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nyxronomicon · 9 months

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pudding

Diavolo x MC (GN pronouns / MC has a vagina)

a/n: I wrote most of this shortly after reading the lunatic pudding devilgram in the OG!OM app. in fact I distinctly remember getting stuck on the sex part bc i didn't really write smut yet... look at how far I've come lmao <- exclusively writes smut now

tw: breeding kink, aphrodisiac, size kink (Diavolo's big cock once again), mating press, rough sex, Diavolo goes a lil feral, a little bit of nipple play, fingering, oral (MC receiving)

The adrenaline from running from demons all afternoon wore off as you and Diavolo settled in his room. He’d locked the door behind himself before turning around to face you.

"That was quite the chase." He said, keeping his distance from you now that you were in private together.

"I can't believe how potent one bite of lunatic pudding was." You responded, shaking a little. You looked at Diavolo, remembering he's not immune. "What about you, not feeling very romantic?" You smirked.

Diavolo chuckled. "Don't test me. I'm at my limits of self restraint." He smiled nervously. He fidgeted a moment, realizing he needed to protect you until the effects wore off. Even across the room your scent became harder to resist with every passing second. And he still had 23 hours to go.

"Thank you, Lord Diavolo." You took a seat on his couch.

"It's no trouble at all." Diavolo responded, stepping closer to you. You watched him carefully, there was something different about him, as if the royal facade was gone and he was himself. Come to think of it, this was the first time you were alone with him. "I need to freshen up- don't hesitate to call if anything happens." Diavolo stepped into the master bathroom as you nodded back to him.

23 more hours. It was all you could think about. Your secret crush on the prince had your heart racing at the possibilities. What were you going to do for 23 hours in Diavolo's bedroom…? You knew exactly what was on his mind. It was on yours too, if you were being honest, but you didn’t want him to do anything he would regret with you. So, you busied yourself thinking of something to distract him.

"Want to listen to music?" You smiled, pulling him out of his dark fantasies. "If you close your eyes maybe it'll keep your mind off- uh…"

Meanwhile, Diavolo splashed water on his face. His thoughts raced as he looked at himself in the mirror. I have to control myself. I can’t succumb to my desires. How would it look if I took advantage of an exchange student? He shook his head as if that would cure his sinful thoughts and exited the bathroom.

His resolve shattered the moment he saw you again, his mind stuck on how easy it would be to overpower you, a mere human.

He chuckled at your hesitation. "The intense attraction I have for you?" He said, sitting on one of the accent chairs on either side of the couch. Diavolo had his doubts about your plan, mostly because it was your intoxicating scent that was giving him the most trouble.

Your face felt flush. "Uh, yeah…" you laughed nervously. "I'll play something. Stay there."

"I'm not one of those brothers you can command, you know." He smiled, watching you move as you flipped through his vinyls. "But if you wanted to-" he caught himself and stopped, blush dusting his cheeks. You looked back at him, catching his golden eyes for a moment before he looked away.

"If I wanted to… what?" You gave him a coy smile before turning back to the records. You were surprised to find your favorite musician in his collection and put it on the player.

"Ignore me, that was the pudding…" he said, still blushing as the record began to play.

"Close your eyes." You commanded, testing his unfinished words. He looked at you a moment before closing his eyes with a soft smile.

"I'm not doing this because you told me to." Diavolo clarified. "I'm doing this because I want to know if it helps." He remained frozen in his seat.

You quietly walked closer to him and admired the handsome demon. Your eyes trailed from his jawline down his neck. His well tailored uniform left a lot to your imagination but you had plenty of time to undress him with your eyes. 23 hours, to be exact. You leaned on the side of the couch closest to Diavolo as you studied his strong hands. You could practically feel them running up and down your body.

As the first song ended, Diavolo's eyes slowly opened and caught you looking at him. "I thought you came closer." He had a darker intensity to him. "I hope you weren't thinking about trying anything."

"Why, were you?" You shot back at him with a grin, matching his intensity.

He smiled and buried his face in his hand. "Of course I was. I still am." His face remained in his palm. The record continued to play as the two of you paused, afraid to say what was on your minds.

"What if…" you hesitated, knowing this was not something you could take back after saying it. "What if… I want you to try something?" Diavolo's fingers clawed into his hair, keeping his face hidden.

When he didn’t respond, you spoke again. “Diavolo… I… have a crush on you.” He chuckled before a brief pause, the weight of your words heavy in the air.

"The truth is…" he began, "I had trouble resisting you without the pudding." Heat rushed to your face as he peeked at you through his fingers. You stared at each other with desire. “You’re making this very hard for me…”

Diavolo took a deep breath. His mind was screaming at him to fuck you. He knew he could overpower you, it was all he could think about. And now, it seemed that was exactly what you wanted. But he couldn’t shake the thought of how improper it would be. He stood and turned to walk to the balcony for some fresh air, stopped by your hand catching his wrist.

He froze. He wanted you so bad. There was no telling how much of it was his natural attraction to you and how much was the pudding’s effect, but Diavolo’s thoughts were consumed with you. How he wanted his hands on your body. His teeth on your skin. And god, what he would give to fill you with his cum so thoroughly that you’d carry his heir…

These thoughts had occurred to him in passing, he’d even jerked off to the idea before but this was so much different. He could normally distract himself, but everything that came to mind was you. He needed to fuck you. Maybe that was the answer- maybe it would dull the pudding’s effect.

He felt his eyes darken with desire, desperately attempting to calm himself down.

The two of you were frozen there for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, his fingers loosened and slowly intertwined with yours. He turned around, you could see the darkness in his champagne eyes. He looked demonic. He suddenly pulled you toward him until your faces were inches from each other. His free hand trailed up your arm at a glacial pace. It gave you goosebumps. Finally, it settled on your cheek.

"Is it ok if I stop restraining myself?" He whispered, lips brushing against yours as he waited for a response. You could tell his muscles were tense, like this gentleness was taking all of his self control to maintain.

"... yes-" you barely had time to finish saying the word before his lips crashed into yours. He was ravenous. His tongue grazed your lips and you parted them, allowing him to explore your mouth. It was electric. He dropped your hand and suddenly pulled you tightly against him by the hips, his other hand remaining on your jaw. He deepened the kiss and you lost yourself in a haze of desire, hands gripping his uniform.

He slowed his movements and hesitated before pulling away. His fiery gaze met yours, still gripping you tightly. “... fuck.” He mumbled before dropping his head to your shoulder. He nuzzled you for a moment before gently kissing your neck. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this…” His voice was low and sultry. “One bite of pudding... and I’ve completely lost control…” He peppered kisses on your neck between thoughts. “I wonder…” He started slowly unbuttoning your uniform. “What will my subjects think?”

Heat rose in your body as he continued to unbutton. “Do they have to know?” You whispered. Diavolo did not respond as he pushed your shirt open, exposing your chest. He sucked on your collarbone to leave his mark while running his hands over your torso.

When he was satisfied with the bruise left, he brought his lips to your ear. “I guess not.” He whispered then sucked on your earlobe. You let out a moan which made him chuckle. “I love that sound…” He said, nuzzling into you again. He pulled away and swept you into his arms to carry you to his bed. He sat you on the edge and admired you for a moment. “Are you sure this is ok?” He asked, lust burning in his eyes.

“I want you, Diavolo.” You responded, finally slipping your uniform jacket off. Diavolo helped you remove your top completely and pushed you back onto the bed. He crawled on top of you, pinning your hands down with his as he locked you in another kiss. He was needy and desperate, it seemed the effects of the pudding were only getting more intense.

Diavolo sat up and urgently began unbuttoning his shirt. You tried to sit up with him but he pushed you back down.

“Don’t move.” He said, removing his shirt and undershirt revealing his muscles. He leaned over you again, caging you against the bed. One hand drifted to your neck, holding it firmly as he tangled his tongue with yours again. You trailed your fingers along his bare chest, pinching his nipples as he groaned in response.

“Two can play at that game.” He growled, trailing kisses down your chest until he reached a nipple. He flicked it with his tongue, watching it harden before enclosing his lips around it. You moaned and bucked your hips. As Diavolo’s mouth worked your nipple, his fingers rubbed your arousal through your pants. He unfastened them as he trailed kisses further down. Diavolo looked up at you for a moment, his golden eyes looking into yours as he removed your pants. He bit his lip as if asking for permission. You gave him a silent nod.

Diavolo started rubbing your pussy, simultaneously appreciating its beauty. You leaned your head back and quietly moaned. This encouraged him to use his mouth to pleasure you, pressing his tongue against your clit. As Diavolo slipped his fingers in your cunt, your moaning became louder and more erratic. He was stretching you to fit his throbbing cock.

“Diavolo… feels so good…” You moaned. He allowed himself to be rougher, gripping your hips to keep you from squirming in pleasure. His tongue swirled around your clit and he could feel your walls shudder around his fingers, your wet pussy nearly ready for his length. He stuck another finger in for good measure, finding your g-spot as you moaned his name.

His fingers slid out and he smirked at you. “My turn.” He said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He stood, tugging you by the legs to the edge of the bed. You watched as he removed his belt, then his pants, then his boxers. His huge cock sprung up, eager to feel you.

Diavolo positioned your ankles on his shoulders as he lined himself up with your pussy. You felt the tip slowly push in, your body adjusting to his size. You could feel the stretch- it was a tight fit, but as he bottomed out inside you, it made you feel so satisfyingly full.

“So big…” You murmured.

“You like that, hm?” He chuckled, leaning over you and folding you into a mating press. He began to thrust, the friction reminding you of how good he was making you feel earlier. Moans dripped from your lips as his pace increased. Diavolo’s last shreds of self-control had disappeared, he was now fucking you completely recklessly.

“Fuck… Dia…” You panted, feeling your cunt tighten around him as he continued.

“Gonna… put a baby in you…” He growled, capturing you in a rough kiss as your knees hit your chest. His cock was pounding you so hard, all you could do was whimper as his tongue slid into your mouth. The effects of the pudding made Diavolo forget all about your pleasure, his relentless pace quickening as he neared his orgasm.

“Been waiting for this… so long…” Diavolo mumbled, each thrust of his hips threatening to push you over the edge. “Want to breed you… Make you mine…” His dick rammed into your g-spot so precisely, finally you felt the wave of pleasure shooting through your body. You felt yourself tighten around him, shockwaves of ecstasy turning you into a blubbering mess as his orgasm followed shortly after.

Diavolo growled and moaned. You could feel the cum filling you, the added pressure in your cunt only sending more aftershocks through you. He thrust a few more times, cum sputtering out in waves as you both came down from your high. Breathing heavily, you pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face as his gaze lost the demonic aura he had moments before.

You were slow to catch your breath, Diavolo unmoving on top of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his cock still lodged inside you. You ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’m afraid that didn’t help.” Diavolo sighed after a long pause. “I want you even more now.” You felt his cock twitch inside you, still rock hard.

“Well,” You smirked. “We still have 22 hours to kill.”

#obey me smut #obey me diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader #obey me fanfiction #diavolo smut #it was nice to write Diavolo again tbh i missed him lol #it's like he was designed in a lab for me...

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unboundprompts · 4 months

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Romantic Prompts

↳ a masterpost for writing prompts with romantic themes.

↳ (#) is from my collection of random prompts, (list) contains multiple prompts.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

Unrequited Love, Reluctant Love, Falling Out of Love Prompts:

Unwanted Love (#3)

Not Good for Each Other (#7)

Not Meant to Be (#9)

Questioning the Validity of Romantic Feelings (list)

Character in Love with Someone Who They Think Hates Them (list)

Couple Fell Out of Love (list)

Controlling Childhood Friend in Love with their "Puppet" (list)

Denial of Romantic Feelings (list)

Requited Love Prompts:

You Would Like That, Wouldn't You? (#31)

Three Good Things (#44)

Trying to Forget You (#45)

The Drawing (#48)

Love Me Today, Love Me Tomorrow (#78)

Anything You Want Me to Be (#78)

Comforting their Lover with Abandonment Issues (list)

Couple Didn't Realize They Were in Love Until Separation (list)

Height Difference Prompts (list)

Subtle Romantic Gestures (list)

Love Confession Prompts:

I Think I'm in Love with You (#51)

Responses to "I Want You" (list)

Responses to "Do You Love Me?" (list)

Responses to "Do You Like Me Too?" (list)

Responses to a Sudden Compliment (list)

Love Confession after an Argument (list)

Being Shocked After a Kiss (list)

Say it to My Face (#131)

Enemies/Rivals to Lovers Prompts:

The Art Thief (#81)

Rivals to Lovers at a Martial Arts Academy (list)

Anxious Character x Careless Character (list)

First Kiss Prompts (list)

One Bed Trope: Morning After Dialogue (list)

Bonding Over Horror Movies and Mystery Books (list)

Blushing Like a Sinner in Chapel (#96)

Rivals Being Shipped Together (list)

Academic Rivals to Lovers (list)

Fantasy Tropes Prompts:

Princess x Their Guard (list)

Princess x Knight (list)

Royal Painter x Knight (list)

Prince x Prince (list)

Immortal x Reincarnated Lover (list)

Immortal x Mortal Lover Reborn (list)

Hero x Civilian (list)

Sci-Fi OTP (list)

Other Specific Tropes Prompts:

Shy/Easily Embarrassed Character Getting Flustered (list)

Country x City Prompts (list)

Amnesia/Childhood Friends (list)

Sunshine Character x Serious Character (list)

Opposite Couples (ex: Always and Never, War and Peace) (list)

Opposite Couples: Sea and Sky (list)

Sarcastic Aloof x Annoying Hothead (list)

Medic x Soldier (list)

Prisoner x Guard (list)

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #creative writing #writeblr #otp prompts #prompt list #story prompt #romance prompts #romantic prompts #enemies to lovers prompts

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fandomxpreferences · 5 months

Text

Man Eater (18+)

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x dark femme female reader (like siren energy)

TW: toxic, manipulation, smut, I think this counts as dub con, oral ( f receiving), I think that’s all but as always read at your own risk

Summary: Rafe can’t help but fall into your trap every single time.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: this is not my best work but I’m dipping my toes back in so please be nice to me

As much as he hates it, there’s something about you Rafe just can’t let go of. You're mysterious and seductive without trying; the most elusive woman he's ever met. You hold all the power, and for some reason, he keeps coming back for more.

Nobody knows what the two of you do behind closed doors. You show up when you feel like it, and every single time Rafe is waiting on his knees for you. Every time you leave he swears he's done, but then you call or show up and you're all he can focus on. You have a hold on him in a way that no one ever has before.

You don't think twice as you walk into the gala at tannyhill wearing a red gown; you smile and greet familiar faces just like usual. You're somehow kind and heartless at the same time, and Rafe has never been able to make sense of it.

He swears his breathing stops altogether when you make your entrance, but he remains stoic as he sips on whiskey. There’s something so powerful in the way you carry yourself; like you either own the place or don’t care who does. It draws him in and he can’t help but be mesmerized by just your presence.

He watches people move out of your way and men nearly break their necks as you float by ethereal and beautiful as ever. You’d think you’re a royal that should have a security team the way you command the room, and Rafe can’t look away.

You know he’s there and you can feel him watching your every move as you slink toward the bar and stop just a few feet away from him. While you may be sweet as sugar to most, Rafe gets to see the opposing side of you.

It's as if you're a siren; so beautiful and innocent one moment and sinister the next. He shifts closer so your shoulders are almost touching, and flags the bartender down with the subtle wag of his finger.

“She’s with me. Pour from our personal collection.” He instructs, and the man nods.

You glance over at him with a smirk and place your clutch on the counter before propping up on your elbows. You raise your eyebrows expectantly, and as if he has been perfectly trained, he orders your usual drink without further instruction.

“Always so eager to please.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your crimson-stained lips, and Rafe watches you with the same predatory gaze he always does.

“Only you.”

The way you stare up at him through thick lashes and winged eyeliner nearly makes him collapse, and he tries to calm the wild beating of his heart. You’re the type of beautiful that’s intimidating; so stunning that even the unshakable Rafe Cameron quakes in your presence.

You take a sip from your glass with a wink before strutting off, and he grins to himself. He knows how lucky he is to have you in any sense, and he also knows that you’re not in a place to be tied down.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from longing for more. He’s certain that you were made for him; and that there aren’t any other men in outer banks truly capable of keeping up with you the way he can.

As strong as he is, even Rafe falls victim to your spell. Anyone else would simply be steamrolled, and he thinks on some level you know that. He knows you two would rule Figure Eight together and be unstoppable, but he’ll accept what you give.

He’s not usually worried about you getting around because even if you aren’t exclusive by any means, you’re extremely selective. You don’t seek attention; that's why you get so much of it. Normally, you don't pay it any mind.

Tonight, however, Rafe clenches his jaw until it aches as you nurse drinks made from his liquor while rubbing another man's arm. He knows he has no claim to you; you’ve made that very clear. He isn’t even sure if you have his name saved in your phone.

Despite having that knowledge, he finds himself slowly maneuvering through the crowd in your direction. You lock eyes with him over the shoulder of the man sitting in front of you, and you quirk your brow just enough for Rafe to notice.

It startles Rafe sometimes; how your eyes sparkle with the same thrill and mischief as his. You’re easily just as crazy as he is and he’s absolutely addicted to the rush of being with you.

“My dad wants to say hello.” Rafe lies, not giving you a chance to speak. He can see the way you’re weighing your options in your mind. He knows there’s a possibility that you tell him to fuck off; despite your arrangement, going home together is not a given.

“Excuse me.” You politely smile, giving one last squeeze before releasing the man's bicep and stepping around him.

Rafe’s arm wraps around your waist instantly, with his hand splayed across your side and onto your stomach as he holds you close to him. You stumble a bit in your heels when he jerks you into him, but don’t show any emotion.

“Bit bold tonight, aren’t we?” You say just loud enough for him to hear, and his fingertips dig further into your flesh.

“Not bolder than wearing a dress with your entire back out and drinking my liquor with another man.” He bites, and you let him lead, not wanting to cause any more of a scene. He doesn’t stop until you’re standing in his room and shuts the door.

He stays facing away from you for a moment, and you tap your shoe impatiently.

“Did you bring me up here just t-“ You’re cut off when Rafe tilts his head back and sighs with annoyance.

“Shut up and listen.” He turns around and you try to cover your shock at his forwardness.

“Are you fucking other guys?”

You open your mouth to answer but he takes a stride forward and grips your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“The truth.”

When you don't speak, he narrows his eyes and takes a step impossibly closer.

“Look me in my eyes. Are we ever going to be more or am I really just a hookup? I need to know.”

You give him a pointed look but he doesn't waver and you roll your eyes.

“Rafe, don't pull at this thread. You know what this is.”

He licks his lower lip and nods before pulling back.

“I can’t do this with you anymore.”

Without skipping a beat, you close the distance he created and run your hands across his chest and onto his broad shoulders.

“I know you like it when I dress up, Rafe. Let's just work it out with our bodies, yeah? Let me ride you and ease your mind.” You purr and with lightning speed, Rafe grabs your throat and spins you around so your back is pressed against the door.

“Don't.” He grits out, but you can see the will starting to crumble in his ocean eyes.

You push against his chest just enough to get his attention, and he keeps his hold on your neck as you slowly move him backward. You both know that this dance always ends the same way, and it infuriates him as much as it turns him on.

He crashes back onto the mattress and you stand between his knees while he peers up at you. If you asked him, Rafe would insist that you’re not real. He swears there’s a glow surrounding you as he finds himself succumbing to you once again.

You reach back and slowly unzip your dress before wiggling your hips dramatically and letting it pool around your feet. You leave the heels on and swing one leg up so you’re half straddling him, and he watches with lust-blown pupils.

As much as he hates this cycle, he loves it just the same. You’ll manipulate him and he’ll let you because that's how much power you have over him.

You slowly crawl up his body, dragging your hands across his twitching muscles until your fingers are laced over his head, and lower your hips until you’re sitting on his bulge.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, your lips brushing against his throat.

“No.”

You slowly push forward and brush your chest against his face, sitting up when he tries to nip at the skin. You guide his hands against your hips and shift slightly, eliciting a deep groan.

“Show me how to please you.” You whisper, and something in Rafe snaps. He doesn't care about the party downstairs, he doesn't care that he's giving in to you again; all he cares about is claiming you in a way that shows you he’s capable of taking the control back at any second.

Before you can process, he flips you onto your back and rips your panties in half. You gasp with wide eyes, and Rafe slips his hand behind you. You arch your back so he can unhook your bra while his other hand dips into your folds.

He sucks a hickey into the top of your breast while his nimble fingers slip your bra off with ease, and he licks a strip from the dark bruise to the column of your throat. He keeps his head buried there working on the tender flesh while pumping his fingers in and out of your slick.

You buck up when he curls into your g-spot, and he repeats the movement while gasps fall from your lips.

“I know, baby. I got you.”

He presses one last kiss to your collarbone before trailing his lips and nose all the way down your torso. He wastes no time, and you cry out when his lips wrap around your clit. His free hand settles on the inside of your upper thigh, holding it open.

He hits a spot that causes you to pull away from him, and a sharp slap rings out before he wraps his hand around the back of your leg and yanks you back into him. He moves with your body as you writhe around, and continues his brutal pace.

He has you approaching that high in record time and reaches up to lace his fingers with yours as your head flings back while you tremble against him. He carries you through it the entire time, not even flinching when your nails draw blood or when his signet ring digs into his finger.

As soon as your vision clears, you sit up and start ripping at the buttons on his tux. He smirks at how eager you are and watches the way you try to cover it up. Regardless of what he is to you, no man will ever have you the way he has and you know that.

His lips crash against yours while you fiddle with his tie, and he quickly removes his belt and pants before leaning forward until you're flat against the bed. He gently moves your hands away and takes over, taking off the layers of clothing the best he can without breaking the kiss.

The second you feel the heat from his body, your hands roam his exposed flesh. His large hand grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg around his waist, and you nod into him. He wraps his hand around his cock and pumps a few times, hissing at the sensation.

He breaks away and presses his forehead to yours before tilting his head down to watch where he presses into you. You both inhale sharply, and you cling to him for dear life as he eases In until his pelvis hits yours.

He rolls his hips, hitting that sweet spot while also brushing against your swollen bundle of nerves. It's a torturously slow pace as he fucks into you deep and slow, and your sweat mingles as your bodies start to fall into a natural rhythm.

You push forward when he pulls back, and he litters bites and licks across your neck. Your sweet moans mix with his deep grunts and occasional whimpers to make a hymn as you worship each other.

“Fuck, you feel too good.” He groans, and you whine into his shoulder.

“You always think you're this little minx that can get whatever she wants. I let you because I want you to be happy. Sometimes you just have to be reminded that you’re not the apex predator you think you are. Not with me.”

His hand wraps around your throat and squeezes lightly, and you grin at the feeling. You can say whatever you want, but Rafe knows you would never let another man have this level of control let alone smile at it. It's those little things that keep a spark of hope alive; moments where he sees you want him as much as he wants you.

He forces your mouth apart with his tongue before devouring you like a man starved. Your skin burns hot as the two of you tangle in the sheets, too lost in each other to care about anything else.

You leverage your weight and flip over, slipping back onto his pulsing cock before he can protest. His head falls back with a strangled groan as he reaches a new depth, and his hands instantly settle on your waist.

You rock back and forth a few times, testing the water before settling in. You note every little gasp and nose scrunch, making sure to make those movements again.

His fingertips dig into the flesh on your hips as he guides you and you watch him through hooded eyes as he attempts to maintain some semblance of composure.

The two of you writhe in unison as you chase your highs, beads of sweat glistening like diamonds as they trickle down your bodies and mingle together.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Rafe is barely within his right mind, but the statement still sends a paralyzing shiver down your spine. For the first time, you feel a tinge of remorse and it causes your movements to stutter.

You recover quickly and continue until you feel him twitch and ride him through his high. Your mind is racing at light speed as you quickly climb off and start dressing, eager to get away.

Suddenly the room feels suffocating as Rafe’s cologne engulfs your senses and you keep your eyes cast downward. You don’t want to see the lacrosse trophies or the framed family photos; reminders that outside of your arrangement, Rafe is a real person with a real life.

“Whoah hold up, slow down.”

Rafe’s voice is laced with confusion as he comes back down and notices you all but sprinting around the room.

His large hands wrap around your biceps in an attempt to stop you, and your heart lurches when you spare a glance at his cerulean eyes.

“You’re not staying?”

Admittedly, you’ve gotten a smidge too comfortable and it’s become somewhat of a routine for you to stay over and leave when the sun comes up.

When you don’t answer and instead try to side step him, his brow furrows and he matches your movement so you’re blocked. His hand comes up to pinch your chin between this thumb and forefinger, and you try to ignore the way your skin tingles.

“Look at me. What’s going on?”

It occurs to you that he isn’t aware of what he said, and you swallow before taking a deep breath and holding your head high.

“I think you’re right. We shouldn’t do this anymore.”

His hand drops in shock, and before he can react you slink around him and race downstairs straight out the door.

Rafe stands in place for a second trying to process what just happened. He yanks on some sweatpants and goes bounding after you, but by the time he makes it outside, you’re already gone.

He runs his hand over his head before taking off back toward his room. He ignores the odd looks he receives from Gala guests roaming the property and continues on his mission until he’s back upstairs holding his phone.

It’s muscle memory at this point, finding you in his favorites comes with ease and it only takes a second for his thumb to press the number that he’s committed to heart.

His heart thumps in his chest as it rings once, then twice.

The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up and try again.

He hangs up and calls back three more times only to receive the same dreaded message each time before he lobs his phone across the room and looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

#rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks angst #outer banks smut #outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #obx imagine

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tarjapearce · 5 months

Text

Crimson Crown (Pt. 6)

Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Thanks to @pinkiemme for the amazing cover ✨

Summary: You beat Miguel to take the first step.

A/N: Thanks for the patience 🥹❤️. Hope you enjoy ~

The heavy footsteps echoed through the dark alleys of the city, lost into the forever echo of Arachne's capital. Stony roads lead to different places, but the cloaked figure's path lead to a tavern. More to the underground facade of the place, to a secluded and exclusive area.

The oak door was knocked with a characteristical bang, A little slot within was slid open, just to reveal a pair of beady eyes. The cloaked figure smirked upon hearing the locks turn and pull until the hefty door was open, allowing them in.

"You're alone."

"Yeah" the cloaked man removed his disguise and downed a pint of beer before reuniting with the others, that like him, were awaiting for his presence to start their clandestine reunion. Dressed up to mingle with the shadows.

"The king has increased the security in the east prison."

"That's a problem if we want our mercenaries out."

"What about Fisk? Tell him to send some of his men undercover to scout the area."

Another man grunted in response.

"He also is a king with responsibilities. Getting an audience with him alone takes time."

"Then what the fuck are you waiting for?"

The other man scowled as he pulled a knife out of the many pockets his suit allowed him to carry. And that unleashed a domino effect as the rest either pulled guns or more knives.

The dark and makeshift reunion was made with five men and a young boy, that didn't pass his sixteens.

"Hey! If you wanna fight someone, save those energies for the king-"

"The king has been too busy to care. His new toy has him quite preoccupied."

A brow was quirked, "New toy?"

"A princess."

"Well, ain't that wonderful?"

"Great. Now we have to remake our plan."

"No, no. What are you talking about? If we don't attack now, our chance will be for naught."

"You truly want to go ahead with a plan when we're missing our most important associates? I'd love to see you try to take on the king yourself."

The jeering words flew constantly between some members of the little gathering.

"Seems like you forget why he is called The Red King."

A roll of eyes and a dismissive gesture made the man to keep interrogating.

"So what about the princess?"

"We need more information about her."

The youngest cleared his throat and spoke.

"She's a Thelerian."

There was a collective round of not so surprised and bored 'ahs' from the men.

"No wonder why there is Arachne's soldiers in the West Passage and the borders."

"Borders? Through the city. Even within the castle!."

"Guess the old trick of 'I sell my daughter to you for protection' always works."

"She wasn't sold. Their wedding is a month and a half away."

"This is bad."

There was another pregnant silence before the teen spoke again.

"She's a doctor."

"Of course she is. Damned Thelerians. Always meddling with our affairs one way or another."

"They're strangers."

"Oh?"

The boy spoke as everyone's eyes settled on him.

"What do you mean strangers, boy?"

"They don't get that much along. King just talks to her when necessary."

The interest shone in the many pair of eyes. One face contorted into a smirk.

"Of course he does. I'd be surprised if he'd still get his cock functioning after being so inactive."

There was a combined titter and malicious giggles from them as the joke was told.

"There will be a meeting soon. With the council. I'll take my guess that he's introducing her to it."

"Told you this boy would be useful."

"Of course, it was my idea."

"Hey, you filthy rats... stop playing and listen. Is there anything else you can tell us about this princess?"

The boy shrugged.

"What do I get in return?"

"What did you just say, boy?"

The eldest man mumbled, clearly vexed by the plucky and defying attitude of the boy.

"I said, what do I get in return? All of you have something to win over this plan. And so far I've been used as a spy. I think it's fair if I get something back."

"And what would you possibly want?"

"I'll take it when I see it."

"Right."

"Anyways, Let Fisk know we need him. We gotta get that big brawn twerp before The King gets to him first."

"Oh god, not Rhino."

"Shut up. As much as I hate him too, he's useful. We need him."

"Stay in the castle. Find out where he was last seen."

The man spoke to the boy, that only stared back with a piercing gaze.

"Even though the princess is a new addition to the plan, it only gives us a new advantage. Political marriages are a thing, so we gotta make the most out of it."

"She recently visited her parents. Apparently the king fell ill after his mistress tried to poison him."

Another laugh.

"See? This is why exactly I've been telling you that Theleria will fall by it's own king's hand. We don't even need to meddle with them."

"True that."

"What about Prince Gabriel?"

A solemn silence fell on the stony and secluded room.

"Keep that fool busy. If we can make he gets sent away even better. Less to worry about."

"And the princess?"

"Keep an eye on her."

-------

Nervous and anxious was an underestimation on how you really felt. You were sure the insides of your cheeks were nearly chewed raw as you waited outside the grand wooden doors, just as Peter had instructed a few moments ago. Your knees trembled underneath the layers of your dress, palms became sweaty and your breaths a bit more shallow.

The day to finally meet the council, had arrived. The past two days were spent solely on your studies about Arachne and the current situations surrounding the kingdom. You tried to cram up as much info as possible, but what truly would be judged was your criterion on things and how well you could adapt to the situations.

Royalty expected so much, and hopefully you'd pass this evaluation. It was unavoidable to not feel curious as to why councils held almost the same amount of power as The king himself. Back in her kingdom, councils remained as an extra help, and as much as a mistress indulging your father, King Blanchard was, he took his ruling seriously.

Councils were summoned when your parents needed to keep updated in the things that needed to be done. But again, different kingdoms, different customs.

The doors slid open to reveal none other than Miguel himself, motioning for you to come in. The room was large and so was the war table, as people gathered around it. A total of six, you and Miguel made eight in total.

There had never been another chair at the top of the table, cause there was no need for another one. Until now. You sit next to Miguel. Eyes settled on you.

Some with hardened expressions you couldn't quite pinpoint as to why of their sudden and implicit hostility, others regarded you curiously.

Jessica, Ben and Peter joined not long after.

"Now, that we're all in, let us begin."

"Your majesty."

Everyone bowed to Miguel and soon an elder lady spoke.

"As you may know, the nether lands are asking for an audience with you ever since some months ago. They will not stop until you've listened to them, apparently."

Her tone was tired, a little annoyed but respectful nonetheless.

"What is it what they want anyways, May?"

"For you to lower their taxes on seasonal products."

"Can't do if they charge as twice for imports that are brought out of time. And recreating their things is proven to be even more expensive."

Miguel sighed while resting his cheek on his knuckles.

"Lower them a two percent."

"But, my lord! You lowered them already last month!"

Another man spoke, pointing at the outside lands out of Enethor. Your eyes frowned upon seeing the distance to travel and import. Miguel looked at you from the corner of his eyes.

"What do you think, Princesa?"

"W-Well, taxes are quite important for the kingdom, and so are the seasonal products the merchants offer, naturally, they'd ask to lower the taxes"

Some scoffed at the obvious information, but you kept talking.

"Why don't lower the taxes in the plot of lands they use?"

"Care to explain that?"

"Look at it this way, the cheaper the land, more opportunities they have to create more jobs"

"So basically making the rich, richer."

You frowned at the tempting words from another man.

"No. A mutual help, sir. By lowering the prices, there will be no need for them to travel such great distances, and subsequently they won't raise their prices on the market. Because they'll produce what they can here."

May seemed to consider your words as the rest discussed.

"Do you use this in your kingdom, your highness?"

Another man, Ben Parker spoke with genuine curiosity.

"We do. Since Theleria produces medicines, we cannot be picky when it comes to import the finest materials for it. We want to help others. Not monopolise health."

"How... benevolent of you. Though I'm quite surprised you allow such thing, when your kingdom is the tiniest among the continent."

Another man, Darko D'Angelo spoke.

"Yet, with all due respect, none has taken our place as the main supplier of medicines in the continent, sir."

Miguel smirked as you took a discreet deep inhale. It was unavoidable to feel angered when someone tried to belittle Theleria.

"Now, now, let's get our attention focused on what truly needs to be discussed."

The council expanded on various topics, even though the start was a bit rocky, there were times where you actually felt included and taken in consideration. May Parker seemed on a neutral line. And so was Ben Parker. Another amusing thing, was to know that there were so many Parkers and Ben's within the ranks.

They all seemed connected to the need to fight for what was good, and Miguel slead them all on. It made your heart to leap a bit in your chest as your eyes settled on him, discreetly.

For a dark king everyone assumed him to be, he had been one of the kindest, wisest and considerate man with a deep love for his kingdom you've ever met.

Jessica couldn't help but elbow Peter to witness the look you were giving him. An absolutely fascinated one. That turned into a blushing stare the more he spoke about the revamps he wanted to do into the esthetics ways of Arachne.

The council had discussed many things he had neglected, like arts and other needs revolving around them. You were so temped into taking his hand and ask him personally to let you handle it. That you would help him and not disappoint him.

But the same man from before changed the mood and the conversation's route so quickly fast it had cut you short to prepare yours and the rest's replies.

"I think your highness should focus in producing heirs, instead of feeding the needs of a little bunch that hold no productivity besides entertaining momentarily the rest."

"Ser Darko."

May warned but another man spoke.

"Baron D'Angelo is right. You see, we are at the verge of war-"

"Against who, my lord?"

You questioned and if the men could kill with their looks, you'd be a cold body by now. Their subtle and not so discreet disdain over your ideas an opinions hadn't go unnoticed, specially by Baron D'Angelo, who seemed fixated into getting any sort of negative reaction from you.

"Against who?! How preposterous of you to believe we are in times of peace, when outside the continent there is so many enemies that want to invade us, princess."

If it wasn't for the warning glare Miguel shot him, he could've kept rambling about how naive you were.

"My apologies, ser. Has anything been done to appease their intentions?"

"It's not something you can't just fix by talking to them, princess. That it has worked for you and your people means it will work for us."

"But have you tried dialogue? Know the cause of their-"

"Again, we've tried anything.-"

"Not to sound disrespectful, ser. It's clear I need to know more of Arachne,-"

"Indeed."

Your brow quirked at what he had just said

"And I know that some kingdoms reject dialogue or any peaceful solution before it's has been offered," You took a breath, testing carefully your words., "But it does seems odd their stance of attacking, remains after the supposed peace offerings."

"We've known these realms for so long that a pacific solution has been discarded eons ago."

You blinked, but it was a good chance to put the spotlight on the both. It was clear that they loved to engage in war. Which concerned you.

"So, you're assuming they want war, and you're ready to engage without giving a chance for real words to be treated?"

"With all due respect, princess. Thelerian pacifist and foreign outlooks towards Arachne's belic conflicts are everything but helpful."

Miguel's jaw clenched, and so did Peter's. Tension in the room was heavier and denser than a black hole. He was set to make you angry, and it was hard to not bait into his game, but like your mother, you kept it calm and composed, even though you wanted to put a little datura into his drink.

"Quite ironic how roles invert here, ser D'Angelo."

"Beg your pardon?"

His voice came a bit louder and annoyed than he had intended to.

"Even though I do agree that I must know more about Arachne, I believe you must expand your knowledge in Theleria. Not the one you all now know. But the one before being The Fallen Kingdom."

Darko scowled but remained quiet, letting his haughty look to speak for him.

" What about it?"

"Theleria has been one of the most ancient lands of this continent, ser. And the one that has the most antique monarchy lines through Enethor."

"So?"

"It happens that we turned into a fallen kingdom by being exactly as you voice your opinion."

"And how is that?"

"Closed to any other option that wasn't war. And look at us now, ser. May the creator above forbid this land to fall under the same curse we have."

"That's... That's not gonna happen."

"It might happen if you keep refusing what you have overlooked so far."

"Are you threatening Arachne, your majesty?"

"I am not. I have no power to stand against your armies, ser. But only a fool would take a fair epitome of what happens when acting recklessly, as a threat."

Baron Darko's mouth gaped as his eyes widened in disbelief. How dared you to play him like that? Even worst in his own game.

"Or so is what my mother always says."

The other man that had initially been with him had kept quiet in the whole exchange. Watching and listening to the verbal spar where you had gotten by a few inches the upper hand.

"I am not opposed to war, gentlemen. But, like I said to the king once, if I am able to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, I will."

There wasn't much said after that, little pleasantries and polite goodbyes from your end, made you exit your room. Head high, even if the whole meeting was a fiasco, you would've still held your head high. Your legs shook as Peter followed you. A subtle yet knowing smile plastered on his lips.

In the room, however things weren't done. Not when Baron D'Angelo and Lady May approached.

"You still refuse to give us an answer when it comes to have heirs, your majesty."

"They'll come when the time is right."

Miguel didn't want to dwell into the subject. Children sure were in his list, but responsibilities had taken so much away from him already, that he forgot about them. He was past his thirties, and he could die in battle, leaving no heirs to follow his legacy.

"I guess the time is approaching sooner than we think, your majesty. What if the future queen is unable to conceive?"

His eyes narrowed at Darko's words. Even though his yapping was irksome, he had a fair point.

"As much as I differ with Baron Darko, you know the rules of this game, your majesty."

Lady May spoke with the same tired tone in her voice from before.

"The princess will bear the future heir of Arachne."

Miguel's words made Darko to tense and frown.

"But she knows so little about us! We don't know if her kingdom will remain loyal to us in a future if trouble arises, my lord."

He rubbed his hands nervously as Miguel sheathed his sword on his hip.

"Please, consider your other options, in case the princess is unable to-"

A hand dressed in the obsidian claw made the sharp fingertips to hold on Darko's chin, tips softly prickling at his skin.

"She will. Not your daughter. Am I clear?"

The Baron could only nod with a difficult gulp.

----

Miguel had taken a small break from all that just happened, Jessica had the most shit eating smile one could muster.

"She will, huh?"

"Aren't those the rules?"

"You seem a bit too enthusiastic about following those certain rules."

"I'm getting old, and they keep pestering me."

Miguel mumbled before removing his armor and plop on his ever trusting chair.

"You have to do something regarding Dana first."

"I know."

"Or else-"

"Jessica... I know."

His commander and right hand sighed, but preferred to change topics.

"Guess she has a temper after all."

A faint chuckle escaped Jessica's lips.

"Why did you assume she didn't?"

"She's not precisely someone that strikes me as vindictive, or demand her father's mistress death."

Miguel huffed an airy laugh while slicking his hair back, pensive.

"Peter explained why she... got so upset regarding that situation. Makes sense."

"So, you're knowing eachother more?"

"Apparently."

Jessica rolled her eyes with an exasperated grunt.

"She seems a little too fascinated with you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Back in the council. She was giving you these dreamy puppy eyes."

Miguel's lips twitched in a little smile.

"So you better make a move, before someone else fool but brave enough does."

Bushy eyebrows furrowed. And only deepened when Jessica tossed a little envelope, smelling like roses and other pleasant herbs before going away.

For my muse.

The scribbled words were almost as stylish and perfect as yours, definitely another Thelerian.

Who dared to be foolish enough to pursue something out of his reach? He gave a quick reading to the letter and scoffed at the maudlin words. Not that he blamed the man for feeling so intensely.

After what transpired today, it felt like a little switch was turned on in him. It wasn't an outcome he had expected, but the balance had been tipped in your favor. Not entirely, but had enough member's approval to reaffirm his choice.

And he had to thank you for leaving those harrying members that demanded from him a heir, behind with their mouth shut for long enough.

Darko however always seemed to favor Dana. At first, they all agreed that the main mistress should occupy the throne. But Miguel never really regarded such things. Too busy fighting enemies in allied countries and waging political wars to actually have a pause and produce the next line of descendants.

He didn't know it if was coincidence or something greater than him that put that passageway in his path, and now not only had a true reason to get married, but someone that shared his convictions and dreams for his country.

And, he was sure his future heirs would be beautiful.

Just like you.

The letter had annoyed him, but also amused him. A man that had only saw you and spoke to you twice, put all his feelings in the letter that was turned into ashes by now.

But he had to give that fool some credit. Unlike him, he knew how to express and convey his feelings without any apparent issue, yet he wasn't able to talk about something else that wasn't work and duties related.

With a sigh, he changed into a more casual attire and picked his sword. Then, ventured in his palace, looking for you.

----

You were about to leave for the gardens to take the afternoon tea with Margo and Gwen when Miguel's shadow loomed over from your bedroom's doorframe. A little jolt buzzed through your body, startling you.

"My lord, not to be... disrespectful but, I think it's time for you to knock on my door."

Miguel chuckled and motioned for you to come closer.

"Come. Follow me."

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you obeyed and followed him. Long legs took him further as you tried your utter best to keep up with him. Miguel's ears perked at the sound of your steps hastily following him. A pleased smile was etched in his face to then suddenly stop before a room.

With a deep sigh and a bit of pantings, you also stopped.

"Close your eyes, Princesa."

"W-What?"

"Close your eyes. Please."

The confused look in your face made his eyes soften and a smile to stretch wider as you obeyed him once more.

Quite compliant

And oh so pretty. His eyes stared at your face for what seemed forever, time had stopped specially when his deep ruby eyes stared at your lips, and then trailed themselves down to the collarbone. Before his eyes could rake you over, his throat was cleared and he opened the doors for you.

He then gave your lower back a gentle push for you to move forward. He took your hand and guided you inside. Warm fingers curling softly on his big and weathered hands.

He took you further into the room, the scent of the ever familiar herbs and flowers filled in your lungs, subduing your rising nervousness.

"Open them."

You did, and your heart beat with such strenght you had to clutch harder on his hand at the sight. It was a much more advanced laboratory from what you had back at Theleria.

In one side, you had the many and an endless looking supply of herbs and other medicinal things. And in the other side, you had the tools. Canisters filled in with strange liquids that boiled, glass containers, a oak table sturdy enough to bring and attend anyone in need of a surgery, and of course, many books related Arachne's medical story.

"This..."

"Is yours."

His words and gentle smile had your eyes glossy while a shivering laugh escaped your lips.

"Mine? All Mine?"

"All yours."

He nodded while enveloping your hands with his.

"This is-... Oh by the heavens. My lord. This is... too much for me, I-"

"Princesa."

Your eyes settled on his warm expression.

"I know you will make a good use of it."

"Your highness"

You mumbled while squeezing his hands a bit tighter.

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"A 'thank you, my king' would suffice"

A little laugh and his heart skipped a beat.

"You are part now of the medical staff. Their leader, you'll be a great mentor to them."

"Will you visit me, my lord?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Of course. Seeing you is always good. Though I must ask. Do... you fear me? Or feel something strongly negative towards me?"

"I'm afraid the question confuses me, Princesa."

"Let me rephrase that question. Do you feel averted towards me or repulsed?"

All the opposite.

"It is not personal if I don't approach, Princesa. I've been busy. I'm always busy-"

"I... I know that, ser. But, you're always seeming to avoid me until something that requires me appears."

Miguel's brow twitched at the lack of reply, instead you spoke again.

"Political or not... I wouldn't like to marry an acquaintance, much less a stranger."

A soft blush crept on your cheek and you inhaled deeply before mumbling.

"That's why... I... I'd like to know my future husband better. If its not too much to ask."

Going from acquaintances to be called future husband surely made his brain a puddle and his heart to accelerate in a way that for once didn't concerned him.

"Would you... join me tomorrow at a lunch in the meadows?"

You gulped, and casted your eyes down, a bit too embarrassed to meet his bewildered stare.

"Its alright if you can't go, we can know eachother-"

"I'll be there."

Words came so soft and like butter from his mouth that you stared at him with round eyes in surprise.

"We have a lot to discuss anyway. I think it's time for us to properly address our wedding, your highness."

"As you wish, my lord."

The sweet smile on your face made him want to forever have it tattooed in his mind.

The way he looked at you didn't sit right in the spying and vindictive blue eyes that followed you almost everywhere.

Her heart broke upon seeing the kind of look Miguel threw your way. All different from hers, full of annoyance and cold hearted, nearly in despise. But you, had managed to fulfil one of her dreams with such easiness it made his own heart to crash and burn in anger.

This wasn't over. It would be when Dana said it was. With a new target in mind, the main mistress disappeared in the shadows. Unable to widstand the momentarily defeat. She came first, she had the right to that crown, his heirs and him. Dana would have him, either the good or the bad way.

And Miguel always seemed to learn the bad way.

---

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saintsenara · 16 days

Note

I come to you with this question because, having read all your other metas, I think you'd be the right person to ask. Id love to know what you think about Regulus because I have a very hard time understanding his character. Partly because of fanon characterization of him makes him seem like some secret rebel against Voldemort and partly because I just can't really understand any of his motivations. But regardless, I think what we know about him in canon is so interesting - i just can piece it all together. I'd love to know what you think!

(Sorry for the longish ask)

thank you very much for the ask, @hauntingpercival! regulus is a character i also find a bit of a mystery, and so thinking through this answer was really fun.

i'll start by being clear that i'm certainly not a regulus fan. by which i not only mean that i don't vibe with the fanon!regulus of the marauders fandom, who is essentially an original character - and you can read my views on jegulus here... [spoiler alert: i do not back it] - but that when he appears in my own writing in ways i'd like to hope feel influenced by his canon form, i always find myself focusing on aspects of his character which are rather unlikeable.

there is a little bit of a discourse-y reason for this, which will be pertinent to the rest of this answer...

i really don't like the sort of "omg aristocracy is so hot and sexy and interesting" tropes which are so prevalent in writing around the black family. this is firstly because i don't think that aristocracy is in any way these things - and i find it distasteful to imply otherwise - which is because i'm a prole who lives somewhere still bearing the scars of british colonisation who also went to the sort of university where one sometimes encountered aristocrats and they were all cringe and unbearable.

but it's also because it's not - and i will genuinely die on this hill - an accurate reflection of how the blacks are presented in canon. not only does it take sirius' comment that his parents considered themselves "practically royal" to be a statement of fact [sirius is quite clearly taking the piss out of his parents' pretensions], but it also misses that the purpose sirius' discussion of orion and walburga's politics serves in the narrative of order of the phoenix is to show how mainstream their blood-supremacist views were.

sirius tells us that his parents were not death eaters, but that they nonetheless thought voldemort's overtly sectarian political aims were correct. in this, they hold the political views order of the phoenix emphasises belong to cornelius fudge - unimaginative, deferential to the class system, casually prejudiced, and so on. orion and walburga function as a way of showing us just how entrenched the death eaters' manifesto is, how close voldemort came to winning the first war, and what an uphill struggle the order faces to unravel the roots blood-supremacy has in the wizarding world.

[and they also show that the baffling vibes of grimmauld place - while these are made worse by it being three different gothic literature tropes in a trenchcoat - are wizarding norms, rather than evidence that the blacks were uniquely immersed in dark magic. the decor at grimmauld place - and the family's collection of dark artefacts - is the same as that found in malfoy manor, even at a time when lucius malfoy is considered eminently socially respectable. this is a point we will come back to...]

i think, then, that it's crucial to approach regulus not as a swaggering aristocrat, but as someone from an upper-class background which - while still posh, rich, inferring enormous social capital, well-connected - was unremarkable within the circles in which he moved.

by which i mean that hogwarts is based on real-world institutions - britain's elite boarding schools - which are so exclusive and expensive to attend that the student body are from a class-background which seems inhumanly exclusive, affluent, and powerful from an outsider perspective [i.e. from the perspective of someone from the majority middle- and working-classes] but which seems completely normal within the student body itself.

[i.e. nobody at eton with princes william and harry will have been astonished to have been at school with a royal, because they will have been familiar with their social circles, cultural experiences, level of wealth, and expectation of knowing someone with considerable social influence from childhood.]

while hogwarts appears to be a state-funded school [although it also expects an enormous amount of financial investment on the part of parents - such as buying all the textbooks], the fact that its real-world parallels are so elite [and, therefore, come with a specific "look" in the british cultural imagination] means that the student body is incredibly well-heeled and working-class students stand out enormously in a way very rich students do not. hogwarts also exists - like real-world elite schools and universities - as a way of propping up the status quo of the class system by which the wizarding world functions. its pupils have an expectation of procuring jobs in the civil service and other influential professions - using not only connections established at school but connections they possess through their [male] relatives. many hogwarts students we meet in canon are related to someone who occupies an elite position in the wizarding executive or is otherwise socio-politically influential.

at school, then, regulus would have been completely, perfectly average in terms of social position. i also like the idea of him as perfectly average in terms of intellect - and as a good, but not exceptional, seeker. this provides a really interesting point of contrast with sirius, who - while he's also not socially unusual in terms of class [and i will never vibe with tropes like him being followed by whispers going "omg, he's a black, that means he's important"] - stands out in that he's the first black in generations not to be in slytherin, that he's precociously intelligent, and that he - and the rest of the marauders - are class clowns and show-offs.

and i like the idea that this would give regulus a desire to stand out - to be considered the most important person in the whole school. we can get a hint of this in canon - the picture of sirius and his friends harry sees in deathly hallows is immediately contrasted with a picture of regulus sitting in the seeker's position in the team photo. the seeker who acts alone.

and i think this desire for notoriety is what drives him to sign up to become a death eater - that he decides he's sick of having parents with the perfectly normal level of social influence and a brother who is more popular than him, and that he thinks that he's cleverer and more worthy of attention than everyone else in the castle and the world better start showing it.

[and i've never bought - i'm afraid - the idea that he and sirius are close. it's clear from canon that regulus had no issue being thought of as "a much better son" than sirius, and that he colluded with his parents against him. sirius can love him - and miss him, and regret how they were never able to repair their relationship - but i don't think this means that he feels he's lost a bestie.]

that he holds sincere blood-supremacist views is a given - because within the world in which he lives, these are completely normal and held completely casually [i.e. that slughorn is shocked lily could be muggleborn because she's clever]. the more virulent expression of these views - saying "mudblood", etc. - is clearly considered ill-mannered, but not something which might have any real impact on one's social standing [draco malfoy uses the term with impunity while at school, and nobody ever considers that informing a teacher of this would result in him being punished; equally, nobody from the crowd who witness the event reports snape for calling lily a mudblood].

and so i think it's clear that he becomes interested in joining the death eaters - and starts putting together his terrorism pinterest board - because his mainstream belief that being pureblood is better crashes into his desire to be special to form a conviction that riding the coattails of voldemort's ostentatious malevolence is the way he can become famous.

[in this, he is very like snape.]

my assumption is that regulus is one academic year below sirius, meaning that he was born in 1960-1961. my assumption is also that he receives his dark mark while still at school - probably at some point in his newt years [so the academic years 1977-1978 and 1978-1979].

the standard view - expressed vehemently by various order members in half-blood prince - is that voldemort has no interest in death eaters who are still at school.

the order is wrong about this, obviously - not only when it comes to their refusal to accept that harry's right about draco malfoy being marked, but also in the fact that several of the death eaters who are very young at the end of the first war, barty crouch jr. [who is still young enough to be described as a "boy" in 1982 at the earliest], chief among them, must have been taken on by voldemort prior to graduating.

but it seems fair to say that admitting teenagers into his inner circle is unusual for voldemort, especially when those teenagers don't really offer him anything useful. crouch, for example, could be put to work informing on his father's movements. regulus is - as i've said - just ordinary.

and so my view has always been that regulus is marked by voldemort as a favour to bellatrix. i think this partially because i'm bellamort trash, partially because i think it's a nice narrative parallel between regulus and draco [who are very similar] to have bellatrix be responsible for regulus' recruitment when she's canonically vociferously in favour of draco's, and partially because realising that voldemort thinks of him as just some guy who warrants [essentially] a pity dark mark would be a big blow to regulus' conviction that joining the death eaters would make him impressive.

[i also think regulus is recruited before 1978 because i think there has to be a shift in voldemort's modus operandi at about this point, in order for the fact that sirius says that his parents got cold feet about what the dark lord was prepared to do after regulus became a death eater to make sense. my view has always been that voldemort's violence prior to c.1978 overwhelmingly targets state institutions and people connected to them and/or people with known anti-voldemort political views, meaning that ordinary citizens can regard these people being killed or injured as reasonable risks of their jobs and/or behaviour. and then that after c.1978, the dark lord begins targeting civilians - including upper-class pureblood civilians - indiscriminately, which makes his casual supporters start to waver a bit.]

so, let's suppose that regulus leaves hogwarts in june 1979 and finds himself expected to participate as a full death eater, after having been let off all the dirty work by virtue of being at school...

as i've said, regulus has an enormous number of narrative parallels with draco malfoy. and i think that the best way to think about him is to write him as sharing draco's canonical attitude to voldemort's cause - that he believes whole-heartedly in the message of blood-supremacy the dark lord promotes and that he has no problem with people he considers subhuman [mudbloods and blood-traitors] or unimportant [faceless families massacred in their own homes] being subjected to violence in the name of that message, but that he lacks the character traits necessary to perform that violence himself, to see it done to people he likes, or to witness what it actually involves versus the image he has of it in his head.

and so i imagine he starts struggling pretty quickly with the fact that being a death eater isn't quite as easy as he thought it would be when he was making voldemort fancams on tiktok. and that part of the reason he's primed to turn against the dark lord is because of the tension he feels warring within him at the fact that he's still a blood-supremacist, still desperate to be important, and yet growing disenchanted.

i don't however, think this is why he does what he does... so let's get into that:

why does regulus turn against voldemort?

let's be clear about one thing - regulus turning against voldemort has nothing to do with him having some sort of damascene conversion against blood-supremacy.

[or, at least, that's what i think.]

the outline of regulus' defection that we get in canon goes as follows:

voldemort asks someone to lend him a house elf. we know that regulus volunteers kreacher, because he told kreacher so - and so i imagine voldemort mentions at a meeting that he wants to procure an elf [although, of course, he doesn't elaborate on why] and regulus immediately jumps up and says "pick me, my lord" because he sees this as an opportunity to get voldemort to finally notice him.

his assumption must be that voldemort will use kreacher for a purpose which is considered normal in wizarding society - i.e. that he will require him to do something akin to domestic service, perhaps preparing potions ingredients.

it evidently does not occur to him that voldemort would transgress this social boundary and harm kreacher. not - to be clear - because i think that regulus was some kind of abolitionist legend, but because we see several characters express the view in goblet of fire that how barty crouch sr. treats winky is his own business, and that it is impolite for respectable wizards to comment on how anyone else treats his slave. this sort of social behaviour will have a second part - that it is impolite for respectable wizards to treat anyone else's slave in a way which goes beyond what wizarding slaveowners see as normal.

or: that it's fine to be lent a slave to serve you, but very much not fine to nearly kill that slave [someone else's property!] for your own gain.

kreacher informs regulus what voldemort asked of him, which makes regulus suspicious about what the object voldemort deposited in the cave was. regulus then decides to investigate.

kreacher tells us that regulus goes away for an indeterminate period of time and then returns to grimmauld place "disturbed in his mind".

dumbledore claims in half-blood prince that voldemort appears not to wear or display the objects the horcruxes are made from after he turns them into horcruxes. i think we can agree with this or not without it affecting the story - i quite like the idea that voldemort doesn't make the locket until the later 1970s [maybe after the murder of dorcas meadowes, the only person in the first war other than james and lily to have canonically been killed by him personally], but we can also say that he might have worn or displayed it when it was already a horcrux. certainly, regulus must have seen the locket - either on voldemort or somewhere in his lair - and, after kreacher tells him what happened, he goes to see if it's still there.

when he discovers it isn't, he comes to an important conclusion. one which requires a little detour...

how does regulus know what a horcrux is?

i complained at the start of this answer about the black family being portrayed as unusually immersed in the dark arts - rather than some sort of familiarity with the dark arts being perfectly normal for people of their social class.

and i am sure that you might think I'm about to have to eat my words, since i'm not going to try and deny that regulus was able to identify a horcrux all by himself...

but, actually, i'm just chucking malevolently at the opportunity to clamber onto my soapbox and say:

horcruxes are canonically not magic which only a handful of people know about. where voldemort goes beyond the theory of horcruxes which a wizard of regulus' class-background would be familiar with is that he makes seven.

this doesn't mean - to be clear - that i think it was ever common to make a horcrux [i don't think the wizarding world is quite that lawless...], but that it was reasonable to know they exist, in the way that we might have some general understanding of something macabre - like techniques for disposing of a body - which would enable us to suspect if we saw a neighbour behaving strangely while doing one of those things...

after all, slughorn can suggest [even if he doesn't believe this is what he wants to do] that voldemort could justify his interest in horcruxes by using the excuse that he's working on a project for defence against the dark arts.

that harry, ron, and hermione don't know about them is a result of a combination of their own lack of interest in the theory of the dark arts, the information blackout instituted by dumbledore at some point after voldemort graduates [and my theory as to why dumbledore hates horcruxes even in the forties? grindelwald made one - hence why dumbledore is so hopeful at king's cross that the rumours of his repentance might have been true...], and the fact that they don't discuss their mission with anyone [tonks, kingsley, and moody, who literally have to specialise in dark objects as part of their jobs, would one hundo have known what a horcrux was].

[what they would not have known is what voldemort's horcruxes were likely to be made of and where they were likely to be. it's this - rather than the idea that horcruxes are completely unknowable magic - that is why it has to be harry in charge of hunting them down: he's the only person in the series who knows voldemort well enough to realise that, for example, he'd have hidden one in gringotts because of his jealousy at being excluded from this pillar of wizarding normality.]

so, regulus has a little rummage, works out the locket has disappeared, and has no trouble - especially because voldemort mentions in goblet of fire that he'd told his death eaters he couldn't die [which regulus might not have thought was him speaking literally] prior to 1981 - guessing what it's being used for.

and so, regulus turns against voldemort.

and i think that he does this because the horcrux makes it impossible for him to pretend any longer that voldemort's aims are - when the ministry is forced to the negotiating table by his paramilitary activities - an oligarchy in which upper-class pureblood families benefit and muggleborns and blood-traitors become second-class citizens, but which doesn't deviate too much in terms of its overwhelming norms from the way wizarding society functioned at that time. instead, he is confronted with the undeniable fact that voldemort intends to reign forever as an immortal absolute monarch, and that he has never had any intention of elevating regulus and people like him to the positions of importance he so craved.

[we see something similar happen to draco, whose increasing fear of voldemort throughout half-blood prince and deathly hallows is clearly driven by him realising that voldemort isn't joking when he says that he'll kill him and his parents unless he obeys orders, but is joking when he says he'll be considered a valuable servant should he manage to kill dumbledore...]

and so his death - and his threat to destroy the horcrux - is a repudiation of his beliefs. but, specifically, it is a repudiation of his conviction that voldemort was a primarily political figure who would act as a champion of the pureblood class-system. it's him recognising that voldemort would not stop with a takeover of the ministry - he would kill and kill forever, concerned only with how much further he could venture beyond the norms of magic.

#asks answered #asenora meta #regulus black

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missdrake · 1 year

Text

An Eye for A Bride

Part 1

The story contains trigger warnings read at your own caution

Reader takes Lucerys’ place. And to be exclusive, the reader is adopted but has Targaryen blood. SPOILER ALERTS FOR FIRE AND BLOOD

TAGS: Sadistic/Dark!Aemond, EXPLICIT: Noncon/Dubcon, forced anal, manhandling. Violence: blood, abuse, character death, bruises/scars, choking, panic attacks, cursing. Forced Marriage, Toxic/unhealthy relationship, Flashbacks.

“A sword?” The prince asks, blinking a few times. It was his tenth name-day. Presented with extravagant gifts as fitted for a prince. Yet yours was an odd surprise. Considering how you haven't always been the friendliest to him, he looks at the gift suspiciously.

Maybe he thought this was your of making it up to him. You did laugh at him. When your brother Luke emerged from the shadows with a pig. Shouting along the name of the said pig. "The Pink Dread!" Laughing harder when Aegon oinked to his ear.

But you did approach Aemond the next day. Who sat near the tree with a book in his hand. The two of you stared at each other for a brief moment. Your mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. You just turned around and walked away from the prince.

You decided to approach him once more. The word spread of him attempting to claim a dragon, nearly getting burned in the process. Yet your steps were halted when you caught sight of his mother. You quickly turned away, unaware the prince saw you do so.

This time, you were able to face the prince with the sword you had given; displayed to the entirety of the room along with its sheath. Among the crowd, you catch Alicent's anxious expression. She perhaps believes her son is too young to handle such a sword. She was right to think so because as soon as Aemond removes it from its sheath, the sword's tip drops to the ground. Almost sending him flying.

Aemond’s embarrassment is clearly seen as he hears the laughter of the other boys. Especially by Aegon's remark that the sword would have to serve as a decoration than be wielded. But the instant Aemond looks down, his brother's remark is ignored.

The surprise and awe are too much for him to contain. The sword was beautiful with its sapphire-encrusted rain guard. A deep royal blue. The most valuable and scarce of all. He lifts the sword with all of his strength, revealing it to the others as they all let out a collective gasp.

“It was once my necklace.” Your mother reluctantly agreed to have the blacksmith put it in the sword. It took all your pleading for it to happen. Hearing Aemond scoff at your words makes you frown. You already know what he's thinking-that you were her little spoiled princess.

Still, you forced the thought aside to focus on the prince whose wonderment at your gift fills you with a sense of fulfillment. Even more at the sight of Aegon's envy. Finally, Aemond was content with having what his brother lacked. You tried to conceal your excitement when Aemond gave a sincere smile of gratitude.

At your aunt Laena's funeral, when you saw him again, you returned his half-smile unlike your brother Jace. You were unaware this would be the last time you and him will ever greet each other warmly.

As the night ended with Aemond screaming clutching his bloody eye as you towered over him with a blade. Dropping it when the king's guards arrived. Frozen and horrified as you hear shouts at every turn. Clutching to your mother’s side.

The noises never left your ears. From every corner, there were shouts. The council left divided. Speaking over each other. As if you weren’t there. As though you were invisible to their eyes as none dared to look your way.

Trying to stand up, you are bruised and dirtied. There is evidence of moisture in your skin, hair, and even in the remaining teeth. Clearly in danger of collapsing. Having to be held through the entire ride to king’s landing, but you hoped his grip would loosen. Let you fall and not face the fucked up reality you’re in.

No longer were there any tears. Letting them fall as he pushed you into the muddy ground with the corpse of Dame not far away. Let each one drop during your ride to the place you’re meant to call home. You are now left feeling the burning of your cheek and much thirst in your throat.

“Rhaenyra was finally considering peace!” Alicent’s voice towering over the council. Most enraged you have ever seen. Trembling hands and uneasy breathing. You only ever witnessed this state once-on that dreadful day.

That meant war. If Aegon's ascension to the throne wasn't the start of it, then taking her child hostage all while killing her dragon will be the one to do it. But there was still hope, Tyland insisted. They could just return you. The dragon’s death is a tragedy, but you can claim another and with your wounds, they’ll heal in no time.

The way Aemond's body tensed at his words can be felt. The dead dragon was not the cause for concern, nor were the wounds. But something far worse. Your maidenhood. All that was forcibly taken away. An act if it ever reached your mother’s ears. What she would do will only be known to the gods.

But they don’t know. Not Alicent, not Otto, not Tyland. No one. Only you and the one-eyed prince.

It took them this long, but they finally sent you away to get cleaned and tended to. In spite of your disdain, you are to go to the halls with none other than Ser Criston Cole. You move forward, wanting to retain some part of your pride, only to fall into the knight's chest.

And against your will, you’re forced to swallow that one last piece of pride; leaning on him for support as he guides you to your supposed chambers. Despite their eyes being on you, you refused to look back at the council.

As you come face to face with the maester. You catch the look in his eye and the hesitation in his steps. The handmaidens also exchange looks with one another. At the sight of you, none of them dared to utter a word.

The second your trousers were pulled down against your will. Using all your remaining strength, you fought, even managing to bite the maester's hand and dig your nails into one of the handmaidens.They winced, but didn’t falter much in their movements. Were you this weakened.

In such a ruined state that you could do nothing but lie there as their eyes swept over you. Right in front of their very eyes remains the evidence. On your inner thighs, the dried white substance. And layers of marks, but what most caught the eye was the darkening bruise on your hips.

They all knew. And they all knew who had done it. Who else would it be. Their stares made you want to sink deeper into the sheets. To smother your face in anything you could hide into. But there’s no haven from their judging gazes. The weight of shame is in the pit of your stomach, holding you down with all of its might.

So it was no surprise to hear the argument on the other side of the door.

You have now become a hostage. A piece of some bargaining. Your mother must have received the letter a while ago. You hoped that the letter informing her of your presence in King's Landing reached her before the news of Dame's death. You didn’t want to imagine her panic and grief as her thoughts wandered to the worst with the discovery of your dragon’s corpse.

Every step you made was watched. Whether it was by the guards, they had constantly surrounding you, the ladies and lords who made way for you like you were some sort of plague or the servants you could hear whispering behind your back.

At least they dressed you with some decency. Upon seeing the dress was emerald green, a strong urge to throw it into the fireplace arose. You thought it was Aemond’s idea, adding to the humiliation he had already inflicted upon you. But by Aegon’s amused expression, you become well aware that it was his. Still, you maintain your composure, displaying no discomfort as you held your head high.

The only thing that gave you some ease, a glimmer of hope was the wrath your mother will display. She’ll hesitate with you under their grasp, but once you’re back in her arms. In her arms. Your lips quiver at the thought.

You want your mother. Never did you think you’d yearn for her so much. The last time you did was during one of your nightmares. Coming to her; shaking and in tears, and as soon as you were in her embrace, you felt protected. Safe.

You miss her. You miss Daemon. You miss Jace and Luke. You miss Rhaena. You miss little Aegon and Viserys. And the thought of never having to see them again makes your heart ache as if it's being stabbed every time. You already lost Dame. Whom you miss the most.

When you passed another group of lords and ladies, you saw how they got closer to one another, the way they exchanged their whispers. And to calm some of your fury. You imagined Daemon standing over them. Imagined Jace telling them off. Imagined Luke and Rhaena's glares.

And a smile spreads across your face as you envision your mother setting this whole place down with flames. And when you imagine Dame burning Aemond, then tearing him to pieces, and swallowing him whole, your teeth start to show.

But your fantasy is put to rest as soon as you pass the queen's chamber and catch the sound of a familiar voice. After taking a look around the hallways. You then advance, placing your ear to the door.

You raise your brows when you hear the husky timbre of a certain voice. “You told me to never forget what they’ve done to me,” that voice belonged to none other than Aemond, “To never forget what she has done to me.” At the mention of the ‘she’, you were certain it was you. Or your mother.

“But to take revenge on her in such a manner!” And then you heard the desperate voice of Alicent, one that sounded in pain with sorrow lacing it. “To defile her,” she spoke, voice lower than before. Silence filled the room.

Then the words, barely audible above a whisper, broke the stillness. "You understand what this now means?" Before the words could sink in. You are startled when you sense a presence looming over you. It was Cole. "Come princess," he said disdainfully, and in no room to argue, you follow.

When he leads you into your 'chambers', you smile at him. Expressing your gratitude, you shut the door, leaving Cole standing outside bewildered. You truly do have to thank Criston. Sitting on the bed as you take something out of your sleeve. A blade.

Pretending to trip over the stairs, and when he went to help you up, your hand strayed. Though those thanks were to be given to Daemon. You had no intention of ever using that trick he taught you, but here you were.

You didn’t know how long you held the blade, clutching it so fervently to your chest as if it were a stuffed bear to keep you company at night. The door to your chambers opened, and you quickly slid it into your sleeve before wincing as you felt a small amount of blood seep into your skin.

Fear consumed every inch of your body as soon as you saw who it was. Feeling your heart beat so violently against your chest, on the verge of erupting from the ribs, keeping it at bay. You kept your feet pressed firmly to the ground. Perhaps to put an end to its shakiness or to run at the first chance. Or Possibly both.

You tried to remain stern. Yet with your panicked eyes, raised brow, and quivering lips. It gave it all away. His mouth opens to speak, but not a word is said.

Then you saw the narrowing of his eye. As you follow his gaze, you notice your sleeve is stained with blood. And you try to stay put when he advances towards you. In a sudden move, your body is steered toward him, grabbed by the arm. Your hands on his chest, pressing your palms against him, pushing as hard as you can.

You gasp when the arm that was held is clenched tightly. “The green suits you,” he finally speaks. It being his first words. And you can't resist the urge to punch him in the face right there and then. Even when you feel his breath on your skin and his nose lightly touching yours.

You move your head away, only to whimper when his other hand grasps the back of your neck. Forcing you to remain put. And you feel his lip just barely brush your ear's outer shell as he asks, "Did you think I wouldn't notice what is exposed on your sleeve?" Your body trembles as if you were under a harsh, freezing rain.

His fingers press into the sleeve where the blade's outline is. You didn't know why you did it. Perhaps it was the desperation. Perhaps it is the lingering anger. Perhaps it was just plain stupidity. But your feet collided with his knee. He backed away, his grip slipping.

The small blade taken out of the sleeve was thrust at him. While he was taken off guard. In a blink of an eye, his hand moved. Retaining the wrist that held the blade. It was only a few inches from his throat. With just one push. Just one. The tip would pierce the skin.

Truly, you had no plan on what to do next. Hurting him was your only hope. To get rid of him. Outside the hallways was Criston. You would be caught and put to death. But you’ve long since come to terms that you won’t live to see another day. At least you will leave the world having done something.

But your strength has proven to be feeble against his. His grip was firm while yours trembled.

The blade backed away from his throat. But it's not you. It's the hand placed over yours. Your eyes widen when he doesn't put his hand down, pressing it against yours instead. More so when the blade is moving to your side. And before you realize it, it’s just centimeters away from your face.

You try to remove your hand away, but his grip prevents it. You didn't look away from him when the tip of the blade touched your cheek. Even when you felt it firmly graze the skin, but not deep enough to cut it.

Then the blade is taken. Thrown to the side. Your eyes follow it.

Only to shriek when he grasps your hair and pulls you roughly to his side. Then, with a yank of your hair, you were forced to follow him where his hand went. Your hand frantically reaches for his, sinking your nails deep into his skin. A hiss is heard, but all it does is make him pull your hair up, throwing your head back.

With one last tug, you found yourself colliding with something hard. Tears began to form in your eyes as your nose bumped into the wall. Before you even have a chance to push yourself off, your face is shoved to the wall once more. On the back of your head was his hand.

Your legs are exposed to the warm air. And you realize it’s Aemond tugging at your gown. Your hand reaches back, hitting, scratching. Doing whatever it takes to stop him. Gasping when hearing the fabric being torn.

He then presses his body against yours, caging you to the wall. By now, the gown is tugged far above your waist, exposing your lower region to the prince.

Briefly coming face-to-face with him. You spat in his face. It wasn't about stopping him at this point. There was no way of doing so. No amount of kicks or slaps will dissuade him. This was just for the sake of humiliation. To degrade him in any way. And it worked-jaw tightened and eye blinking a few times at your doing.

Your victory was however short-lived. You are grabbed yet again. Your stomach landing on something soft. The bed. You looked back, thinking he’ll turn you over. Feel his fingers tracing your thigh. Rather, you witness him take his pants' belt off. Your stomach drops. He is going to take you in this position.

You move to lift your body only to be immediately pushed back down. Kicking your legs as he pushes the gown up once more. He merely holds them. Your behind exposed to the air in the room. You sense him coming up the bed. Spreading your legs as his knees are in the space between.

He lies on top of you, chest pressed against your back. Your heart beat was felt in your throat, thumping loudly. But you told yourself not to plead, not to beg for mercy. It’ll only arouse him. He drank on your suffering and you weren’t willing to give him anything to satisfy on.

His hand reaches down to rub his cockhead around your hole, chucking at the sounds of your whimpers. Your fingers gripped the sheets, a fear of what he’ll do burning within you. A hand comes to your throat. And then the head of his cock pushed into your hole. And you found yourself almost on the verge of screaming at the sensation.

It’s all too painful. His cock stretches you wide, making you feel every inch of him. Unconscious tears slip down your cheeks as you’re forced to adjust to his size. You tried to ease into the sensation, but this is unlike anything before.

All kinds of noises were coming out of you. Every vein and ridge against your sensitive walls can be felt. Igniting a fire down to your core. Aemond lets out a throaty groan. You detest how the heat spreads to your skin when hearing it.

“Didn’t think you’d get any tighter,” he muses before ramming his cock into your hole. You’re embarrassed at the loud moan that escaped your lips. He pushed back and forward with short, shallow thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin intensifies with each passing second.

With each stroke, you feel him move deeper. Feel the way you clench so tightly around his cock. Feel his hands moving from underneath you from your stomach to your chest. Another moan escapes you when his hand squeezes your fabric-covered breasts. His thrusts have gotten faster, and you find yourself unable to keep up with his pace.

Without even realizing, you inch forwards; the feeling is overwhelming and disorienting. Your face is wet with tears, but they are no longer from the pain. Everything is coated in pleasure. Filled to the brim with each snap of his hips against your ass.

His thrusts have started to get sloppy and frantic. Angling his hips to hit your sweet spot with relative ease. And then it happened. He reaches his high, spurting thick ropes of cum over your velvet walls as his cock twitches inside of you.

You’re taken back when he goes back to rolling hips again. And it was only after experiencing the ecstasy of an orgasm that you understood why he had done it. Your face feels warm as you lay there with him on top of you, your juice trickling down your thigh. You're certain that Criston heard your cries when your orgasm hit.

Then he pulls away. Adjusting himself and then heading to leave. Briefly, he pauses. Maybe you were thinking too much of it, but you were sure he had something to say. Before the whole incident with the blade. In relation to the blade, you find out the prince didn't bring it with him.

You remain in bed the same way the prince left you—you don't know how long. You aren't compelled to leave until Ser Criston enters after knocking on your door. Being made to put on a new gown and get your sleeve bandaged.

If Criston did indeed hear the noises that came earlier that day, he didn’t show it. If he had noticed the change in the wardrobe and the trembling in every step due to your sore legs, he said nothing.

Soon you are sat with a table in front of you, an empty sheet of paper, and some ink on the side. The chair in front of you is occupied by the queen regent, who is surrounded by other members of the council. An awkward silence fills the chambers. However, when Otto spoke, it cut through the tension in the room like a knife through butter.

He claims that a rumor made its way throughout the castle. “A vile rumor,” Alicent made sure to add. You merely exchange confused looks with them. Every day, whispers are heard. Every day, tens of thousands of rumors are spread. Your eyes flit over to Criston, who is standing to the side; even his face suggests that he might have heard it.

Tyland starts to speak, but he seems to be struggling to find the right words, or rather the appropriate words to use. “That our prince Aemond Targaryen has taken your maidenhood," Lord Wydle interrupts, pausing for a moment before adding, "with force". Tyland goes to speak again, "But we know that's not possibly true-" "Of course it's not," Otto chimes in, cutting Tyland off.

So that’s what it is. And the incident from today comes to mind. Is that what he came to discuss with you. Only for him to force himself on you again. The others stared at you bewildered, as you couldn't help but laugh at the slight irony. The look of almost guilt on Ser Criston's face now makes the most sense.

Your name was called before Criston could look you in the eye. Turning to look at the disgruntled council. They all seem incredibly eager to leave and be done with this whole thing. You won't lie by admitting that it fills you with some amusement. Your gaze catches Alicent's, who has her eyes averted from you.

Your eyes hardly leave her, as Otto demands what you must do. If they are to have spies, these false rumors, as Otto claims they are, will likely reach your mother and Daemon. That you will write a letter to your mother claiming this is all untrue and that your maidenhood remains intact. That you are safe, well, and even happy.

You wanted to laugh once more. Did he think this would fool your mother? To fool Daemon out of all people. Nevertheless, you did as you were told. writing down all of the spoken words. You knew it didn't matter, but you weren't aware that the particular white worm or the handmaiden you dug your nails into was to blame.

Late at night, you didn’t spend as much time in your chambers before a bunch of servants barged into your chambers. They all hurried you into the bathtub, scrubbing and scenting every inch of your body.

You stare in awe at the stunning white dress they are getting you dressed in. It wasn't like the ones you get. The dress's skirts are twice as wide, and the interior linings appear to be made of gold. Your curves are prominently displayed as it tightly envelops your body. And that's not even mentioning all the jewelry they've adorned you with; crafted from jade.

You asked the servants what the occasion was. It was a feast, they told you. A feast? You would be surprised to find quite the crowd at that hour of the night. Still, what feast demands that one dress in such opulence.

The servants scramble to leave the room when the door opens. Criston's presence does not surprise you. He leads you down the wide hallways. Given how heavy the dress is, it was difficult to descend the stairs.

As you continue to walk, you realize how quiet the area is—far too quiet. A feast was intended. Where is the music, the laughter, the chatter. You now are faced with a closed door. “They’re waiting for you,” he says. And the realization dawns on you.

What sort of feast would wait for you. Why would they wait for you. You were the daughter of their sworn enemy. A traitor in their eyes. You're a hostage, for goodness' sake. Hostage, hostage, hostage—that phrase kept repeating in your head.

This was a wedding. They were waiting for you. The bride.

The words Alicent said played in the back of your head: "You know what this means." When Aemond entered your chambers, that is what he wanted to tell you. But was rather distracted by something else, and even if he weren't, he wouldn't have told you. Most likely, everyone on the Council was involved. And as you turned to face Criston, you, at last, understood the guilt on his features.

He gives you a pleading look, as if not to fight this. To just accept it. But you shook your head as you took a few steps back. Feeling as though the place is begging to spin, and having such a tightness in your throat, making it all the harder to breathe. Criston calls for you as you move away, but it all seems like a haze to you.

The sinking feeling in your stomach makes you bend, a need to vomit, but nothing comes out. You place your hands on your chest as it moves up and down rapidly, trying to calm it down. Following you, the knight is at a loss for what to do as

You jump and move to push the hand that touches you. Surprised to see it’s Alicent. More so when she grabs you in her arms. Your body tensed under her touch. But it’s been so long since anyone showed you an ounce of kindness that oddly enough, you welcomed it.

To her shoulder, you sobbed, drenching the cloth. It doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. Her hand moves to your back, rubbing up and down as she soothes your cries. You tried to imagine this was the arms of your mother. That it was her comforting you, reassuring you.

Your blood turns cold and your fantasy is crushed when you hear Alicent's words "Make him happy". And you drew yourself away from her. Looking down at her, your eyes were filled with disdain. When she goes to offer you a small cloth, you use the sleeves instead to dab your tears and snot.

With your eyes puffy and red, you move to stand in front of the door. With a nod to Criston, you signal the doors to open. It's not like you had a choice in the matter. All heads turn to the sound.

Only a few people were present. The family, as well as the green council, were present. They were all clearing a path for you to walk to the altar. So you were right. They were all in this together.

A three-step staircase was in front of you. From behind you, Alicent descends the stairs and rushes to the side of her family where Otto and Helaena are. Aegon is also standing there, and when you see him leave his family's side and come toward you, you try to convey your confusion.

Coming up the stairs, he moves to your side. “What’re you doing” you whisper low enough so the others wouldn’t hear. He offers you his arm, "Your father is dead isn't he?". Daemon should be the one to walk you. But he’s not here is he. With a sigh, you take his arm and link it with yours as you step down the stairs.

While you do so, you can feel everyone watching your every step. But your gaze is fixed on the altar, not on any of them. Aemond is waiting for you. You think your mind is playing tricks on you, seeing his eye on yours getting darker and darker with each step. Filled with madness only a Targaryen would possess.

It's unusual to not see him dressed in black; instead, he adorns the color white, bright gold-lined clothing that looks similar to yours. There were red accents and some black patterns. He has styled his long, silvery hair as usual, but a braid is added resting on his shoulder. It pains you to admit it, but there was a moment when he was illuminated by a new light, allowing you to appreciate his beauty like never before.

Your attention shifted to the crowd before you could approach him. Each with a different expression. Otto has a stern expression on his face, Helaena is staring at you blankly, and Alicent is the only one who smiles at you through her eyes conveying a different story.

When you finally get to the one-eyed prince, you almost gasp at how quickly he takes hold of your hand and frees you from his brother's grip before Aegon could hand you over to him.

The moment your feet are on the altar with the septon looking over you both. The panic that strikes again is unavoidable. You make eye contact with a few people in the crowd as you turn your head to face them; they are able to see the horror in your eyes. The desperation you feel as you silently beg for someone to say something, to speak up about this injustice. The room, however, is still utterly silent.

Fingers gripping your jaw, face turned back to the man in front of you. Surprisingly, it was a gentle touch. The violet eye catches your tear-filled ones. It tells you that you’re alone. That nothing can or will change this. That this is your fate.

In response, you swallow and nod your head. Accepting the hand that reaches to you, facing the Septon. As the septon speaks, you allow a tear to slip down your cheek. Accepting your demise, at last. When you turn your head to look at Aemond, you realize his eye never left yours.

In the sight of gods and men, the two of you exchange vows. Cloaked and brought under his protection. Instead of the traditional red three-headed dragon sigil embroidered in the cloak, it’s gold.

Only Aemond and the Septon can hear your trembling voice. Once the vows have been said. You know this was it. Whatever miracle you hoped for is gone. Shattered to pieces. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.

Standing there, you know what is about to happen. You move in closer to Aemond with the intention of kissing his cheek. Only to be caught off guard at the feeling of his mouth against yours. One hand is on the back of your neck, the other on your waist.

Low murmurs are coming from the sparse crowd. This was far from appropriate. Your hand rests on his shoulder, pressing your palm to the cloth, trying to push him away. Eventually, he does pull away, but not before you felt his tongue slither into your mouth.

The kiss made you feel as if the world was a blur. Your knees weaken and Aemond has you lean on him. You meekly whisper 'to the table', and he complies. Sitting there, you seem to be in a daze. Aegon can be heard raising his wine in a toast, something along the 'Welcoming you into their side.'

Noises soon surround you from all sides. There is music playing, laughter, and conversations happening. But due to the rush of blood to your ears, you can hardly hear anything. Your newlywed husband is seated next to you. The food on your plates hardly touched. Even your wine cups.

You can see the odd looks others gave you. Not a single laugh or word between you and Aemond. He hasn’t even asked you for a dance. It was Aegon who did, coming to his brother’s side. He seemed drunk in such a short time, or maybe he already was but you perhaps didn't notice.

Aegon takes the cup of his brother's wine, taking a sip from it as he extends his hand. Hesitantly, you agree, taking his hand. Aemond’s annoyed look is clearly seen in not only having his cup stolen, but his bride.

What is for you to do. You can't deny a king's request, and even if you do, you're not sure Aemond will come to your defense.

As you dance with Aegon, you once again feel the strange looks of others. The bride is dancing with a man other than her husband. It’s an unusual sight. They keep it to themselves though as this time it’s not the prince they will speak of, but rather the king.

“I must say I didn’t expect this from my brother,” you simply nod along, until his words finally register in your head. At first, you thought he was referring to the wedding, but as soon as you saw that sneering expression on his face, you understood. The rumors. How is it that he made you regret your course of actions in a span of seconds.

“But it was always meant to happen one day,” he mutters. Nervously swallowing at what he meant. Aegon brings you closer to him, “Your mother wanted to wed you to me, you know?” You nod. This came as no shock. Before she moved to Dragonstone, your mother had intended to wed your brother Jace to Helaena and you to Aegon. A resolution to the conflict between two families.

You've always believed Helaena deserved someone as kind and understanding as your brother. But in the process, it meant marrying someone as lustful and arrogant as Aegon. Though those unions were prevented by Alicent as she wed Aegon to Helaena. But on the other hand, you are married to his brother, your fate sealed.

“But did you know you were meant to wed Aemond” now that was what shocked you. You glared reluctantly at him. How is this your first time knowing this. Your mother would’ve surely told you or anyone else in the matter. Though he appears to be in a drunken haze, you wanted to believe he was lying but what motive would he have for doing so.

“Father insisted on it after you took my brother’s eye,” your lips press in a tight line at the mention. “Mother was against it of course, and so was yours, In fact, it was her who ended the proposal,” his grip on your waist tightened as you feel his breath on your face.

You felt trapped under his arms and gaze. But for a time, you choose not to fight him. Your curiosity getting the best of you as you continue to hear him speak. “She said she’ll marry you off to Jace when the two of you come of age, so imagine our surprise dear niece when we come to find he’s to wed Baela instead”.

It’s the reason why you felt his eye on you the entire petition. You thought it was to intimidate you. Maybe it was, but it became more than one reason. He harbored a much deeper grudge against your brother than you believed it to be.

Your mother enters your thoughts. You didn’t understand why she’d lie, never did she mention a possibility of you and Jace ever being wed. Did she somehow fear Alicent. After all, you had taken out her son's eye.

Did she fear Aemond? He was a young boy for the time being, but he’ll soon become a man and grow to resent you. If that is what she believed, no one could blame her for it. In the end, he did hurt you. In all ways possible.

“It’s such a shame that my brother gets to have such a beautiful bride,” your thoughts are abruptly stopped as he says this with his calloused fingers playing with your necklace. A glint in his violet gaze makes you uneasy. You have seen it in lords with intentions beyond courting.

“If you shall ever feel unsatisfied with my brother,” his chest brushes to yours and you move to step back in response. Only to squirm when he tugs harshly at the necklace holding you in place, “you know where to find me,” he finishes, mouth curving upwards. And when his pink lips touch the shell of your ear, his next words send a chill down your spine, “After all, it doesn’t matter which one of us puts a baby in you.”

Putting your hand on his chest to shove him away. And finally, he complies. His hand goes to grab your arm, bringing you over to your table, where you see Aemond. “Come everyone, let’s prepare for the bedding ceremony!”

Everyone can see the king is beyond drunk, eyes barely open, and face red. “There’ll be no bedding ceremony,” Aemond simply responds and for the first time, you feel somewhat grateful at his involvement.

Aegon then reaches to grip his head, muttering under his breath on how it hurts. Ser Criston is signaled and he and another guard drag Aegon out of the place. He’s so intoxicated to the point that he can no longer stand. You don’t miss the way everyone looks at him with exasperation. So this is the king of the seven kingdoms, you bitterly thought.

You’re jolted by Aemond’s touch. “Come, my wife, we must rest,” he says, gesturing for you to follow him and you do so without another word. There was no ‘rest’ with Aemond, or should you call your husband now.

As the second you were in his chambers, it ended with you bare on his bed and him on top of you. The wedding dress of yours torn and thrown somewhere on the ground. The first time was excoriating. The second time was painful. The third time was bearable.

Aemond had left long after, to his own chambers no doubt. Once the doors were closed. Your body writhes in sobs. There is no end to the tears falling. Is this meant to be your life, weeping every day like a widow in mourning. But you’re not mourning a dead husband. You mourn for your life. How it came to be. The tragedies that followed. And will continue to follow.

At night, you are awakened by someone. It was far too early for it to be the morning. You find yourself in complete darkness when you first open your eyes, save for a candle that is close to you. If not for the hand covering your mouth, you would have almost shrieked when you saw a face. The figure wore a cloak. Which they took off to reveal a man. Young for his age.

You remember the compromising position you’re in, grabbing the sheets to hold them to your bare chest. The man looks away awkwardly as he explains who he was and who sent him. His name was Pete. And when the mention of Daemon is made, you sit up right away, almost forgetting to hold the sheets. He then throws you a cloak, facing you with his back.

You quickly put on your clothes and wore the said cloak. Pete opens the door and gestures for you to follow. You hesitantly do so. When you glance out of the corner of your eye, there was nobody watching the hallways. Then you see it. A fire spreading at a far distance. His work, no doubt.

What about Aemond. You asked as the two of you sneak through the halls. “He’ll be dealt with.” Dealt with, hearing this made you almost stop at your tracks. “We had a servant put something in his wine, knock him out for good. The men will have their fun with him.”

Wine? No, he couldn’t possibly mean the one in the wedding. You haven’t seen Aemond take not one sip from it, or maybe he did. It wasn’t as if you were paying attention. But it made sense now. The way Aegon made a fool of himself. You didn't share your discovery with Pete, remaining silent throughout the whole way.

As if sensing your weariness, he turns with a smile, “Don’t worry princess, we’ll give you your justice from that one-eyed scum and that little brat of theirs.” You assume the ‘little brat’ was Aegon. Was it possible? Is Daemon this willing to murder both the king and prince in one night. Chaos has already begun due to war, but this will further exacerbate it.

You don't remember how many stairs you descended until the two of you are moving through a tunnel. The tunnel leads to the chilly wind outside, huddling under your cloak for warmth. In front of you, is the open water. And the boat. Pete kneels down, reaching for the rope that ties the boat to the shore.

Suddenly you scream, but by the time Pete gets to his feet to react, a sword slashes him across the chest. Towering over him is Aemond.

He faces you, a bloodied sword in his hand. As if hunting for its prey, eyes unhinged and crazed. Hair loose and disheveled. A number of cuts were visible on his chest and shoulders. Nose bloodied and a small cut on his lip.

A groan comes out of Pete. And you’re terrified at the realization that he’s still alive. You try to rush over to him, letting out a cry, but it’s too late as Aemond thrusts the sword into his neck. The blood splatters, and even drops, can be seen on his face.

Your hand is placed over your mouth as he draws the sword out, feeling the urge to throw up at the sight. Aemond then raises his sword and points it in your direction. The tip nearly presses against the cloak, and you struggle to keep your chest from fluttering up and down.

“Do you recognize this sword” he asks, quite so casually as if one small step forward wouldn't be enough to pierce your skin. You shake your head. “Look at it,” the fear rendered you unresponsive, and you had to be told a second time. You at last looked.

It looks like every other sword. You recall him using it against Criston during his practice. The familiarity only becomes apparent when your eyes focus on a small detail. A shape that appeared to be missing almost carved out, was seen in the rain guard. Your gasp told him it finally came to you.

“What irony would it be” Aemond’s voice fills the tunnel, “If I killed you with the sword you had given me?” Your stomach clenches when the sword is inches away from your gut. “Or better yet, if I strangle you with my own hands?”

He doesn't give you a chance to speak as the sword falls to the ground and both hands wrap around your throat. “When my foolish brother sobers up, he’d want you dead,” the hand tightens its grip and your head is starting to spin as you gasp for air.

“For what they did to Jaehaerys. A child for a child” cold eye staring at your wide ones. Jaehaerys? Daemon sent a kill for Jaehaerys? No, it had to be a mistake. Your mother would have never allowed that. He was only six, an innocent boy who had done nothing wrong. This was far too cruel even for Daemon.

“This wasn’t all they had done dear wife,” the word ‘wife’ was uttered with malice. Your nails clawed at his hands, but it was all in vain. “I woke up to two men trying to cut off my manhood, a revenge for the princess they said.”

You feel your life is slipping away. Gods, was he going to kill you. Was this how you’ll die. In some dark tunnel on the other side of King’s landing. “But I wonder how your dear step-father of yours will react when he knows how much you’ll miss it if it did,” he spat out. Using all your strength, you try to pry his hands away. Between the struggle, your eyes caught sight of the sword lying a foot away from Pete's body.

A sudden realization dawned on you.

He kept the swords all those years. He trained with it, fought with it. And when he lost his eye, he took the sapphire that you had given him and placed it in its stead.

You were right to fear Aemond in that he’d hurt you. Ruin you. But not in that he’ll kill you. Cause he could have at any moment. He should have left you on that island, but he didn’t. He didn’t put up any struggle when you were wed. He wanted you to wed him. He hated you. There was no doubt, but there was something else, another feeling involved beyond it.

With small ragged gasps, you were able to utter a few words. “Do it,” you say in a raspy voice. “Do it,” you say this time a little louder only to feel his palm press harder. Your lungs start to aches, eyes bulging, and the edge of your vision turning dark. This may be it, your end.

And then his grip loosens. Letting you go.

Your body collapsed to the ground, catching your breath all while coughing. The cold air fills your lungs as you lie on the harsh ground.

His confused look was apparent when you let out a choked laugh. He loved you. The fucker loved you. Loved you in the most fucked up way possible. And it’s killing him, tearing him apart, yet he’s blind do it.

The boat is still on the water, swaying side to side, but there is no way you can escape to it. With your face pressed to the ground, you accepted the reality of the situation. You were trapped. Caged. A hostage.

It’s his fault. All his fault. But you knew once you return to the castle, they will all blame you for the death of the young prince. Point you to the crime. After all, it was done in your name. You may find yourself strangled in sleep, pushed from a window, or poisoned. From someone who assumes this is justice for the prince Jaehaerys.

You needed Aemond. You needed him on your side. If you ever hope to see your mother again, your family again. He was the key.

So when you were lifted by your hair, forced to stand by the prince, he’s surprised by your lips crashing into his. You feel him melting into your touch before he forcibly pulls you away. Lips as blooded as his. As he tilts his head, he yanks your hair, throwing your head back.

He knows what you’re doing, yet he still tugs your head forward for your lips to meet once more. “My place is on your side,” you whisper to his lips. He scoffs under his breath. Liar. That’s what his eye tells you.

Taking a deep breath, you take the courage to do what you must do. Your knee was raised. And his body tenses at what to expect, a kick perhaps. Only to hiss when feeling your knee brush against his lower region. His hand goes to rest on it as if signaling you to stop. But as you fix your gaze on him, you again brush your knees against something firm. The act causes him to groan between his teeth.

You didn’t fight when sensing his hands’ inch under your cloak and your dress. You didn’t fight when he laid you on the rough ground, mounting on top of you. This time, you stared at him, mouth open and brows furrowed. This time it was you who removed his patch. It caused him to hesitate, almost halting his movements, but then he had gone back to moving his hips again, albeit faster than before.

Something damp was felt by your fingers on the ground. Pete's blood. It leaked from his body. You didn't react to it, digging the same bloodied fingers into the prince's shoulder as he sinks rougher inside you.

You were playing a game, and he knew it. The question was how long he was willing to play along.

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