap in response. What has she done? She tries to stand, but her legs don’t respond. A strange distance has crept in and inserted itself between the intentions of her mind and the obedience of her body. She wills herself up again and lurches forward with great effort. Is she standing now? She cannot be, not with the cool, smooth stone of the floor somehow pressed to her flushed cheek. She would lift her head to check, but the exhaustion is so heavy that it pins her down, the turning of a screw that secures her, motionless, to wherever she has landed.

Her mind becomes slow and hazy, her sight flickering in and out as though she is passing quickly between rooms that are brightly lit and others that are in total darkness. Théopryte is there and then not. Calls for help are relayed down the hall, and more people rush in. Tadiel pulls Éomer from the doorway, a hand over his eyes as though the sight of his mother is too frightful for him even to look upon. Clamoring, urgent voices echo around inside Théodwyn’s head until they are no longer intelligible to her, just a whirling churn of volumes and tones. She floats, alone and disconnected, in a sea of others’ panic.

A man’s face appears in her field of vision, lifting her up and carrying her to a nearby couch. Théodred? It comes out as a hoarse whisper, and the face shakes its head. No, of course not. Her beloved nephew doesn’t live in Aldburg and never has. A neighbor, then? Or servant? She loses interest before she can unravel the mystery, distracted by a painful new sensation that prickles across the surface of her skin like a thousand small needles. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to exhale the pain with her every labored breath.

Uncounted hours pass, and she is now in her own bed, though she cannot recall being brought there. It takes all her effort just to keep her eyes open, and each time she blinks, it feels like scraping her eyelids over sand. She drifts in and out of lucidity, bobbing in a current of confused thought like a small boat tied up at the edge of a running river. When she’s lost, she is certain she can see Éomund in the corner, watching her in grave silence. When she’s present, she hears bits and snatches of hushed conversation, all in the voices of her sisters. The healer says there is nothing more to be done, says one. Such an awful waste, sniffles another. I knew this would happen, sighs the third. But who could stop her from running herself into the ground this way? She’s always done just what she wanted, no matter how rash or irresponsible.

Amidst all her pains, these words hit her like a blow, and an immediate, convulsive heaving in her stomach has others running for the healer again to manage this fresh symptom of her malady. But she knows it for what it really is: the retching out of unwelcome truth, her body’s rejection of this simple distillation of her fate. Recovery is not coming. She will die here in this bed, and her death will be needless. Pointless. And all the more shameful because she should have known better. She could have heeded the cautions and warnings of others.

Edlenniel leans her over a bowl as she empties herself of what little she’s eaten in the last day, and the bitter taste in her mouth lingers even after she has swirled and spat out many mouthfuls of water. It lingers as she collapses back into the sweat-soaked sheets that cling to every inch of exposed skin. It lingers as her addled mind struggles to reckon with the weight and cost of her mistake, this tragedy of her own making. It will always linger, for all the minutes she has left in the world and for the eternity that stretches out into the boundless, unknown future beyond it.

Her head lolls weakly to one side, and she can see Éomund in the corner still watching, silent and attentive. His face is not impassive, but calm. He accepts what has happened, is happening, will happen, and she must accept it, too. He dissolves into a vague blur as hot tears begin to spill down her cheeks, and whether they are tears for him or for herself, she isn’t sure. When she blinks her eyes clear again, he has moved closer to the bedside. He smiles softly, the wistful look of one who knows what it is to carry the burden of self-blame past any hope of remedy, and he reaches toward her with an open hand. A hand of consolation and invitation.

She will take it, but not yet.

Bring the children, she rasps out.

There is a moment’s debate in the room, furious whispers that drift to her ears. Not something a child should witness, she hears. There may not be time to wait, is the response. She repeats her request, louder this time, and the debate intensifies, rising in pitch and strength. But before the argument can resolve itself, Éomer has pushed in from the hallway, towing little Éowyn by the hand. Her words have reached them on their own.

She struggles to bring her son and daughter into focus, just as they struggle to see the outlines of their strong, capable mother in this frail, spiritless form. She craves nothing more than rest, but she knows she cannot; if she rests now, she will not wake again. She takes each one by the hand, their skin cold and dry against her own clammy fingers and palms, and presses those hands to her lips.

Be good for your uncle, she tells them. Your cousin will love you as a brother.

Éomer, quicker to understand, begins to cry, and his tears trigger Éowyn’s. Soon all three are crying together, for both the first and last time.

You deserve better than this, she should say. I have failed you, she wants to say. But would it give them any comfort to know that she belatedly understands her own mistakes? That left to do it all again, she would guarantee that they would never be without their mother? What can she tell them now that will help and not hurt, that will be a gift and not a hindrance? She swallows hard, and it is like swallowing gravel. Your father and I did the best we could, she whispers. The two of you will do better, and we will be proud.

She drops back to the pillow, exhausted beyond measure, and someone bundles the children back out into the hall again. Éomund smiles at her, and she nods. Her eyes drift closed as his hand wraps around hers, and the burning in her heart and skin slowly fades, the fire extinguished at last.

A note on the sisters of Théoden: Their father, Thengel, ran away to Gondor as a young man and lived there for a huge chunk of his life. He married Morwen, a Gondorian woman, and Tolkien tells us he only went back to Rohan “unwillingly” to take up the throne after his own father died. 2 of his daughters and his son were born in Gondor before that happened, and my HC is that all 3 of them had Gondorian names because, at the time, Thengel never had any intention of ever going back. So that gives us Edlenniel (“daughter of the exile,” since that’s how he saw himself) and Tadiel (“second daughter,” so overshadowed by her siblings that Thengel couldn’t be bothered to even give her an interesting name).

Théoden himself had a Gondorian name as well (Arnhereg, “royal blood”) but he changed it to something Rohirric (Théoden means “leader of the people”) when the family went back to Rohan both because he wanted to fit in better and because it seemed only appropriate that the future king of Rohan have a Rohirric name. Then when the other two sisters were born in Rohan, they were given Rohirric names as well (Théopryte, “pride of the people,” who was extremely beautiful; and Théodwyn, “joy of the people,” who was full of spirit).

3 of the 4 sisters were dead by the time of the War of the Ring (Edlenniel from old age, Théopryte from an accident, and Théodwyn as described here), and Tadiel had gone back to Gondor. Edlenniel never had any children and Tadiel and Théopryte had only daughters, which is why we don’t hear anything about other cousins that might have competed with Éomer for the throne after Théodred’s death. I’ve made a backstory for each of the sisters, but no use putting that all here since I’ve already gone on too long!

(Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit !)

[madforhoran]

Reunion (pt. 2)

Pt. 1 - here

So...it's done. Gonna be honest, I didn't follow the prompt completely (would bet too much for me 😅)

X X X

The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, the lower it was, the more nervous you got. Unsure if you could handle more teasing and tension. Seeing him again awakened all of the feelings and so much more. You wished to make up for the lost time, all that time you should’ve been there with him and for him. Too late to fix the past but maybe not too late to have hopes for the future alongside him. 

When the sky turned deep red, you buckled your cloak, patted down your skirt, and picked up a bundle of herbs you collected that could be of interest to him. Some were useful purely for their scent, others for their poisonous effects.

It was time to go.

Rivington Mill wasn’t far up ahead, definitely not for you when you used Misty Step. Spellcasting partially drained you as well, which was a desired state to get your adrenaline and nerves under control. You Misty Stepped right to the mill’s door, which were slightly ajar, and knocked, but there was no answer.

“Hello? Astarion, are you here?”  

You stepped inside. The circular room of the mill was dimly lit with candles, a singular log was burning in the fireplace. On the left side there were shelves packed up with big, mid-size, and small jars which you could safely guess was blood. On the opposite side was a simple bed with nice bedding and pillows. You noticed however that he never got rid of the ratty old blanket he carried throughout your journey together. 

“Look up, darling.” You heard suddenly and almost jumped out of your own skin. Gods! There he was, up on the wall…the wall? Wait, what, how? Then in a second he was gone, poofed away the same way his siblings did when they came to kidnap him from camp. What in the hells was going on?

“Now look behind you.” A whisper brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to face him and were met with eyes alight with childlike glee. He wore a simple but elegant blue blouse-shirt and form-fitting trousers which weren’t leaving much left to be desired. More often than not you could recall misdirecting a spell because you stared at his ass and legs instead of focusing on casting. His beauty yet again caused your breath to pause and your brain to malfunction, and you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. You felt him melt into your touch without a single word. Shocking for someone who usually had something witty to say. His arms encircled your waist and you let out the breath you’d been holding, pulling away from the hug. You noticed a slight hint of disappointment crossing his features when you did so and his arms dropped from your body with hesitancy. 

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said with a tender smile adorning his lips. There was only one person in this room with surprises but it certainly wasn’t you. “Me?!” you asked, dumbfounded. “Gods above, Astarion, you can climb walls and…poof? How?”

“Oh yes, that is something I’ve discovered in the past couple of months, actually,” he waved his hand dismissively but you could hear in his voice it was a big deal. Of course it was! 

“Vampire spawn have powers, we just didn’t know about them because Cazador was suppressing them. For two hundred years…making me believe I was weak,” he added with a contemptuous sneer. Your palms balled into fists at the name. Fucking bastard. It meant that finally Astarion could enjoy some benefits of vampirism, not only drawbacks, pain, and loss. There was another piece you’d lost, though - witnessing the exact moment he’d found out what he could do. Stop it, you told yourself, no point in dwelling on what ifs. 

“You were never weak,” you corrected him. “Never.” 

He let out a bashful cough and pointed at the herb bundle you were still clutching in your palm. “Are those for me?”

“Yes, uh, I thought you could use some for your perfumes and some for poisons to kill bad guys with,” you said.

He eyed the bundle with utmost interest and took it from your hand. “Really? How…sweet. Thank you.”

Ever so thankful was one of the things you loved about him. You hadn’t known anyone else thanking you so many times for absolutely basic things. Heat rushed to your cheeks as he reached out for the clasp of your cloak. “May I?”

You nodded silently and the cloak fell to the floor. Suddenly you didn’t know what to do with your arms or where to look. The “perks” of being sober around someone whom you desired so badly it impeded any rational thought. Felt as if floodgates of all the repressed emotions opened, partially two days ago but fully right now. You’d kept it under control during the whole end of the world and mindflayer domination threat and then had been too busy with rebuilding Sorcerous Sundries alongside Gale and Rolan. With all of that dealt with, only one thing was missing from your life. The man standing right in front of you.

“Let’s sit down,” he suggested, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ve bought some food for you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Just trying to be a good host,” he shrugged.

“I don’t want to eat alone,” you said. “Dine with me.”

He chuckled. “Have you forgotten, dear? I can’t eat normal food.”

“I meant blood.”

He nodded and stepped away from you to take one of his blood jars. “No.” You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “My blood.”    

“Are you sure?” He was puzzled. You managed to surprise him yet again. “I’m serious, Astarion,” you answered firmly. He smiled and poofed out of the room. “Show-off!” you yelled after him, smiling as well. 

He served you pieces of meat, veg, and bits of fruit. Most likely stolen rather than bought but you weren’t about to question him. You laid down your forearm, inviting him to drink. Giving you one last look of making sure you’re alright with it, he sank his teeth into your wrist. You bit on the meat to distract yourself from the initial pain. Nonetheless, he was trying to be gentle. You remembered him draining villains during the battles, he paid no mind. It was vicious, primal, and it made him stronger. The first taste of freedom from Cazador.

You finished half of the plate when he stopped drinking and began massaging the puncture wounds with his thumb. The pupils of his crimson eyes were dilated, the drunken smile and your blood dripping down his chin were oh-so-inviting for you to do what you’d dreamed of doing. Kissing him. Simple as that. 

“Invigorating, my dear, thank y–” he didn’t get to finish as you leant from your chair and almost did it, stopping right in front of his face, so close you could see the tiny crows feet and every other beautiful crinkle. “I–oh gods,” you mumbled, sitting back down on the chair. “Yes, darling, what is it?” he responded with his typical teasing tone. Bloodloss and lust, that’s what it was. And excruciating love.  

“Tell me.”

You sighed. “I just want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” he asked provocatively. “That I’m enjoying this evening immensely? Because I am.” 

That you feel the same way I do. 

Despite playing this cat and mouse game, you knew. He wasn’t hiding it. There was no point wasting more time looking at him when you could be doing other things. Screw it. You stood up from the chair, braced yourself against the table, and ungracefully landed in his lap. You couldn’t help not noticing his crotch was stiff against your hip.

“Say where you’d like me to kiss you.”

His arms encircled your waist again as yours found their way around his neck, playing with his soft curls. Utter perfection. You had to remind yourself to continue breathing steadily. 

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” he smirked. No, he did not use on you what you’d told him all those months ago when he’d asked you to join him in his tent during the tiefling party. The conversation was so fresh in your mind as if it happened yesterday.

“Oh, you need a little bit of enticing,” you countered, moving your right hand to gently cup his cheek. “Take your pick.” You began tracing your forefinger and middle finger over his cheekbone, up to his forehead, then sliding them down the slope of his perfect nose. When you reached the cupid’s bow of his lips, he parted them slightly as if gasping for breath. 

“How about I kiss you instead?”

Gods above, please. 

He moved his head closer so you could smell the blood he drank from you and then he finally lightly pressed his lips to yours. Your entire body came alive and it was just the beginning. He teased you yet again by pulling away a little when you tried to deepen the kiss so you pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan that made your quiver. His cock was straining against his trousers, begging for release. 

You pried his lips open with your tongue, grazing it over his fangs, nudging his tongue to meet yours. It felt so familiar yet so different this time, real. Without breaking the connection he pushed your hips upwards towards the table and you sat down with your legs apart, your centre burning like fires of Avernus. He positioned himself with his hardened cock resting against your lower belly, felt it twitching as you closed the miniscule distance between you, hugging his slim hips with your thighs and hooking your legs around his. 

He broke the kiss gently, allowing you to take a breath and steady your heartbeat. “Careful, darling, don’t faint on me…as much of a compliment as it would be.” 

Sly little shit. He was right though, he could feel everything with his heightened vampiric senses. It allowed you to regain some semblance of sanity, which was a miracle all by itself. 

There was one important thing you had to come back to despite telling yourself not to dwell on the past.   

…it brings up the feelings of disgust and loathing. 

“What’s wrong, are you unwell?” he asked with a hint of worry when you didn’t react immediately. 

You shook your head. “No, it’s just…I thought of the things you said at Moonrise, and–”

“Hush, love,” he pressed a finger to your lip. His eyes blazed with fire matching your own. “Let me tell you something. A confession, if you will…I asked Gale to send me a pigeon once a week to tell me how you’re faring. If you’re still…you know. His answers were always, I quote: ‘She’s talking about you constantly, with a tedium that I’m sure many would say rivals my own. Why can’t you go see her and spare us all this torment? Insufferable, both of you’.” He mimicked Gale’s way of speaking and finished with a dramatic eye roll. You had to suppress a snort. Unbelievable that this man enlisted poor Gale into sending him information, even more unbelievable that Gale agreed and kept it a secret.

“Trust me, I wanted to but I wasn’t sure I was ready. I’ve spent all this time thinking about us, about my difficulties. Figuring it out, fantasizing even. It was very, uh, helpful. And then that poor excuse for a skeleton gave me the perfect opportunity I couldn’t miss. You showed up…and here we are. I am ready.” He squeezed your hips, pulling you near again, amusement and challenge crossing his godlike features. “Now shall we go back to you adorably trying to seduce me?”

You poked him in the chest playfully. “I’ve already succeeded at this daunting task, don’t you think?”

He guffawed. “How so, darling? I still have all my clothes on.”

Insufferable indeed. In spite of his assurances, you wanted to be mindful. He deserved to be loved with utmost care and attention. To feel safe enough to stop if need be.

“Tell me about those fantasies,” you prompted him, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks.

“I’d rather show you.”

You gasped as he lifted you from the table and guided you onto his bed. He laid you down, gliding on top like a cat, not breaking eye contact. Your skirt rolled up as he did so, exposing the already soaked underwear and he pressed his crotch right against it. “This is already so much better than my imagination.”

A thrill ran through your entire body from head to toe. Not many things tasted sweeter than his praise. 

“May I?” you asked, tugging on one of the buttons of his shirt. “Yes.”

The lower you went, the shakier your hands were but it was worth the reward. Every single lean muscle on him was sculpted to perfection. A soft, barely audible sigh escaped his lips as you caressed his pectorals and slid the shirt away to fully reveal his glorious upper body. 

“My turn now,” he smirked. Safe to say your blouse didn’t survive unscathed as he ripped the buttons off with his teeth. Fuck. “I’ll fix it later,” he mumbled, ripping your bra as well. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The skirt followed along with the drenched panties. He scanned you, eyes blazing with such intensity you hadn’t seen before, robbing you off reason. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”

More words of praise making your mind spin and your body tingle.

“Show me what’s next,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice anymore. 

“I’ll let you guess, my dear.”

Accepting the challenge, you grabbed his shoulders gently, pushing him off of you onto his back. You searched his features for unspoken approval or signs of discomfort as you towered over him, slowly drawing your hands towards the waistband of his trousers. “Getting warmer,” he murmured enthusiastically.

“How very predictable,” you retorted, sliding down to grab the waistband with your mouth, not letting your eyes off of him. He bucked his hips up as you tugged, exposing his raging erection clothed in elegantly embroidered underwear, and lean thighs. There was nothing on this man’s body that wasn’t absolutely infuriatingly exquisite. He bucked his hips again and moaned as you slid down the underwear too, baring his cock adorned by a string of precum glistening at the tip. Smut peddlers at Sharess’s Caress would be struggling to describe the beauty in front of you. There were simply not enough words and none of them were accurate either.  

“Breathtaking.”

“I know.”

“Cocky ass.”

He grinned and took your arm, dragging you on top of him. “But that’s what you like about me, darling, or not?” 

“Hm, I haven’t decided yet.” 

“Oh, and what might help with this terrible ordeal?” he asked with a smug look. To Hells with him. Instead of answering, you brushed the palm of your hand against his cock in a taunt, the slickness of precum wetting it. As you attempted to lift it, he placed his hand on yours and squeezed. He found your mouth as you began stroking his length, his sweet moans muffled with the kisses. Your willpower was stretching thinner and thinner, you wanted him inside you, filling you up, but you’d do only what he wanted to do. His pleasure, real pleasure was more important than your own. Being able to touch him, feel him against your skin, was already enough of a gift after so much time apart.

“Tighter and faster, darling,” he urged you and so you did as he asked, tightening your grip. His fangs almost cut your lip as he moaned loudly, deliciously. He jerked his hips up each time your hand went down in perfect sync, searching for release. After a few more strokes you felt him spasming, cum spraying over his abdomen. “Have you decided now?” he quipped, brushing stray hairs from your face. “Nuh huh.” You smiled and collected some of the cum on your fingers, licking them clean. 

“Gods below,” he hissed.

“Care to show me if there’s more on your list of fantasies?”

“Indeed,” he answered simply, his eyes burying into you, scorching you whole. “It’s you.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to react, arresting your mouth with soft pecks, sending tingles from head down to your toes as he pinned you down to the mattress. Every sense was on overdrive, your magic crackling within you. As the kisses grew more intense, the more ferociously the magic whirled within like a thunderstorm and your heartbeat began racing more frantically, his body responded too, his cock getting stiff anew.

He hooked his right leg under yours, pausing the kiss to study your face. I want you, I want it all, you wished to say but he rendered you speechless as he moved his hips, aligning himself at your entrance. 

Affection.

Admiration.

Desire. 

You hoped he could see it as he looked at you. Maintaining eye-contact, he slowly pushed his cock inside you, stretching you, making you whole with small calculated thrusts at first. Wrapping your legs around him, you invited him even deeper, the thrusts becoming more rapid, forcing you to close your eyes but you couldn’t, you couldn’t break away from his gaze.    

“Are you still with me?” you muttered. This felt different and was different than the trysts in the forest but you had to be certain. He tittered, knowingly. “I’m here, my love.”

He pulled out completely and entered you again, pressing his mouth on yours, stifling a heavenly whimper and causing you to lose a bit of control. You swung your arm away as lightning crackled at your fingertips. Just in time. A lightning bolt shot out and hit one of the big blood jars on the shelf, blood spilling everywhere. 

“You darling, are a menace, aren’t you?” 

“No more than you are,” you countered, kissing the tip of his nose. 

“Touché.”  

Grinning mischievously the way only he could, he awarded you with yet another agonizingly slow thrust, and another, and another, your whimpers and moans mirroring his own. He was still fully present, your bodies in perfect sync. Tiny droplets of sweat were trickling down his forehead, his luscious locks slightly disheveled. He’d always been a walking sin but at the given moment, a whole nunnery would go straight to the Hells just by looking at him. 

He picked up the pace, pushing harder and you were coming close, so close, the throbbing sensation robbing you of breath entirely. “You feel…so incredible,” he murmured hoarsely.

“Astarion, please!” you begged, tightening your hold around him and arching your back. So close. He sucked your lower lip, grazing it with his fangs but you couldn’t care less. You could feel him tensing against you and you kissed him, tasting blood on your tongue as you climaxed together in harmony. Another lightning bolt shot out of your hand as you did, smashing more bottles. A hearty chuckle reverberated in his throat when he looked at the carnage of blood and broken glass on the floor. 

"Oh my...what do you have to say for yourself now, dear?"

"I love you."

He smiled blissfully and nuzzled your neck. "That works, I suppose."

Later, after you helped him clean the mess you’d made and you wound up tangled in the sheets again crying out his name even louder, he told you those little words. And this time they weren’t a lie.

~~~

“You look positively radiant, my friend,” Gale greeted you the next day as you arrived to Sorcerous Sundries.

“And bringing some good news to boot,” you said, blushing as you recounted last night's events. “No need to send Astarion more letters about me.”

The wizard opened his mouth like a fish and quickly scuttled to the corner of the room to rearrange the bookshelves that didn’t quite require more rearranging.

[thisreadswhatever]

Anything For The Club: Part Two

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader, reader x oc characters

[wordcount]: 1.6k+

[summary]: Jax gets back from his run after rushing home to you, and a concerning discovery is made at Diosa.

[series cw]: 18+ minors do not interact! female reader, swearing, sexual harassment/assault (non-canon characters), alcohol use, mix of fluff, smut and angst throughout, p in v sex, teasing, violence, gun use, mentions of blood, murder, blackmail

[authors note]: still no smut yet.. but it's coming, i promise! this however is my favourite part because soft jax makes me feel a type of way. let me know if you want to be tagged in part three :)

You woke up to the feeling of strong hands wrapping around your waist, goose bumps forming at the feel of his cold rings pressing against your skin. You turned to find Jax curled up next to you, still dressed in his jeans and kutte, too preoccupied with getting into bed with you to change. An audible sigh of relief escaped your lips as you came to realise he was home. “You’re here.” 

You melted into the feeling of him beside you, like you could finally breathe again. His safe arms cloaked your body as he wove himself between the sheets and your skin. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” He still made your heart race even after all the years you’d been together, it always felt like that first time you saw him when he came home to you. 

He pulled you in tighter, pressing your back snug against his chest, and you closed your eyes as you revealed in the warmth.

“We decided it would be easier to let Chibs and Juice handle the rest, too much heat for all of us to be involved. I couldn’t wait any longer to see you. I rode back as soon as I could.”

He leaned over and found your lips, crushing his mouth to yours with urgency. His hand cupped at your chin as he drew your face higher into his, stroking your jaw with his thumb as his tongue encased yours. You never wanted it to end. 

“You sure you’re okay?” You didn’t want details, but it concerned you that whatever had happened on the run, he felt like he needed to get out of there. Despite how relieved you were he was home safe, you knew it wasn’t like Jax to bail from club business, no matter how much heat there was.

“I am now.” He laid back on his side as he was engulfing himself around you again, kissing your ear as he stated softly, “Not like you to drink on the job.” He must’ve smelt the lingering alcohol on your breath. He never did miss a thing. 

You had already made the decision to not bother Jax with the events of last night. It was well known that you had to handle drunk clients at Diosa, and it didn’t feel like it was fair to bother Jax with it when he had so much else going on. 

“The girls wanted to take a few shots before I left.” You had tried your best to sound nonchalant, hoping he wouldn’t sense your anxiety. He found your face again and kissed you once more, reassured by your response.

You broke from the intoxication of his lips long enough to look over at the clock on your bedside.

“What time is it?” With your hazy eyes, you could just make out the bright red numbers.

“Shit Jax, I really have to sleep before I get back to Diosa.” 

“Don’t work, stay here with me.” 

Jax pulled you into him, shifting your body so you were facing him in bed. He continued to kiss you, his hands intertwining with your clothes as he attempted to pull your shirt off, struggling with the task due to the dead weight of your half asleep body. He gave up the fight and wrapped one hand through your hair, while the other felt every inch of you. “I missed my girl too much.” He trailed his fingers along your side under the fabric, caressing the skin leading to your breasts. It was so hard to say no to him. 

“If only I wasn’t Vice President of Diosa”, you groaned. 

He slowed his kisses down, a smile cracking from his lips he planted small pecks along your jawline. He laid his forehead against you, and met his nose to yours as he nuzzled the tip gently. “Get some sleep, VP. I’m gonna work on the bike in the garage.” Jax kissed your cheek once more and shuffled out of bed, letting you drift back to sleep peacefully. 

----------

You arrived at Diosa the next day, still slightly hungover from the one too many impromptu shots. As you walked into your office, one of the girls greeted you and handed over the mail. You set the stack of envelopes on your desk, and logged into your laptop, checking your email and upcoming calendar. 

You heard a knock, and looked up to see Nero was standing in the doorframe. “How you feeling?” 

“Like I could use some coffee.” 

“You sure you’re okay? Last night was tough. That guy was a total prick.” 

“I’m fine, Nero, honestly. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

“You tell Jax?” 

You loved Nero, but his pestering about the situation was grating on you. You just wanted to forget it.

“No need, they won’t be back.” 

Nero nodded and smiled warily as he left down the hall, “I’ll get Mandy to bring you that coffee.” 

“Thanks boss.” 

You slumped back in your chair, sighing. For some reason that guy really had left a churning feeling in your stomach. The guilt was eating at you for keeping it from Jax and lying to reassure Nero that you were fine, despite the fact you felt it was almost an overreaction to feel how you were now. The President had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, and you never had to see him again. He was just some random creep, but that darkness in his eyes kept haunting your memory.

You tried to distract yourself with work, digging into your email and spreadsheets. Mandy brought your coffee in, asking if you were alright. 

“Not you too. It isn’t the first time a client’s been a dick. I’m good. Thanks for the coffee”, you added with a reassuring smile. 

“Alright alright, just checking. Can we go through the bar stock today? We’re looking pretty light.” 

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes and I’ll be with you.” 

She nodded and started to head out before noticing the pile of mail on your desk. “Do you need any help with that? You got a hefty stack there to get through.” 

You glanced at the piling envelopes again, realising you hadn’t even attempted to look at them yet. “Sure, let’s do that before we start the bar.” 

Mandy started shredding through the pile with your letter opener, as you filed away the invoices and booking confirmations. She was chatting away with you about the new guy she was seeing, and how he was planning a romantic getaway weekend for the two of them in Nevada. That was something you and Jax didn’t really get to do. Despite how happy you were for her, you couldn’t help but feel envious at the idea of her seemingly “normal” dating life.

You looked up at Mandy as she had gone quiet. She was suddenly no longer gushing about her boyfriend, holding a tan envelope up closer to her as she seemed to be reading it intently.

“Weird. This one doesn’t look like it’s for us.” 

She handed it to you. You didn’t recognise the forwarding address, but your blood ran cold as you read the first two lines.

 ‘M L GALINDO, VAGOS CLUBHOUSE’. 

The letter fell through your fingers, your coffee crashed to the floor as you tried to catch it, and the contents spilled across the cream carpet. “Shit!” Mandy yelled as she shot up from her seat, rushing to get some paper towels. You scrambled to the floor, picking up the empty cup and envelope, now covered in coffee. You ignored the liquid, prying open the side of the letter without ripping the entire thing. It was an electric bill, dated from two months ago. 

Mandy rushed in with the paper towels, dropping to her knees to soak up the remnants from the floor. She tossed her head back in frustration as she realised with scrubbing that the stain wasn’t budging. “This is never coming out.” Her attention turned to your eyes, which were still starring at the envelope, “are you alright? What is it?” 

You tried to play off your confusion with a shrug, “just me being a klutz again. The letter must’ve been sent to the wrong address.” 

Mandy had never known you to be a klutz. She looked at you with prying eyes, “isn’t that the name of those guys who were here last night?” She leaned over to look at the letter again in your hands, “‘Vagos’?” 

You put the wet letter in your desk and locked the drawer. 

“I’m sure they accidentally dropped it while they were here. I’ll take it to the mailbox and let them redirect it.” 

You played it off as best you could, considering it was hardly a believable story. As if a group of gang members would just happen to drop an electric bill behind at a escort hub. It was a hard sell, though you truthfully didn’t have any explanation for it either.

Mandy stood up from the floor, holding the now soiled paper towel soaked in cold coffee. You’d never seen her look at you so seriously before, her brows furrowed as she scanned your face for the truth. “Are those guys bothering you? Do we need to get The Club?” 

“Its just some random coincidence. Nothing that we need to bother The Club with.” You headed for the door, trying to change the subject. “Let’s go check out that stock.”

———

part three

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