#i cannot express my feelings about him in mere words

[historical-paramedics]

Feeling very emotional about John Marston rn. Idk he's literally just a guy a stupid dumb idiot guy who's also very clever and kind and sympathetic and loving but he's an idiot and doesn't know how to deal with things and hurts people he loves but he never stops trying to do right by them and I just. Love Him.

[h109zone]

mess with my woman? mess with me—headcanon

synopsis. you were invited to an event and you brought your boyfriend with you. entrusting your boyfriend's social skills, you branched off to catch up with your best friend, tara. this motion, however, ended up going against your favor.

pairing. multi (seperate) x reader

words. 4.7k

warning. objectification, sexism, some mentions of body parts (ass and boobs) but it is never super specific, threat of violence, mentions of weapons, suggestive (xavier and caleb), use of evol (zayne and caleb), psychological torture, public humiliation, creatively uncreative insults towards a male colleague, implied death, open ending, slight ooc, not proofread**

requested. anon

a/n. my first request (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) i hope i did it justice, and did as told !!! i kinda went overboard, with some having a dark ending, but regardless hope you enjoy it.

minors do not interact. re-read the warnings before reading, as after clicking “keep reading”, i am not responsible for the media you consume.

You and your boyfriend step out of the vehicle as you arrive at the annual ceremony that is held by the Hunters’ Association. It is a highly prestigious and acclaimed event, and you two were dressed to the nines with your elegant long dress and his sharp suit, armored with accessories and hidden weapons, and arms wrapped around each other’s midriff to signify the status of your relationship. 

You were both greeted with a welcoming champagne, which you two gleefully took, and casual salutations from guests who knew you specifically. The ball was extravagant, with high-contrast elegance emanating in the room. You hear chattering, pompous chuckles, and rumblings of clinking glasses—a mere opposite environment of that of your workplace. 

You flaunted your boyfriend like he was a human version of a one-of-a-kind vintage car—you would feel bad for the objectification, if only for the fact that girls and some guys tend to flock to them to get to know this mysterious man in your arms. Luckily for you, but unfortunately for them, he only has eyes for you, and he pays no mind to others who don’t carry your essence. 

After the slight cordial exchange with acquaintances, you spotted Tara from afar, her youthful smile brightened as she jauntily waved her arms signaling for your arrival. You smiled back and nodded at her before you turned your attention towards your boyfriend and your male colleague, whom you happened to stumble upon. 

“Hey, babe, Tara’s calling out for me, you don’t mind if I step away?” Your request was a rhetorical one, as you knew he trusted you with his life. He gave his affirmative answer and nodded before you planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and parted ways. 

His eyes were on you as you walked up to Tara, ecstatically greeting each other. The male colleague in question looks at your boyfriend with a scoffing expression. The endearing and caring eyes shifted into a scowling confusion as he looked back at the man next to him. 

“Is there a problem?” He asked pointedly. The man held your boyfriend’s shoulder as he began chuckling. 

“Oh, no, my good man, there is none at all,” The man babbled before he chugged the remainder of his drink. The drunken state is very prevalent, if not in expression, then in his wording. “I’m just wondering how a distinguished gentleman like yourself bagged her? I know you can’t handle all of that juicy ass…”

Rafayel.

Rafayel choked on his drink after he heard the astonishing yet abhorrent language your male colleague had uttered. 

“Excuse me?!” Rafayel exclaimed after coughing up the last drink, looking at him with distaste, but clearly, the man still hadn’t gotten the memo. 

“Oh, please, we both know you got with her because of how hot she is!“

“Stop! Stop!” Rafayel roared while lifting his hand at the man’s face to signal him to stop talking. He cannot believe the words he is hearing, a male colleague, someone whom you work with, speaking about you—his muse, his future wife, his future mother of his children—in this shallow fashion. 

“What gives you the right to speak about her right to my, her boyfriend, may I add, face?!” Rafayel inquired avertingly, eyes reddened in fury. The usually smiley and soft artist has turned into a protective lion ready to attack at any moment. 

“Look, I presume you’re fresh meat right now and you don’t deal with her on the daily, but I’ll have you know that if it weren’t for that 10 out of 10 face and ass, you wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her.” This man has gotten himself a death sentence. Rafayel slammed his glass onto the table, causing a domino of heads turning towards him and the human scum in front of him jolted in his place.

“You motherfucker—”

“Hey, Rafy!” You barged in between, almost in cue, before his outbursts took over. The tension rose, and it was evident by your colleague’s petrified yet defensive stance that your usually calm and collected boyfriend snapped. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked, concern laced in your tone, paying mind only to your boyfriend. Rafayel could only do a languid yet short breathing exercise before smiling at you, anger still written in his face. 

“Yeah, fabulous, I was just getting to know your colleague,” his smile looking painful and petrifying. He wanted to escort you and not witness his wrath, however, his conscious was gnawing at him. He refuses to allow this brain-eating amoeba to roam around this prestigious hall contentedly, without paying his dues.  

“Hey, my absolute goddess, and anyone willing to weigh in on the gossip, preferably a boss or higher-up,” Rafayel dramatically announced while wrapping his arm around your waist. You looked at him, brows scrunched in confusion at Rafayel’s sudden behavior. What on earth is this man doing? 

“Do you know what this scum has been saying behind your back?” Rafayel pointed at the man who cowardly shrank himself, “You will not believe the absolute filth he has uttered in the short second I’ve dealt with him…”

And there, Rafayel turned the affluent event into a one-sided roast session, your jaw dropped, both in awe and disgust, whilst everyone let out a string of appalled gasps and whispers. Rafayel ripped him a new one while the man tried his best to defend himself. 

“It was a joke! I-I didn’t mean to!” The colleague stammered before looking at you in sheer patheticness to save face, not an ounce of remorse, “Please, Ms. (l/n), you know I was only—”

The gasp from the audience got louder as his deplorable voice was replaced by a slap from you. Rafayel could only scowl and hold you closer as you both watched the pathetic man stumble from the hit. 

You tugged on Rafayel’s arms and pointed at the door, “Let’s go, Rafy.”

“Let’s go, cutie,” He said, his sweet voice directed to your ears contrasted with the threatening eyes directed towards your male colleague, potentially ex, before turning around and departing from the party. 

The rest of the night spent with the two of you laughing at the entirety of the situation, poking fun at the man and your boyfriend’s love for the theatrics. Rafayel assured you that the claims that the man has stated were utter bullshit and that his love and enamor towards you goes beyond looks and bed skills, meanwhile you assured him that you were never close to that specific colleague. 

It was a fun time, and Rafayel could not wait for the updates to come when you return to work.

Xavier

Xavier’s polite smile has never dropped so quickly until now. 

He has been aware of this specific colleague since he also encounters him every now and then, and has seen you interact with him. He doesn’t like how he tries to get close to you, however, you always told Xavier to tone down his jealousy in the work field as the relationship is strictly business, and that your eyes are reserved towards him and him only. He believes you one hundred percent, yet he wishes he had done things to get that colleague away from you. 

“I beg your pardon?” Xavier’s words were as sharp as a knife, as his eyes painted a displeasing anger that was hidden beneath the surface. The drunken man in front of him paid no mind and began rambling. 

“C’mon, you can be honest with me,” The man slurred as he leaned in and whispered with a devious smirk, “She had a tight one and was a good fuck, am I right?”

The vulgar words sent shockwaves to Xavier, resulting in him pushing the man in front of him, causing the brain-eating amoeba of a man to stumble back into the table nearby, making everyone gasp and look at the commotion. You turned away from Tara and ran up to Xavier as you spotted him wielding his sword. 

“Xavier!” You called out as your boyfriend walked up to the cowardly man below him, threateningly. You stood between the two men, but you fully faced Xavier as you placed your hands on his arms to prevent him from hurting himself, the man, and possibly others. 

“Apologize to her,” Xavier said, pointedly and terrifyingly calm. You glanced at the man before looking back at your lover, “What are you talking about?” 

The man stood up as he lifted his hand, defensively before opening his mouth, “I just told him how it is, but your man is a pussy.”

Xavier clenched his fists, ready to charge, yet you stopped him by simply glancing at him. You had that power with him; he could have all the weapons and defenses, but nothing’s more potent than your expressions and glances. You squinted your eyes in suspicion before crossing your arms. 

“And what is it that you’ve said that got him like this?!” You coldly said, knowing your boyfriend has his moments of irrationality, but he’s not one to always resort to violence—he doesn’t act this way unless his and/or your life has been threatened. Xavier stood behind you as he held your hip, silently reminding you that he had your back, even if you don’t need it. 

“That he was with you for a good fuck,” He said in a “matter-of-fact” manner. 

The entire audience was flabbergasted by the confession, how callous he seemed, as if he had just uttered a common fact. Xavier was embarrassed on your behalf; he was ready to charge at him, and he couldn’t stand how you were stopping him. However, you showed him something that is possibly more brutal than Xavier’s sword covered with that scum’s blood.

You wheezed. 

You let out a hysterical laugh, leaving everyone, including your boyfriend and the colleague, confused. The colleague scowled at your laughing outburst. 

“Why are you laughing?!” He exclaimed angrily, fist clenched at the sudden reaction. You proceeded to laugh before you wiped your tears as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Is that what it is?” You spoke, the smile you’re showing on your face was that of menace, “you’re mad that he’s with me for a good fuck and not you?” 

Your voice heightened like you were baby talking, which caught everyone off guard, “are you mad that I get to fuck your coworker and have me call out his name instead of yours? Mad that you aren’t in his position?”

Xavier turned red, unexpecting your bold moves, but you kept going with your speech.

“Mad that he gets to see me at my full glory while you’re only limited to my uniform? Mad that he gets to use his hands to make me feel good while you can only use one hand for yourself?” You carried on taunting while the colleague began seething as you kept going, a smirk still exhibited on your face.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed before attempting to lunge at you. Xavier stood up straight on defense almost immediately, yet you fearlessly caught the man on time and proceeded to kick him in the balls. The dirtbag let out a painful groan and crouched down before falling while everyone, minus you and Xavier, in the hall let out their winced “oohs”. 

You and your lover looked down at the pained man with a mirrored, cold glower, your glares threatening him to stay away from the two of you. Xavier absent-mindedly held your hand, dragging you away from the commotion as you held him even closer to you.

You two left the hall, going down the steps of the building hand-in-hand. Xavier took notice of your sudden quiet demeanor, making his eyebrows knit in wonder.

“You’re quiet…” Xavier softly spoke as you two walked up the parking lot, “How ironic, after the stunt you’ve done, I wouldn’t guess that this would be the aftermath.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry for airing out our private life in front of our entire coworkers—”

Your apologetic speech was interrupted by Xavier pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was filled with fervent reassurance as his arm was tightly wrapped around your midriff while he slightly nipped at your bottom lip. He pulled away, his body still close to yours as his hand caressed your cheek, his soft features created an oxymoron with the devious smirk. 

“Don’t apologize, now everyone knows not to mess with you…” He pulls away as he walks to the car.

You were sure you were going to give him the best night of his life to salvage the disastrous night.

Zayne

He simply blinked at him with an expressionless face. His eyebrows knitted in utter bemusement, his neutral expression juxtaposed with his agitated inner psyche.

 Zayne prayed that what he had just heard was a figment of his imagination and it’s that his possessive side deluded him into thinking that your male colleague said the most objectifying statement he has ever heard about his lover, and he was a young doctor whose no stranger with people from patients to receptionists to even interns and medical students attempting to seduce him for their own greater good, so he knows a thing or two about this subject matter—which is nothing and slightly less worrying than your case.

“I see you’re a man of a few words, don’t worry, I can see your intentions right through you,” the man confidently—wrongly as well—gloated, “Now, I know (y/n) for some time and lemme tell ya, her hunting skills may not be all that, but those cherries of her’s make it all up” 

Zayne wished he were deluding himself right now, and the words the man was saying weren’t real. He maintained with the stoic stance, disgust started to crack behind the mask, as the man proceeded to say the most awful thing any human being has ever uttered. 

“I mean, you’re one lucky bastard for bagging her, because having a girl with tits like that? Phew, got me acting up…” 

For someone who can’t handle alcohol, Zayne cursed himself for not being able to get drunk and forget this abhorrent exchange. While he remained motionless, his hand started to shake in fury as he brought his drink to his lips. The douchebag still proceeds in his demeaning and depersonalizing speech, while your boyfriend averted his eyes away from him. He was getting annoyed, and he thought that enough was enough. 

Mid-speech, the pig disguised human began shivering all of a sudden. He started to rub himself to keep himself warm, while Zayne was unbothered by his reaction. 

“Phew, is it cold in here? I didn’t think it’d get this cold,” Energy sucker of a human shuddered with his words as he looks at the towering doctor, almost looking for any struggle. He simply shrugged and swirled his remaining drink.

“I don’t think it’s cold.” Zayne finally spoke up for the first time, letting his ominously calming voice be heard. It is unknown if it was the temperature of the room or his voice, but the man next to Zayne started feeling severely shivery. 

“H-hey, i-it’s g-getting s-sup-per c-c-cold now,” the shiver in his body and voice turned into a rapid quiver as the man attempts to warm himself by rubbing his arm up, fails miserably. Zayne once again shrugged and paid no mind. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t feel cold.”

Zayne smirked as he sensed the man’s body begin to whiten from the cold. The mole rat began groaning as icy surfaces began to protrude out of his neck as he knelt in agony, while the ice evol holder could only look down with him, apathy drawn in his face. If he weren’t in a public area, he’d have icicles penetrating his skin, but he knows that won’t be appropriate. 

However, the show must go on, as everyone took notice of the man’s aching state, so the empathetic doctor was brought back. As Zayne kneeled and pretended to tend to him, you ran over to the two individuals on the ground, and you noticed your boyfriend’s antics. To a stranger’s eyes, they simply think it’s just an off-duty doctor tending to a struggling victim, but to you, you see Zayne’s purposeful languid motions and his icy gaze that mirrored his evol, which was evidently in use as he tortured the man in front of him. You walked through the crowd up to them and crouched down to their level.

“What happened?” You asked, shocked written in your face. Zayne gave you a small knowing smile, “Nothing, just an injured drunkard, get in the car, we’ll go home after this.”

Straight to the point, yet vague. You knew he was lying, and you knew that he wouldn’t say anything in front of everyone, so you obliged and left. ‘He better have a good explanation for this,’ you thought to yourself. 

As soon as your figure was gone and the crowd scattered, Zayne roughly held the struggling man by the collar as he huskily whispered in his ears.

“Listen here, because I won’t repeat this. If you so ever talk about my girlfriend, or any girl at that, in this fashion, I promise you, your visit to hell will be sooner than expected, are we clear?” His calm tone sent shivers down the scum’s spine in fear as Zayne’s threats were sounding more like promise than a threat. 

Zayne pulled away, his glacial gaze waiting for a response. The man beneath him vigorously and cowardly nodded before Zayne let go of his collar and dusted himself off.

“You seem to have a mild hypothermia, based on your lower than normal body temperature, I suggest you go home, having something warm and rest with a heater on, so you’ll rejuvinate yourself… for future events” Zayne announced the diagnosis like he didn’t just threatened his life… as if his diagnosis isn’t any less menacing.

Needless to say, you have to thank Zayne for expelling bugs from your job.

Sylus

His brows raised in astonishment. Is this the work environment that you dare to gloat over him for? A man who can just objectify and reduce women to sex objects? Sylus was not a man of high morality and ethics, but even he knows his limits and disdain towards certain ideologies, and it’s the poor excuses of humans like him that will always leave a bad taste in Sylus’s mouth. 

“Hm,” Sylus mutters as his face sours while cocking his head to the side. Despite the disinterest shown in the towering white-haired man, the blobfish proceeded in his objectifying tirade. 

“I mean, what does a man of high status like yours need a girl like (y/n)? She is nothing but a pretty face and body, I would know, I work along with her,” The man obnoxiously laughed and hit Sylus’s side, making the red-eyed man grimace even further. 

This man has a certain death wish, and Sylus is not afraid to fulfill it, but, infuriatingly, patience is the best tool to execute this, and he knows this all too well. He can’t be too rash with his decision, especially when he’s Skye right now, a man who runs a family business selling fruits, not Onichynus, the leader of the N109 Zone and the most feared man. 

It’s a good thing that you’ve convinced him that Mephisto should be within your radar, because as soon as he gives the signal to the mechanical crow to bring in Luke and Kiean, it's go time and brings out his love for art and theatrics. 

“Oh, is that what you think?” His face shifted instantly, a smirk crossing his arms. The man was too excited to affirm his statement with how quickly he nodded, which seethed Sylus, but he could never showcase it right now. As the man carried on ranting, Sylus nodded before tapping on his ear as a form of discreet scratching.

That maneuver triggered the hidden earpiece you and Sylus had, and there you can hear Sylus’s torturous and abhorrent conversation with your colleague, whom you have foolishly praised. You have aided him in multiple missions and provided resources for him to better himself in the field, and now this is thanks you get? If you’re a nagging bitch, then you’ll show him what a nagging bitch would do.

Tara was absentmindedly ranting, before you interrupted her and gave her an excuse that “Skye” needed to go back home urgently. Tara said her farewells, and you two exchanged hugs before you said goodbye to the rest of the group. 

You already knew what Sylus was going to do, he didn't have to tell you his plan. you already had him memorized like a book of incantation, just as he is to you, and with the way he intentionally turned on his earpiece to make you listen to the horseshit your so-called “trusted colleague,” you knew he was done for. 

“Hey, Skye,” You gleefully returned as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s midriff, resulting in his automatic hold on you while his gaze falls on you with wonder in his eyes—this was not an act, the action of having you physically close to him can make him falter into his knees for his adoration is bigger than what the universe can carry, hence the impromptu mission at hand.  

“Oh, hey, sweetie, such perfect timing, we were having such a riveting and intellectually stimulating conversation, isn’t that right?” Sylus said with his iconic smirk, discreetly sarcastic. He had placed the man in front of you in an uncomfortable position, with his tight-lipped smile and slight nod. Oh, how funny sexist pigs can be. 

“Oh, is that so? What were you talking about?” You feigned innocence and curiosity as you looked at the two men.

The man stiffened as he nervously stammered, “oh, there’s no need to know, it’s, y’know… men stuff.”

You nodded with a squint as you held Sylus closer, silently signifying to him that it’s done and the cue to be leaving, but you weren’t going to leave in silence.

“Yeah, I’m sure talking about me being a nagging bitch is peak masculinity.” You sneered before you turned your back, dragging Sylus, and you two departed. The pig’s colors melting away from his face was priceless, which both of you fought hard not to laugh and ruin the image you two tried to maintain until both of you’re out of sight.

“You’re not a bad actress, Miss Hunter,” Sylus left a teasing yet genuine comment as you two walked on the sidewalk. Sylus purposely parked his car away for anonymity and safety, so it is a bit of a walk. 

You chuckled, “You’re not so bad yourself, I was almost convinced that you agreed with everything he said with how you kept egging him on,” you teased back, making Sylus visibly cringe at the thought. 

“Please, it was more torturous listening to his voice, let alone pretending to hear him out,” He spat while rolling his eyes, making you chuckle before you wrapped your arms around his muscular biceps. Despite everything, the lengths that Sylus takes to keep you safe and protected make you fall for him, and after knowing what he’ll do to that guy after he takes you home, it’s safe to say that Sylus is the only man you’ll put your 100% trust in.

Caleb 

He could’ve sworn he heard a record scratch being played because of what he just heard. No, no, that was the chip acting up, there are side effects with the chip, he could’ve possibly misheard—

“Yeah, and I bet that pussy is tight,” Your colleague paused to sigh, “How does it feel to bag a baddies and manage to nuzzle yourself in that?”

Oh, he has chosen death, for sure. Caleb felt his eye twitch as he noticed the man eyeing you like a predator would a prey. This has to be some cruel prank made by you; THIS poor excuse of a human is your trusted colleague? The one you once mentioned that you trust him with your drinks after him? This scum was almost placed at a same level as him—your devoted, loving boyfriend. Caleb doesn’t know if he should get offended that you’ve placed this nobody at the same level as him, or direct his entire anger at him. 

He figured the forth should be dealt with later and handle the latter firsthand.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Caleb switched off his charismatic and sociable persona and placed his cold colonel side up to the surface with the bluntness of his tone. The cuntleague jolted in his place, noticing the unsatisfactory reaction coming from the colonel.

“C’mon, Caleb was? You know I was fucking aro—”

“It’s Colonel Caleb to you,” He sternly spoke, “And I don’t want you jeering around, talking about my girlfriend this way.”

The man in front of him didn’t take him seriously, laughing straight at Caleb’s unrelenting stance. Oh, he’s sealed his deal; he better not, god forbid, have any loved ones. 

“Alright, Colonel Caleb, whatever you say, buddy—” The heckler wanted to give your boyfriend a pat on the shoulder, only for it to levitate above the broad shoulder. The man notices the odd phenomenon, trying to pull away but to no avail, he struggles as he tries to get his hand back to its natural position. Caleb could only scornfully look at him as blue and red rays emanated around him like an aura, his lips curled in disgust.  

The man began pleading with the colonel to let go of his hand, anticipating his mercy of his hand. Caleb waited as he stared down, before elevating his hand away just slightly, only for the man’s hand to remain static in front of his face. 

“Hey, what are you doing—” His mouth shut due to the pressure of his jaw shutting him, thanks to Caleb’s evol, and then dragged him far away from the crowd. What occurs next makes the man regret what he uttered; the psychological and physical torment that Caleb inflicted on him was beyond cruel. But can he be blamed? He has heard your fantasy in the eradication of incels, and this colleague of yours is no less than that—it’s just you didn’t know that. Now, this man is paying his dues, hoping he never talked to Caleb, or disrespected him, or talked about you in a vulgar manner. 

You’ve noticed that Caleb was nowhere in sight, you were getting tired and wanted to call him to let him know of your state, only for him to appear behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You jumped in surprise before turning to him, making you laugh. 

“Oh, my god, Caleb, you scared me,” you spoke through chuckles before wrapping your arms around his neck, “where have you been? I went to talk to Tara real quick, only for you to disappear.”

Caleb pouted before leaning to kiss your cheek, “I’m sorry, pipsqueak, I went to the bathroom, I didn’t make you worry about me, did I?” He cooed, eyes glimmering in puppy-like state. You caressed his cheek while shaking your head.

“No, no, I just wanted to tell you that I want to go home now,” You said.

“Yeah, I think so too, I want to go home too,” Caleb hushes before he leans in to paint your skin with kisses and love bites, while his hands begin roaming down your body, ignoring that you were in public. You gasped at his sudden yet bold public display of affection as you gripped his arm when he began attacking your neck. 

“Caleb!” You whined through your shocked chuckles, “What has gotten into you? There are people around, you can’t have missed me this much.”

Caleb still left trails of kisses before pulling away with a devious smirk, revealing to you a flushed face, “You have no idea… let’s get out of here…” Caleb huskily spoke before he carried you bridal style, making you yelp with astonished, widened eyes. 

Caleb proceeds to drag you away from his sins and crimes, but is it criminal for wanting to take care of an uncomfortable situation his way? Is it a crime if the crime has disappeared into thin air? Caleb took you on a ride that opposes the idea of what your male colleague has gone through. You were rolling in the fields of pleasure and bliss, meanwhile your colleague held uncertainty and mystery. He was last seen at the event, never to be seen again.

Caleb just wanted to protect you from evil, and he can expel it if you tell him so.

ⓒ 2025 all works done by H109zone do not repost, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work.

[burningcheese-merchant]

"You and I... We are meant to be together." okay everyone pack it up. go home. it doesn't get worse than this. I fear all other ancient x beast is #cancelled forever because how the utter fuck do you compete with that. My god. Dark Cacao would die on the spot, his old fucking heart would give out processing a sentence that romantic. Golden Cheese would choke and die from the physical manifestation of her own pride and ego before she could ever utter a sentence that open and honest. Hollyberry is choosing to laugh it all off and pray she can drink away and not think about it. White Lily would fall into another witch pot of bubbling goo before confronting said feelings. Only Pure Motherfucking Vanilla is that clincally batshit and unburdened to spout his feelings 1000% unfiltered to a guy who just killed his friends and got his rocks off psychologically torturing him.

Mystic Flour being utterly repulsed by such naïve, meaningless sentimentality, still clinging to the remains of the apathy she so cherishes and champions even as it slips through her fingers like flour through a sieve; hating herself to her very core because somewhere within it, she KNOWS her heart beats and aches for that ridiculous man, but she would end her own suffering before she allowed the truth to poke its head out from the shadows of her subconscious for even a single second

Burning Spice knowing how he feels for Golden Cheese, reveling in it, LIVING for the way his heart thunders in his chest and his breath hitches at the mere thought of his little bird. Never being afraid to tell her so, to pour out the contents of his dark heart without any filter (and Witches know he needs one at times...), either through his mouth or through the blade of his axe. But... still knowing that it isn't quite enough. Not for her. Because there's still something missing from his confessions. That soft, sugary sweetness that took away enough of the edge to his overwhelming spice that even he himself noticed it. That raw honesty - a different kind than he's used to, not quite what he employs. The kind that well and truly leaves him vulnerable and open to judgment; things he hates himself for fearing, even if it's only in relation to her and no one else. The kind he simply cannot have, that he cannot carry out. He tells Golden Cheese how he feels for her the way he WANTS to, not the way he NEEDS to. For that, he must change. And damn it, he can't handle any more change. It'll kill him, and he doesn't want to die anymore. Not while she's there to make his life fun again

Eternal Sugar sighing, rolling her eyes before letting them flutter shut again, because she knows this song and dance. She once helped countless others perform it; such was her lot as Happiness. And she chooses to ignore it, tuck herself back into bed and retreat into the world of dreams once more. Letting laziness govern her actions, like always. Running away from everything again - including her feelings for Hollyberry, and the fears and doubts that shroud them. Choosing to do nothing with the fact that Hollyberry is a runner and a quitter just like her, instead of taking initiative with her life and emotions for the first time in ages and telling Hollyberry point-blank that they could run away from the world together if she truly wanted

Silent Salt secretly lamenting his condition more than ever before, for now more than ever can he truly say that it is a hindrance, a curse, a stain on the tapestry of his life. Because no matter how well he's trained himself to express his thoughts and feelings through his actions, he knows that there are times where words really DO speak louder - and he can't speak them at all. He can never look White Lily in the eye and open his mouth and allow his praise and adoration to leap freely from his tongue. She will never feel the warmth of his tone as his words embraced her. She will never shiver and swoon at the joy and passion that dripped from every single letter - and there would've been many, there would've been more than could ever have been recorded, for he would've sung his feelings from every rooftop on earth until his lungs gave out. But he can't. He never will. Does he try to pretend it's better this way? Does he try and fail to cope with his lovesickness like his comrades do with theirs? Or does he accept the bitter reality for what it is, no ifs, ands, or buts, only hiding the gloom and doom he knows is written all over his face behind his helm just so he doesn't have to see it for himself?

And, above all of these things, bundling up the other 4 Beasts' feelings and tucking them away... Above all else, they are angry. They are angry at Shadow Milk. Because he achieved what none of them could. He got everything he wanted. His Ancient admitted his love for him, with all of the raw sincerity one could possibly afford another. The other Beasts would do ANYTHING to hear their Ancients speak to them in such a way. To acknowledge and embrace their connection, to confess to loving and longing for them; for their countenance, for their voice, for their touch, for their very souls. Shadow Milk got to reunite with his other half - who chose him willingly, wholeheartedly.

And Shadow Milk chose to throw it all away in the end. Let it all go to waste.

If any of them ever see him again, they're going to let him know EXACTLY how they feel about it all. Maybe it can count as practice towards crafting a proper heartfelt confession.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

A brother's betrayal. // Aemond Targeryen x Aegon's Wife!Reader

Summary: You hear about your husband's injury and immediately rush over to visit him, you were devastated to see him in such a state, mere moments later, the cause of his injury steps in the room, his brother.

WARNINGS: dubious consent(?), choking, manhandling, rough sex, physical assault (nothing much, reader just slaps aemond), slight aegon x reader, season 2 spoilers, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v sex, TRAUMA, ANGST ANGST ANGST, dacryphilia, profanity, reader goes through the suffering of war, mentions of b&c but it happened to the reader, reader has a child with aemond and as well as aegon, mentions of childloss, manipulation, toxicity + not proofread

Could be read as part 2 of "A brother's duty." or alone!

WC: 3k

A/N: yeah idk why I wrote this, perhaps I wanted angst but yeah, like it's mentioned this can be read as a part 2 or stand alone! divider credits: @cafekitsune

You rushed to Aegon's chambers the moment you had heard of his injury, footsteps echoing through the halls loudly, you had received the news that he had gotten burnt badly on one of his sides.

The door to his chamber was wide open, and you entered hastily inside, only to find the maesters and Alicent already in the room, you could tell by her demeanour that she was greatly troubled, you went over to her side and gasped the moment you looked at Aegon. “Is he dead?” You ask, voice trembling with sorrow and Alicent shakes her head, “No.” She swallows.

“My dear, you should probably leave, you cannot be watching this all whilst also grieving…” Alicent trails off, not wanting to mention your son. You shook your head, trying to stay strong.

You were watching the maesters for a few moments, when you felt the presence enter the room, It was Aemond.

Aemond walked in quietly and rested his hands on the sides of the bed, he was looming over Aegon’s body with a menacing stature

He turned and stared at you.

And you swore you saw a glint of satisfaction on his expression.

You felt like throwing up.

You snapped your head away from his direction when you heard Aegon huffing for air, sniffling when you looked at the raw wounds, tears glazed your eyes, looking at your husband in such a state.

He wasn't able to breathe properly, taking sharp breaths for he couldn't inhale, there was a pit forming in your stomach as you stared further, the maesters treated his wounds, you felt helpless.

Aemond still hasn't left the room yet, watching you sob for his brother, he furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“Somebody would need to rule in his stead.” Aemond speaks and you were in disbelief, his brother is hurt badly and those are the first words he speaks? He doesn't even ask the maesters if his brother is alive.

Alicent glares at him, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Your grace, I advise you all leave the chamber, we are about to begin the second treatment, and it isn't pleasant on the eyes.” The maester informs you and you nod slowly, feeling devastated after seeing your husband in such a horrible position.

Alicent walks out first in a hurry, probably going to Ser criston cole to inquire about what happened.

But you knew.

Aemond was definitely involved with this.

You walk out slowly, Aemond following you out right behind you, you tried your best to ignore him and walk away, but bubbling rage simmered inside you, knowing that he was at fault for this.

Your wrist was grabbed harshly by Aemond before he pulled you into a small corridor and slammed you against the wall. The rage you tried to hold in so badly bursted out in flames. You slapped Aemond across the face.

He was shocked.

The shock was quickly replaced by anger as he grabs your neck, holding you against the wall and tightens his grip around your neck, you feel yourself getting light headed from losing air.

“It was you- wasn't it?” You choke out angrily and Aemond smirks, closing his grip further. Your mind began to spin, you clawed at his arm trying to get him to release you, yet it's all in vain.

“Why are you upset?” He genuinely questions and loosens his grip slightly, you look at him dumbfounded, in disbelief that he doesn't feel the weight of this situation right now.

“How can I not be?! You've tried to kill your own brother! My Lord husband! Your King!” You yell at him, and he shakes his head, “It was a mistake- he happened to get caught in the crossfire—”

“Oh save the excuses, Aemond.” You scoff and he immediately releases his hold on your neck, making you cough as you try to inhale air, whilst gently massaging the area he grabbed.

“You and I, we both know that there is no chance that you would happen to mistakenly burn him, you plotted it, all for what?” You ask, staring right into his eye. “For his throne? For the power? What have you achieved through this? You've lost a dragon, your stupid decision will cost us a great loss to us.” You try to feed him common sense, yet the expression on his face remains unchanged.

“I did this for the years of humiliation I had endured, I deserve this as compensation, don't you think?” He whispers menacingly and you feel shivers up your spine. “You want him to compensate with his life? Have you lost it?” You argue.

“I've lost everything I wanted to him.” He twists up an answer, “He isn't worthy of a dragon, yet sunfyre was hatched to him, he isn't worthy of the power, yet it was given to him, he isn't worthy of being a king, yet he is, he isn't worthy of you, yet he has you.” Aemond grits his teeth in anger.

“Everything I wanted was given to him. All because he was the first born, is it not unfair?” He looks you in the eyes. You look down, closing your eyes; taking deep breaths. “But he doesn't deserve such a punishment.” You mumble.

Aemond grabs your shoulders gently, his touch now more forgiving than previously, he hooks his index finger under your jaw and tilts your head to face him. His thumb softly caresses your check. “I did this for us.” He sighs and you shake your head. “You had admitted yourself that you do not love Aegon, so why does it bother you so much?” He pries.

“Because I care for him as his wife, he may not have been the best husband, yet he was understanding.” You begin “In fact, he was the reason why we were both able to discover each other.” You finish.

Aemond is reminded of the past you three had shared, an utmost act of depravity and desperation, you had been shared by the brothers with a mutual agreement, he had to admit, his brother was indeed the reason why he was able to finally have you.

“And he mourned in your stead at the loss of our son, even though he knew it wasn't his.” You grit your teeth, clenching them as grief overwhelms you at the thought of your son, who had been a victim of murder. “While you were fucking your whore.” You recalled.

You were angry with Aemond for a lot of reasons, how could he betray his own family? He had been absent the night your son was murdered, and he hasn't shown any emotion since then. “You are aware that I cannot mourn publicly for our son.” He reasoned but you scoffed, “What about in private? Have you ever told me that you felt sorry? Have you ever tried to comfort me? It was Aegon who reached out to me when I was grieving.” You cry out, all the pain you were holding in your heart pouring out.

“He must've been a great person to you, but he hasn't to me.” Aemond counters back, and you let out a heavy sigh, not wanting to argue anymore, this war has taken a toll on you.

It felt like you were talking to a wall, pushing off his hand and turning to leave, but you are immediately stopped by Aemond blocking your escape with his arm.

“It might not look like it, but I too am grieving for the loss of our son.” He whispers, “I want to destroy the ones who caused this, and Aegon being in the rule will not let it happen easily, he is an idiot.” He tries justifying his actions, but you only glare at him.

“So you will be succeeding in his stead?” You ask and he nods, “Jaehaerys, my son, Aegon's heir, is still alive.” You furrow your brows, “Unless.. Don't tell me you're planning to take that child away from me too? For your greediness?” You question and he shakes his head “He is a child, the council will decide who will be the best candidate.” He replies.

“I can't believe you, Aemond, I barely recognize the man you've become.” You weep, Aemond pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you into a hug, you do not hug him back.

“I sometimes wish that it was Jaehaerys who died instead of our son Rhaegar.” He mutters and you push away from the hug, looking at him with disgust. “You picked him, did you not?” Aemond hits the sore spot, reminding you of the incident in detail.

“They made me choose.” You breath heavily, body trembling as you recall the traumatic night, “And you chose to keep Jaehaerys.” He clenches his teeth in anger. “No.” You reply.

“What?” He questions.

“I chose Rhaegar to keep, but they were cruel and killed him instead.” Tears stream down your face, “I did not want to choose, I did not want to choose! I do not favour any of my sons above each other, I could barely escape with Jaehaerys in time.” You sniff, fists clenching as you recall the incident.

His eye widened at the revelation.

The main reason for him not mourning for Rhaegar was the anger he held towards you for choosing Jaehaerys over his son, yet he couldn't take it out on you as you were grieving too, but something about this provided him comfort.

He's sick in the head, he feels happy knowing you'd always choose him, his blood, his legacy.

He wipes your tears away, “I apologise, it was insensitive of me.” He wipes the tears off your cheek with the sleeve of his clothes, you couldn't help but stare at him.

He pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, giving you all the affection you need to calm down, kissing your forehead, rubbing your back, holding your hand in reassurance. You found it odd.

You bask in his momentary comfort for a bit before you hear footsteps and push him away, running off in the other direction towards the nursery, where your son Jaehaerys resided.

The council meeting ended with the conclusion that Aemond would be the prince regent.

Excited would be an understatement, he finally has the power he wanted.

They immediately begin to plan for the next step to take in the war.

The evening fell swiftly, Aegon had been treated to the best of the maesters ability, and you visited him on the eve, still not being able to stomach the sight. You had bought Jaehaerys in when the maesters had covered up all his wounds.

Jaehaerys rushed over to his father's side, “Mother, what has happened to father?” He asks you, wondering why his dad was in such a terrible state, “He got injured.” You reply, “Who hurt him?” He asks unknowingly, you bite your lip, and shake your head, “It is unknown, he got hurt in the war.” You tell him and he nods.

Aegon was taking in gasps of air, as he was not able to breathe normally, his eyes remained shut.

You and Jaehaerys both stayed in the chamber for a while, you watched in sorrow as Jaehaerys rambled on and on to his father about the things he did the time he was gone. You smiled when he leaned in close to whisper in his dad's ear, likely something he doesn't want you to know.

You wondered if Rhaegar would also be spending time with Aemond, if he wasn't—

You cut yourself off from the thoughts. Refusing to entertain them further, because you had to be strong.

“Jaehaerys, let's leave, your father probably needs rest, it's best not to bother him anymore.” You extend your hand out, Jaehaerys rushes over and grabs it with his tiny hand, before saying his goodbye to his father and leaving the chamber with you. You swore you heard him say your name but you brushed it off thinking that it was probably your mind.

The child's room was heavily guarded now, with more than four knights just looking after him. You felt safer but it did not undo the anxiety you still had.

You read Jaehaerys a bedtime story, to which he fell asleep quickly too, you kissed him on the forehead and left the room. You did not want to, but you had to.

Because the prince regent has called for you.

You rushed to his chambers.

“You called for me?” You waste no time, asking him upon entering and he nods, you felt his demeanour change completely, he seemed entirely different now. There was a vast contrast in his personality from the morning.

“I wanted to spend time with you.”

He could not be serious.

“Aemond, are you out of your mind-” He cuts you off, grabbing you by your hand and pulling you into a kiss. You wanted to resist, you wanted to push him away, but the minute his lips came in contact with yours, you melted.

It felt wrong.

It was wrong.

But something in the rhythm of his lips held a sweet melody that comforted you. You sighed heavily, your lips moving against his, reciprocating his feelings.

His hand snaked around your waist pulling you close against his body, flushing yours with his, he held your face tightly with his other hand, caressing your cheek while kissing you. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders for support.

He pulls away momentarily looking at you, searching for approval in your eyes but you pull him back into the kiss, indicating that you do want this.

He picks you up all of a sudden, you shriek in surprise grabbing tightly onto him to balance yourself, he takes you to his bed, laying you down and continuing to kiss you.

He pushes you further up the bed, you spread your legs to accommodate him as he continues to pepper your lips and cheeks with his kisses.

You flip around the position so that you're now on top, catching him by surprise, you climb onto his lap, straddling him before showering his neck with kisses. His hands busy themselves with undoing your dress, pulling at the strings that are holding the top part of your dress together.

You gasp for air, pulling from the kiss and looking him in the eye. He pushes a few stray strands away from your face, tucking them behind your ear, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip to collect the wetness that resided there.

“Gevie.” (beautiful) He whispers, staring at you in awe.

You hug him, laying on his chest, before finally breaking down, crying onto his shoulders, clinging onto his clothes. He caresses your head, comforting you.

He flips the position around again, now he's on top of you.

You lay there, staring at him with teary eyes, his tongue coming in contact with your cheek, licking up the droplet of tears, you felt butterflies in your gut. He kisses your eyes before he pulls back.

He sits back on his haunch, pushing your skirt up, bunching it up against your thighs before he pulls off the stockings you had on. Your thighs trembled when you felt his cool hand graze against them.

He threw them off the bed before he hooked his hands underneath your thigh, pulling you down as he went down underneath your skirt.

His lips caught your sensitive bud immediately, latching onto it for dear life. You grabbed his head out of instinct, hips lifting up slightly. You spread your legs wider, making it easier for him. His tongue swirled around your entrance before he swiped it up, latching onto your clit again.

He suckled onto it, the sensation drew you insane, you gasped for air, whining slightly as Aemond continued his ministrations.

You felt the familiar itchiness begin to bloom in your lower abdomen, you grind your face against his in desperation, wanting to feel the sweet feeling which you haven't felt for a while, and your wish comes true when your body convulses as the pleasure overtakes it.

You let out a loud moan of his name, making him groan in pleasure as well.

He lets you ride out your orgasm before he pulls apart, licking his lips, tasting your juices once again. He doesn't waste anymore time before undoing his breeches, pulling them halfway. His tip was leaking.

You waited in anticipation as Aemond positioned himself between your legs, pushing his cock into your cunt. You gripped the bedsheets when you felt the stretch. He hooked both of your legs onto his shoulders before he moved.

His movement showed desperation, his thrusts were hard and rough, he gripped your thighs harshly, leaving his nail bites onto your soft flesh. Your mind was spinning from the way he moved inside you, your body arched in pleasure.

He pushes your legs against your chest, hunching over as he moves faster, his tip kissed your sweet spot gently, He trembled moaning at the way your cunt clenched around his cock.

“Fuck fuck, you feel so fucking good.” He praises, his rhythm beginning falter, you blush at his words, clenching around him once again that drove him inside.

His cock penetrated your walls with utmost determination and precision to make you finish first before he did, your sweet spot was being poked over and over again, he understood that when you would gasp loudly.

The repeated disturbance caused a fire prickling in your stomach before you felt it suddenly go out, its smoke spreading all throughout your body, blinding you as you felt lightheaded.

“Oh fuck Aemond!” You threw your head back, hands clenching against the sheets tightly as the intense pleasure hit you hard.

He moaned loudly too, his cock spurted out his seed inside you, painting your walls with his essence. He collapsed on top of you immediately right after, his body giving up finally.

You both caught your breaths slowly, letting the feelings soak in, you felt a wet droplet on your shoulder trail down, and then another one, it began to continue like rain. You realised that Aemond was crying.

You held him closely, hugging him.

You did not say anything, letting him cry his feelings out of his body through the tears.

You both basked in the fleeting moment of comfort as you knew that nothing will ever go back to the way it was before.

Aemond knew too, he had become a monster in your eyes.

A monster you loved.

No,

A monster you still love.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[happy74827]

White Lies

[Spencer Reid x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You have constantly lied to your mother about your private life, as she was one to disapprove of everything, but those "harmless lies" become a lot more serious when you forget to cancel plans with your closest friend.

WC: 3036

Category: Fluff, Fake Dating, Sassy!Reid {TW: Reader’s mom is Authoritarian}

Another drafted idea that I finally wrote up because Spencer is the definition of pookie, and you cannot change my mind. This is also a dedication to my girl, @yoursacredqueenmother, for matching my crazy delulu fantasies 🫶💖

『••✎••』

Your mom has always been a force of nature—a whirlwind of opinions, expectations, and unsolicited advice that sweeps through your life like a hurricane. She’s the kind of woman who believes she knows what’s best for you, even when you’re pretty sure she doesn’t. Ever since you turned 30 last year, her visits have become more frequent, and her nagging has reached a fever pitch.

"You’re getting old, sweetheart," she’d say, her voice dripping with concern that felt more like judgment. "You need to settle down, find a nice man, start a family. I’m not going to be around forever, you know."

The words were always delivered with a smile, but they stung like a slap. You love her, you really do, but her constant pressure makes you feel like you’re failing at some unspoken test of womanhood.

So, to get her off your back, you’d started lying. Little white lies at first—"I’m seeing someone, Mom, it’s just early stages"—but they quickly snowballed into more and more elaborate fibs. Soon, you were telling her that you were dating a doctor who wanted nothing more than to start a family with you but was waiting for the right time.

It was easier to make up a fictitious doctor than to explain the real reason you were still single.

Because the truth is that the man of your dreams is already in your life, he's been here for years, and he's always been the perfect friend. The problem is that he's a little hard to read. You have no idea how he feels about you or if he sees you as more than a friend.

You'd tried to tell him how you felt about him before, but the words had stuck in your throat. He’d seemed so confused, so shocked by the mere suggestion of romance. Maybe he just didn't see you that way. Maybe you’d ruin your friendship by even mentioning the idea.

This led to where you are now: alone, frustrated, and trying to figure out how to keep your mother from butting into your personal life. You’d thought maybe she’d drop the issue after your birthday, but she’d come by to "surprise you" last night and is now currently sitting at the kitchen table, looking around your apartment with an expression of vague disappointment.

"Honey, you’re an adult now," she says, not looking up from her coffee cup. "You can’t keep living like this."

She gestures at the living room, which is scattered with discarded letters and half-read books. The mess is a symptom of the chaos in your head as you’ve been too preoccupied with thoughts of him to worry about cleaning up after yourself.

"It’s not that bad," you mumble, though you know it is. Even he’d commented on the state of your apartment when he’d last stopped by, and his place is usually worse than yours. Messy, not dirty. He’s a bit of an organized hoarder.

"Well, maybe not for a single girl," she sighs. "But what if Doctor Whoever comes over? Don’t you want to impress him?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your temper in check. This is the problem with your mother—she has a habit of steamrolling over your feelings, and you've never been able to stand up to her. You’d thought you were done having this argument when you turned 30. Apparently, you’d thought wrong.

"Mom," you begin, your voice firm. "I told you, he doesn't care about stuff like that. He's more concerned with things like—"

The doorbell rings, interrupting you mid-sentence. Thank God. You’re not sure what you would have said, but any excuse is better than none. You figured it was the mailman, late with that package you’d been expecting, but when you just so happen to glance at the calendar (the one your father bought you last Christmas, with pictures of cats wearing hats), your stomach drops.

March 21st, which may not seem important, and it really isn’t, unless you look closer and realize that the cat in the picture is wearing a lab coat and is holding a beaker. Because that, my friends, is not just a picture. It is a reminder.

The one thing you had not wanted to forget.

The one thing, apparently, you had forgotten.

You’d been so busy trying to avoid your mother’s questions about your non-existent boyfriend that you’d completely lost track of time. The calendar sits there, taunting you, and all you can think is:

Oh, no.

Because the person who had rang the doorbell? It was him. He and his adorable grin, hazel-like eyes, and messy brown hair. He probably even brought a bag of those terribly expensive chocolates you love.

You want to cry. Of course, it had to be that day, the day of all days, the day you'd been secretly anticipating for all month.

Chess day. It was a monthly ritual you'd started with him when he'd discovered that you, too, were a fan of the game. You were absolutely terrible at it, and he won every time, but honestly, you didn't care. Chess day was just an excuse for you to spend time with him.

Except today, you have company, and it’s not exactly the kind you want him to meet.

You were supposed to call him, but in your haste to please your mom, you completely forgot.

Your mother’s gaze shifts to the door, and her eyebrows rise as if she can sense his presence on the other side. "Well, aren’t you going to answer that?"

No.

That's what you wanted to say. Instead, you hear yourself saying:

"Yeah, just a sec."

And, like a complete idiot, you open the door.

You open the door, and he’s there, all bright-eyed, smiling, holding a box of chocolates and his perfectly polished travel chess set. You feel like the biggest jerk in the world.

"Uh, hey!" he chirps, his voice making your stomach flip. He doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air or the fact that your mother is standing right behind you, peering curiously over your shoulder. "I know I’m a little early, but I needed to pick up some things and..."

He trails off as his gaze settles on your mother. She’s eyeing him like a hawk and doing what she does when meeting a new person: leaning forward slightly, squinting her eyes, and tilting her head. You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"Is this him?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

Before you can stop her, she grabs your wrist and pulls you aside. You stumble into the kitchen, and she takes your place, smiling warmly at him.

"So, you’re the doctor," she says, her voice full of approval. "My daughter has told me so much about you!"

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

"Uh," he begins, clearly caught off-guard. His eyes dart to yours, and you were expecting his classic confused puppy look, but this time, it’s different. He looks... honored? No, that can't be right.

"She… talked about me?" he stammers, looking back at your mother.

She nods. "All the time! In fact, I was starting to think she’d made you up. It’s good to know my daughter has such a handsome young man in her life."

You want to die. Right there, on the spot. But, somehow, you manage to force a smile, even as your heart pounds with anxiety.

And your mother? She beams.

"It’s lovely to meet you finally," she gushes. She reaches out and shakes his hand, and he stares at her with a dazed expression. "My daughter has always been a bit shy, and she tends to keep things close to the vest if you know what I mean."

"Mom, please," you cut in, mortified. "Stop."

He still hasn't said a word, and the silence is killing you.

"Well, come on in, then," your mother continues, ignoring your protests. "I insist. After all, I can't wait to learn more about my future son-in-law!"

And this is when the situation goes from bad to worse.

This is when he freezes, and the box of chocolates threatens to slip from his fingers. You watched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence.

"I... Uh, that's not... we’re not..."

"Yes! Yes, we are!" you shout, desperate to cover up his stammering. He looks at you, his expression shifting from confused to shocked, and it’s like a punch in the gut. "That’s right, Mom. This is him. My boyfriend. Doctor Whoever."

"Oh, sweetie, this is so wonderful!" Your mother is so busy clapping her hands with delight that she doesn't notice his reaction.

"Doctor… Whoever?" He looks offended and a bit hurt. "What’s that supposed to mean—?"

"Shush!" You hiss, silently pleading with him to keep quiet. He must have caught your desperation because he shuts his mouth.

It allowed you a moment to process everything. Your mother is smiling widely, her face filled with delight. She doesn't even seem bothered by the fact that he’s currently dressed like a college professor with an evident love for scarves.

Meanwhile, he’s standing there, blinking stupidly, looking as if his entire world has been flipped upside-down. He seems torn between anger and elation, and honestly, it’s confusing as hell. You want to grab him and apologize and explain that this was all a mistake, but you can’t. Not with your mother right there.

So, you knew what you had to do.

"Mom! Say, would you mind doing me a huge favor and just give us like a few minutes? We have some important totally-not-boyfriend stuff to discuss."

"Sure, honey." She grins. "I'll do some unpacking. How about that?"

"Perfect!"

She practically skips into the other room, leaving the two of you alone. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

The sigh you let out is one of relief, tinged with the faintest hint of dread.

Though, he was the first to break the silence with words.

"I didn’t realize we were dating," he says, his voice low. He's not quite glaring at you, but it's a close thing. "Last time I checked, statistically, dating requires at least two people. Which leads me to the logical conclusion that you are, in fact, a liar. Unless this is some strange, newfangled term for friendship, in which case, I think it would be more appropriate for me to refer to you as the "teller of lies" rather than a—"

"I know, I'm sorry." You blurt out, your cheeks flushing with shame. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She was asking all these questions, and I couldn't tell her the truth, and then she just kept talking, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and... I panicked. Okay? That’s all."

"What do you mean, couldn’t tell her the truth?" He narrows his eyes. "Is something wrong? Did you get yourself into trouble?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

"Then, what is it that you can't tell her?"

He steps closer, and the concern in his eyes makes you feel even guiltier.

"Look, don't worry about it, alright? It’s not important." You turn away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"If it isn’t important, then why are you so embarrassed?"

"I’m not embarrassed."

"Your cheeks are flushed," he points out. "And you tend to rub your thumb against your forefinger when you’re feeling nervous or stressed. Which, coincidentally, is also something you do when you’re lying."

Damn it. You should’ve known better than to lie to a profiler.

"You don’t know what it’s like to be interrogated by my mother," you snap, harsher than intended. You soften your voice before continuing. "It’s like she’s constantly see-sawing between disapproval and pity. She means well, but when she’s around, I feel like I'm being crushed under the weight of her expectations."

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"And I know, I know, that’s not an excuse for lying. I just... I’m sorry, okay? It was wrong and selfish and... I didn’t mean to drag you into it."

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection, the anger, the disappointment. Instead, you hear him let out a sigh, followed by the familiar look of resolve that comes over him when he's faced with a challenging puzzle.

"You know, when we first met, you used to lie all the time." He glances at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You would say things like, 'I don't watch rom-coms,' and, 'I have a real job,' and, most infamously, 'there's no such thing as aliens.'"

"Hold on a minute—"

He ignored your protests, his smile growing wider.

"You’re not that bad of a liar. Actually, you’re pretty decent, considering your lack of social skills. So the fact that you’ve managed to fool your mother is pretty impressive."

"Hey—"

"And, honestly, it’s a little flattering."

"I— Wait… what?" You gape at him, trying to figure out what's going on. "Flattering?"

He shrugs, but you can tell he's trying not to blush.

"Liars tend to use people they know well or trust implicitly when they need a cover story because they have more information about them and are therefore more believable. So, by lying about your fake boyfriend, that being me, it suggests that you trust me enough to make a convincing cover story, and the fact that you are embarrassed about the deception implies a certain amount of fondness."

"You can't know all that from a simple lie."

"Can’t I?"

There's something in his tone, the slightest hint of a tease, that makes your heart flutter. He's always been like this, so damn perceptive. You never knew what to make of it.

"It’s actually a well-established behavioral theory," he continues. "Deceivers typically show affection toward the person they are attempting to deceive. In fact, a study in the 1970s—"

"Spencer, please." You hold up a hand. "I get it."

"I'm not so sure that you do."

There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your stomach do backflips.

"Because," he murmurs, moving a little closer, "if you did, I wouldn’t have had to spend the past three years of my life wondering why my best friend keeps avoiding my gaze."

"You noticed that?" You squeak, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I notice everything."

He takes a step toward you, and it’s so quick, so unexpected, that you can't help but glance up. He's actually extremely close, his face mere inches from yours, and you find yourself frozen, unable to speak, unable to think, as his eyes lock with yours.

"I notice that the color of your eyes changes depending on the lighting." He pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And I notice that your pupils dilate when I'm near. I notice the way you breathe, the way you laugh, the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought. And I can’t help but notice that the closer I get, the faster your heart rate becomes. That could be a number of things, of course, and not just an indication of arousal, but considering the context, the likelihood that it’s due to anything other than sexual excitement is simply—"

"Spence," you breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re not sure what to do, so you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind. "Do you want to be my fake boyfriend?"

There’s a moment of silence, followed by a quiet snort.

"I thought I already was."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but the tension between you has lessened. Now, he’s simply staring at you with a smug smile, and it's like a dam has burst. The words tumble out of your mouth, spilling out like water from a leaky faucet.

"Well, then, you should know that my boyfriend is absolutely infuriating and has a tendency to ramble about obscure facts at inappropriate moments. And he’s really, really bad at taking a hint."

His smile widens, and his voice takes on a teasing tone.

"Oh, he is, is he? Tell me, is he good at chess?"

"No, he’s terrible at it."

"Then, he sounds like a total loser."

"Yeah," you admit, biting back a smile. "He’s the biggest loser I know."

"In that case, you should know that my girlfriend is incredibly frustrating and a compulsive liar who uses her boyfriend for cover stories. She also tends to cheat her way to victory despite still losing most of the time."

"I do not cheat!" You protest, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"No, you just make up rules on the spot in order to justify why you lose so badly."

"You’re one to talk. You’re the one who’s been letting me win all this time."

"Perhaps," he grins. "Or maybe I’ve been letting you believe that."

You narrow your eyes.

"Are you admitting to me what I think you're admitting?"

"What is it that you think I’m admitting to?"

"I think you’re admitting to me that you’ve been throwing our chess games all this time."

"That sounds like the ramblings of someone who cheats and is trying to project their own faults onto others."

"Oh, you know what—"

And that's when the bedroom door swings open, and your mother's voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"Ahem."

She's standing there, smiling, and holding a box filled with old pictures and baby toys. Your father had sent it to you last year, hoping that you’d have children soon and use it, but you’d put it in storage, intending to deal with it later. Apparently, your mother had decided now was the perfect time.

The both of you share a look, and it's clear that he’s thinking the same thing as you.

"Not interrupting, am I?" She asks, glancing from him to you and then back again. Her smile was practically glowing, and she had a strange look in her eyes as if she were a cat watching a bird. "I was just looking for a place to put these old things and thought maybe my daughter's boyfriend might be interested in seeing them."

The shared look between the two of you solidified what was going through both of your minds. This was indeed going to be a long, long afternoon.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys this not fully proofread as I am exhausted | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You cannot tear your eyes away from Daemon as you walk down the halls together. Though he already told you the blood on his armor was not his, you could not help but worry that perhaps he had a wound hidden away underneath his steel plate. Your stare is so heavy, he's unable to ignore it, thus why he huffs, "out with it."

You perk at his words and rub your hands together.

He raises a brow at you, "or do you merely think me so devastatingly handsome you cannot help but stare?"

You slowly shake your head, "are you certain you are unharmed?"

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks forward, "I am offended you did not agree."

You knit your brows, "you," you shake your head, "already know. You are comely husband."

He turns back to you.

You cannot name the expression he gives you.

"Did I not say I was unharmed?"

You stop in your tracks out of frustration, grabbing his arm, "Daemon."

He turns to you, face hardening at your look of concern.

"If you are hurt, then we should head for the maester's."

He chuckles under his breath and pulls away, "a funny thought coming from you."

Your brows furrow deeper as you tail after him, "I do not follow."

He looks over his shoulder, lips curling, "considering you are sick and yet nowhere near the maester's ward."

You only then recognize his smile was mocking. You feel a pinch in your chest. You shake your head, "we are not the same. If there was something to be done about my affliction, my father would have seen it done years ago."

Daemon laughs.

You wait for him to explain his laughter, but he does not. You take his arm again, "what amuses you?"

Your husband looks at you, then at the hand you had on his bicep, "through it all, you hold your father in such high regard."

You clench your jaw and release his him.

He enjoys your dejection, thus why he takes your hand, placing it back in its place with a chuckle, "say it isn't so— I dare you."

You look back at him. His smile is like a needle through your heart. He must think you're stupid without even trying. You mutter, "I am merely stating facts."

He laughs again, "your frail heart keeps you naive."

The feel of his armor is suddenly scorching and you have to pull away. He stares at you after the fact, but does not take your hand again.

You do not speak until you reach the door to the meeting room. Once there, Daemon motions with his head, "wait for me. You like flowers don't you?"

You look over your shoulder and realize that he was motioning to the window that gave view to the gardens. You turn back to him and step forward, reaching out to retrieve the flower in his hair. It would not be appropriate for him to attend a council meeting like this.

Daemon mistakes your action for affection, and moves his head away so you cannot caress his cheek, "I said I am unharmed, woman. Now go sit down."

He walks off after this, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall alone. Just as he enters the room, you struggle with yourself if you should call out to him or simply run up to him and snatch the flower off his head. But then, the moment is gone and he's already inside.

You cannot find it in you to sit as you overthink what would become of your husband because of the flower in his hair.

Just as you begin to pace around, you are rendered frozen when you hear your name get called.

Viserys smiles at you, as he and his council members walk over, "good morrow."

You make eye contact with your father, who was walking just behind the king, and lower your gaze as you curtsy, "your grace. A pleasant morning to you."

Viserys stops in front of you, clapping his hands once, "why, you look fetching my dear," his eyes examine your hair, and you, yourself, are reminded by the presence of the blossoms on your head, "did you pick those from the garden?"

You rise and smile at your husband's brother, shaking your head, "my ward, ser Erryk, was kind enough to- ..." you catch yourself amidst your confession, eyes suddenly darting to your father.

Otto's jaw is set and his eyes are already angered.

You gulp and decide to continue nevertheless, "...accompany me flower picking in the meadow."

Otto huffs audibly, but the king's reaction is so stark in contrast, your father does not have the opportunity to butt in this moment. Viserys claps once again and smiles, "oh good. Some fresh air always did help me. Of course, when I say fresh air, I really mean going on dragon back, but strolling in the meadow picking flowers is a fine pastime."

You are touched by the king's amicable sentiment. You repay his smile with your own, "I completely agree."

"I do not," Otto says, "what if you get an attack in the middle of the nowhere? What if the pain is too great and you are not brought home in time?"

Viserys and you turn to the Lord Hand. The king responds, "she was accompanied by her ward. Is that not why you requested one for her?"

"I requested a ward to keep her in check to prevent her from doing things that would cause her affliction to worsen."

You tense under the harsh sound of Otto's voice.

Viserys recognizes your discomfort and waves him off, "you needn't be so hard on your daughter. It is good for the spirit to reserve time frolicking."

You gulp the next time the king smiles at you. You do not smile back and merely curtsy at him. With that, he and his council members go into their meeting room and you are left alone once more.

The council members' muttering comes to a halt when they see prince Daemon in his seat.

"Kind of you to join us today, brother," Viserys huffs, "we were just talking about you."

Daemon eyes Otto, "the topic being my bride, no doubt."

Otto has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he walks to his chair. His throat constricts, as if he was about to retch, when he sees the flower by his ear. He thinks of you and the flowers in your hair and figures Daemon did this to spur him on. He releases a deep breath to calm himself, "the topic being your power tripping with the City Watch last night."

Daemon glares at him. The king sits at the head of the table. The prince links his hands together, "you would know to mind your tongue, Lord Hand. I care little for the tears my wife will shed once I sever your neck from your spine."

"Daemon," Viserys snaps.

"And what I did last night was clean the streets from the putrid scabs of the city in preparation for my birth of my brother's child."

"And you exacted a very public show of extreme violence while doing so," Viserys leans on the table, "you maimed and mutilated peopl-"

"Criminals," Daemon whips his head. He raises his brows, "would you rather they strut free and continue stealing, raping, and killing in your city?"

"I would have them see justice."

Daemon chuckles dryly.

Viserys raises a finger, "your blade is not the writ of justice."

"Do you mean to tell me it's yours?" the younger Targaryen narrows his eyes.

"I AM THE KING," the elder Targaryen snaps.

The prince does not flinch, "speaking loudly will not make it truer, brother."

Needless to say, the meeting is coarse and uncomfortable.

You start from where you were sat by the window upon witnessing Daemon shove the meeting doors open. He storms out of the room grumbling and you have to gather your skirts to run off after him.

"What's happened?" you mutter when you reach his side.

He ignores you, simply continuing to march away with a storm cloud overhead.

You are partially surprised to find that he was heading towards your shared chambers. He shoves the doors open then marches towards your private baths. There, your tub holds steaming water. You were grateful the servants thought to prepare the bath here and not Daemon's personal quarters.

Daemon begins to callously remove his armor and immediately ceases when you come towards him to do it yourself. You look between his hard expression and hard attire, thinking of something to say to calm his down.

You think of nothing.

The moment he is free of his steel, he removes the rest of his garbs himself and steps into the tub. You meant to remove the flower in his hair but then he wordlessly offers you his arm, expecting you to clean him, and so you do without fuss.

In the quiet of washing and splashing water, you feel Daemon slowly begin to relax. He leans back, releasing a sigh as he shuts his eyes. You stare at him for a long moment. He is beautiful.

"Your father is a fucking cunt."

You purse your lips as you release his arm. He opens his eyes when you pull away, then watches as you circle around the tub. You sigh as you take his other arm and begin scrubbing it, "he is... sometimes unkind."

He scoffs, turning to you, "sometimes?"

You focus on his arm, unwanting to meet his gaze, "he was kind to my mother... I think. And to my brother... sister... sometimes."

Daemon watches you, brows furrowing, "and you?"

You shrug, "sometimes?"

"Why do you defend him?" he tilts his head.

Finally, you look at him. The glint in his violet eyes make him appear as though he genuinely wanted to understand you. You shrug once more and shake your head, "he is my father."

"He is a cunt."

You tilt your head, scooping water onto his arm, "surely you've thought the same thing about your brother." You look between his arm and his face.

Daemon does not respond. He does, however, pull away from you.

You stare at him, trying to anticipate his next move.

He motions with his head then leans back in the tub once more, "strip. You should bathe with me."

You stiffen at his proposal, but do not object otherwise. You gather your hair and turn around, "will you undo my laces?"

Daemon, for some reason, is taken aback by the request. There is something that swirls in his gut. Still, he moves towards you and undoes your ties, pushing your dress down after. You shudder when he frees you of your shift and strokes your spine with the back of his hand.

"The king demands we have a family dinner before the tourney tomorrow," Daemon mindlessly mutters, "you must wear something pretty."

You gulp when he kisses your shoulder and scratches your sides until he's cupping your breasts. You gasp and turn when he tries to pull you in. Finally, the flower in his hair falls off when your nails dig into his scalp as he kisses you.

By the time the water goes cold and your bliss from love making wears off, you are faced with the fact your neck and collarbones are covered in glaring purple and red marks again.

Daemon does not relent as you both dress. He is adamant in covering your skin with bruises and bites. You are not surprised that he makes you wear something that showcases your decolletage, but you at least find solace in the fact he makes you keep your hair down in its natural state.

The air is tense as your families eat dinner. You sit next to each other, with him to your right, followed by Viserys and Aemma. In front of the queen was Rhaenyra, then Alicent by the left, Gwyane, and finally your father, who sat before you.

There was something serene in the sinister way Daemon strokes your arm and pushes your hair back. You knew he was doing this to rile your father up, yet you did not know why your body found comfort in his touch.

Then, in a flash, you were nothing but uncomfortable when your twin drops his silverware and blurts out, "you will not lose your hand if it does not grope my sister as we feast."

Daemon, who had been rubbing the your back all the way to the side of your breast, turned to your brother, who sat across him.

Gwayne clenches his jaw, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Daemon moves your hair to one side of your shoulder and caresses your neck with the back of his hands, "oh, but you see, now that I've..." he smiles, "sampled your dear sister, I fear that it might."

Otto is next to drop his utensils. Your body burns at Daemon's words but you can do nothing but lower your head in mortification.

Viserys sniggers. Aemma glares and nudges him.

"You would not understand this, for you are unmarried," Daemon says turning his head, "but perhaps your father will."

Viserys nearly chokes on his meal, but then clears his throat, "brother-" he withholds his laughter, "-that is quite enough." The king looks at the faces across the table, none of them but him and Daemon finding this predicament amusing, "I'm sure everyone is... overjoyed that you and your bride have found marital bliss, but do keep your manners," he nods, "you are seated before the king."

Daemon turns to Viserys and straightens up. He nods, "my king."

Viserys clears his throat again and nods, "manners, brother."

"Hmm, like you with Aemma?"

Rhaenyra slams her hands on the table, pushes her chair back, and stands. All turns to her and her sour expression as she speaks, "I'm quite finished with my food. If I may be excused... my king."

Otto stands next, his chair skidding behind him, "I am quite finished with my food as well," he nods at Viserys, "I wish you a good meal."

Your belly rolls when he looks at you.

"Daughter, might you walk me out of the room, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

"She is quite busy with her food," Daemon immediately answers for you, "if you wish to speak something, speak it in front of us."

Your throat tightens.

"Tis a personal matter," Otto speaks firmly, "I would not put my child in an uncomfortable position."

Gwayne watches your expression, feeling restless because of your glaring discomfort.

"But you've already done so announcing your desire to speak to her so that she could not refuse," Daemon snaps.

Your chest begins to constrict. Gwyane picks up on how your breath quickens.

Otto clenches his jaw, "I wish to speak to my daughter."

"Yes, and I say fuck off."

"Daemon," Viserys finally snaps, turning to the said man. The king turns to you, peering past his brother, "you may speak to Otto if you wish, or you may simply continue with your meal."

You turn to your skirt and clench the fabric in your hand.

Daemon rubs your nape and your skin reacts with goosebumps. You gasp when his hand is snatched away by Viserys. You turn to them, struggling to breathe as you watch them bicker in High Valyrian.

Aemma tries to interject, but the brothers do not acknowledge her.

"Sister," Gwayne calls to you.

You want to turn to him, but you fear you will crumble in tears if you do.

The room is silenced when you stand. You feel everyone's gaze on your skin. "I wish-" you speak through a heavy breath, "-to retire."

You run out of the room before anyone can respond. Your heart drums in its cage but you tell yourself to run and to keep running.

Gwyane stands, ready to chase after you, but Daemon blocks him and their bodies violently collide. Daemon shoves him back and Gwyane is about to lunge at him but hears the voice of her baby sister calling his name in concern. His face twitches as he holds himself back.

"She is my wife," Daemon says.

"Then fucking go after her," Gwayne snaps, raising an arm, "she'll be heading to the temple, undoubtedly, which is outside the Keep, if you are not aware."

"Go on!" Otto snaps, pointing a finger, "chase after her."

Daemon seethes at the instruction. Dare he? He'll break the arm that fucking finger is connected to. He wants nothing less than to do what that cunt says.

"Go to her, Daemon," Viserys urges.

He glares at his brother, offended by his alliance with the fucker. Now he is really not going to do that. He's left with no other choice but to leave the damned dining room though. How lucky of him to run into the Cargyll twins on his way out.

"You," Daemon barks, calling the attention of the two men. He marches over to them, hands balled tightly into fists.

"My p-"

"The fucking Hand has upset the bitch again," the prince snaps, "she's run off in a fit to gods know where."

The two watch the prince have a hissy fit in High Valyrian before realizing he referring to his wife. Arryk says, "the princess has run off at this hour?"

"Her cunt twin said she'd go to the temple, but maybe she's fallen dead halfway through her sprint."

The twins turn to each other in horror.

"Ah, if only the gods were that kind," Daemon scoffs then looks between them, "find her. I do not wish to hear her pathetic sobbing."

Erryk's nostrils flare. Arryk clenches his jaw and nods. The latter begins to walk off and has to reel his brother by the arm to follow.

Daemon storms off to the dragon pit.

Arryk eyes his brother. Erryk's eyes remain on the prince, until his twin calls his attention.

You arrive at the temple of the Seven, forehead and nape sheened over with sweat. You nearly collapse before the Mother. The only reason you do not, is because two septas catch you before you collide with the shrine of candles. Upon recognizing you, they are quick to attend to you, saying they will get you water and a towel.

Running is a horrid activity that seems to only more horrid each time you do it. You find that your heart cannot keep up, and you are pushed into horrible breathlessness. Your father was strict to never let you run. You do not know if it is simply because you are not capable of running or because of your affliction that made it so.

You thank the gracious septas for their care and ask them if they would pray with you. Unable to deny you, a woman so devout and so... pitiful, they help you get on your knees and you recite The Mother's prayer together. At some point, you begin to weep, and once more it becomes increasingly harder for you to breathe. The septas have to stop praying and attend to you again.

"Princess!"

You are made to sit down on the floor. The two septas are replaced with two men, both dressed in steel, one as seemly as the other, albeit the mark of abject concern on their face. You frown as you look between Arryk and Erryk's worried features. Your scratch your eyes as they speak to you. The weight in your chest makes it hard to understand.

You hiccup as one of them scoops you into their arms. You do not realize you were being carried out of the temple until you are outside. "Wait," you sigh when you managed to catch a breath, "wait."

Whoever is carrying you does not hear it, but his brother does. He says, "wait, Erryk. What is it, princess?"

"I wish to pray," you mutter, eyes still wet with tears, "please."

Arryk looks at you. Erryk shakes his head, "we have to bring her inside."

"Erryk," Arrryk knits his brows, "she wishes to pray."

"She is in no condition to—" Erryk's words falter when your hand comes to his cheek.

You feel your lips tremble and you barely manage to speak, "please."

A line forms between his brows at the sound of your weak voice, "my prin-"

"Erryk," you stroke his cheek, "I need this."

Arryk looks between you and his brother. He watches him sigh and turn back. He follows after Erryk as he goes up the stairs, back towards the shrine.

You are placed before the Mother once more. You sigh and allow yourself repose before shifting on your knees. The twins leave you to your prayers, standing by not too far off.

Erryk's eyes remain on you. Arryk's eyes remain on Erryk.

"You tread a dangerous path, brother."

Erryk does look away.

Arryk sighs, turning his gaze over to you.

You sit on your knees, one arm rested on the plinth as you take a stick and light it. You whisper, "mummy," then light a candle, "me," then light another. Your soft whispers flutter in the echo chamber.

Both twins feel fangs rip into their stomachs as they watch you. Erryk's features are more honest to it however, which is why Arryk catches it and speaks again, "you are sworn to her, you fool."

"And you are not?" Erryk snaps, turning to his twin.

The brothers stare at each other for a moment. Arryk purses his lips and tilts his head, "I am not in love with her."

"Then leave," Erryk motions with a nod. He shifts in his spot, linking his hands together as he turns back back to you.

Arryk snorts and clenches is hands. His ears perk at the sound of your hushed sobbing. His heart clogs his throat.

Erryk sighs through his nose, "you are still here."

"I cannot leave her."

Erryk turns to Arryk, "then you are just as foolish as I."

"I-" Arryk starts. He cannot look away from you, "... I am sworn to her."

"She is beautiful," Erryk says.

Arryk finally tears his gaze only to shoot his brother a warning look, but Erryk's eyes are back on you.

"She wove flowers into my hair mere hours ago," he knits his brows, "she laughed and beamed and glimmered," Erryk sighs, "now she crumbles and weeps and hurts."

Arryk knits his brows, just as deep as his twin's.

You wipe your tears as you soothe yourself. You voice goes low again as you continue to pray.

"I am not a fool," Arryk says

Erryk laughs dryly, turning to him, "very well. If y-"

"I know she is beautiful," Arryk cuts him off.

His lips flatten.

Arryk gulps, "outside and within."

"As I said," Erryk replies, "just as foolish."

"I do not understand what could posses someone to hurt such a creature."

"Perhaps there is no soul to posses."

Arryk shakes your head, "you cannot allow your anger to get ahead of yourself, fool. You are glad the prince did not notice."

"The prince is too caught up in himself to notice anything that does not directly a..." Erryk's words go dry.

Arryk knits his brows, finding his twin was staring at something behind him. He looks over, stiffening when he catches the very person they were speaking of walking over.

Daemon makes a beeline towards you. He stops just behind you, lips and brows tense at the sound of your evidently upset voice. "Should you be doing this?"

You perk at the sound of the voice and look over your shoulder. You stare at Daemon, unsure if you were imagining him or if he was really there. You find that you don't really care, "will you pray with me?"

He does not like that you do not answer his question. He shifts on his spot, "did you faint or fall out of breath?

You turn back to the candles, "you must not be real."

"What?"

"I do not think my husband would care," you mutter, clasping your hands together in prayer.

Daemon does not move.

"You would pray with me then," you add, "you are kind."

The prince's face contorts. He feels like he is choking. He comes to your side, slowly dropping to his knees. He clasps his hands together, propping his elbows in front of him. He is taken aback by how you rest your head on his shoulder with no hesitation. He stiffens and a part of his mind screams to shove you away. He does nothing of the sort however.

"I tire," you admit.

"Then we sh-"

"Tell him to grant me my prayer."

Daemon slowly turns his head to look at you. He sees the way the tears trickle down from the bridge of your nose, "tell who?"

"The Stranger."

Daemon turns to the statue of the Mother. He wants to be difficult and tell you to simply move to the other statue, but instead he asks, "what is your request?"

"Death."

He turns back to you, expecting you to name a name. You do not, so he asks again, "your father?"

Your brows furrow, "no."

He turns to his hands. An unnamable emotion seizes him, "so... your husband?"

You finally lift your head. You turn to him, a deep frown on your face, "I do not wish you harm, Daemon."

He turns to you.

New tears burn down your cheeks.

A new unnamable emotion seizes him at the sight of your wobbling lips.

The twins find themselves looking away when the prince wipes your cheek.

You lean into his touch, "I have prayed for the same thing every night since I was ten."

Daemon's forehead curls, "what do you pray for?"

"To die."

The hand he had on your face tenses.

"It is pointless," you push his hand away, retreating from his touch, "my pain does not subside. My heart and flesh grow weaker each day."

Daemon is uneasy as you turn back to the Mother. He shakes his head, "I do not think the gods listen to such sinful prayers."

"Sin?" you chuckle under your breath.

Somehow your laughter sounds sadder than your weeping.

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision.

The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

You stare at his outstretched palm, then look up at him as he stands. You are loathe to move. You do not think you can, even if you wanted to, "I tire."

He leans over, draping your arm around his shoulders, "I'll bring you to bed."

You say nothing as Daemon pulls you in and carries you in his arms.

For the final time tonight, another unnamable emotions seizes him. It only further intensifies when you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

[caracalla-dondus]

Suspicious Minds

Pairing: Emperor Geta/wife!reader

Summary: A senator informs Geta about the rumors surrounding his wife

Author's Note: This fic consists of pieces I took out from a much longer fic I had written. After reading what I originally wrote I didn't really vibe with the whole thing and so I took out parts I liked best to create this fic. Idk if it's better or worse because things feel a bit rushed in this fic now and not as cohesive as before but it's good enough I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I was partly inspired by Fire & Blood where it says that some in court found Queen Rhaenys Targaryen suspicious because she spent time with bards and singers and they were sure she must be having an affair on Aegon I. Also the title is from the Elvis song of the same name because it popped into my head while writing this because it's similar to the plot lol.

~~~

The late afternoon sun streamed through the marble arches of the palace, casting shadows across the floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. Emperor Geta paced restlessly, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching. The rumors had come to him this morning, carried by a senator whose words had been carefully chosen, yet laced with venom.

“She is often seen in the company of poets and bards, my Emperor. Some say perhaps too often.”

The words echoed in Geta’s mind as he strode to the balcony. Below him, others strolled about, oblivious to the storm brewing in his heart. He had always known that his wife had a fondness for the arts. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. The way her eyes lit up when she heard the verses of a poem she thought was interesting, the soft smile that graced her lips during the final notes of a ballad. She was a woman of intelligence and charm. Perfect qualities to be his empress.

But now those very same qualities and interests had become the source of his unrest.

~

Geta finds his wife out in the garden. “I had hoped to speak with you my wife,” he said, his tone polite but firm. 

“What troubles you, my love?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer to him.

Geta studied her, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for some sign of guilt. But she looked as she always did, serene, composed, and beautiful. “There are whispers in the court,” he began slowly, “that your affection for music and poetry has extended beyond mere appreciation.”

His wife’s eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, a sound like the chiming of bells. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

“I don’t want to,” Geta admitted, his voice low. “But the court is not kind to a woman who spends her days surrounded by other men, no matter how innocent her intentions.”

Her smile faded, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Geta, these men are poets, musicians and artists. They speak to me about the soul, not the flesh. My heart belongs to you, and only you.”

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But the thought of her laughter, her attention, her admiration being bestowed on another man gnawed at him. “Then why do others speak of you so?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “Why do they say you adore Bacchus so much that you have embraced his indulgences?”

His wife stiffened, her hand falling away. “Do you question my virtue?” she asked, insulted that her husband would believe such nonsense about her.

“I question the company you keep!” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended.

She took a step back, her expression conveying her hurt and frustration. “You have always known who I am Geta. I am not a woman content to sit idly in the palace, just simply gossiping my day away. I find joy in the divine chaos of creation. If that makes me suspicious in the eyes of our court then so be it. But I will not apologize for things I did not do.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Geta clenched his fists, his anger warring with his love for her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer. “I do not wish to stifle you. But I cannot bear the thought of others questioning your loyalty or your love for me.”

His wife stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Then let me reassure you, my emperor. I am as sure of my love for you as I am about Sol bringing us the sun each morning. But if you doubt me, then tell me what must I do to prove myself?”

He sighed, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Let the poets and bards sing their songs without you for once. Let Bacchus have his revelry elsewhere.”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “If it will ease your mind, my dear husband then I will stay.”

Geta pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the whispers that sought to undermine them. But even as he held her, a shadow of doubt lingered, refusing to be banished entirely.

~

The grand halls of the palace echoed with the click of her delicate sandals against the marble floor. The weight of her husband’s arm on her shoulder was both reassuring and suffocating. For the past three days, Geta had not let her out of his sight. Where she went, he followed. Where he could not follow, he sent his guards to watch her every step. It was unlike him, and though his paranoia was silent, she could feel it in the way his fingers tightened around her arm, in the watchful, almost desperate glint in his eyes.

She had tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him of her loyalty, but it seemed no words could pierce through the suspicion that had taken hold of him.

During a feast, Geta watched his wife like a hawk as she entertained a visiting nobleman whose son had written a collection of poems. His wife listened to the man intently, her soft smile never wavering as the man recited a verse.

But Geta saw something else. He saw how the man’s eyes lingered on her, how her laughter seemed to light up the room. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, his jaw tightening. Was it admiration? Was it mere courtesy? Or was there something more? The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm, dark and unrelenting.

When the man left, Geta wasted no time. He rose abruptly, crossing the room to where his wife stood.

“You enjoyed his company,” he said, his voice low but laced with accusation.

His wife blinked, startled by his tone. “He was reciting his son’s poetry, my dear husband. That’s all it was.”

“You smiled at him,” Geta pressed, his eyes narrowing. “You laughed.”

“Am I not allowed to smile and laugh?” she asked softly, though there was a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Must I always wear a sour expression to please you?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling - not with anger, but with something deeper, something more fragile. “Your smiles, your laughter, they belong to me and no one else.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the flicker of insecurity behind his harsh words. She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “And they are yours, Geta,” she murmured. “Only yours.”

His grip loosened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might vanish. “I will not lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I cannot.”

~

For the next several days, Geta’s wife’s world shrank. Where she once wandered the gardens freely, now her husband walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist. When she visited the library, he went with her. Her gatherings with poets and musicians were no more, replaced by dinners where Geta sat her beside him, his eyes never leaving her.

She tried to be understanding, but his constant scrutiny weighed heavily on her. One evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.

“Geta,” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you not trust me?”

He looked up from the goblet of wine in his hand, his expression guarded. “Of course I trust you, you are my wife,” he said after a long pause. “It is everyone else I do not trust.”

“You cannot keep watch over me forever,” she said.

His jaw tightened. “You are my wife,” he said firmly. “My empress. And I will not risk anyone else taking you from me.”

“Even if it means suffocating me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta flinched, as if her words had struck him. He set the goblet down and rose to his feet, pacing the room. “You do not understand,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I have enemies everywhere. We have enemies everywhere. They would use you against me. They would take you from me. Take your love away from me”

“Who could take me when I am yours in both heart and soul?” she asked, rising to stand before him.

He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking, his carefully constructed armor of intimidation cracking to reveal the fear beneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But the thought of losing you terrifies me.”

She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “Geta,” she said softly, “you will not lose me. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

“I promise,” she said, though her heart ached at the desperation in his voice.

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if his life depended on it. She sighed softly, resting her head against his chest. She understood that his possessiveness was not born of cruelty, nor out of a need to stifle her but it was of a fear he could not truly voice, a fear he could not truly reconcile with, and it had consumed him.

And so she stayed, tethered to him by her love for him, hoping that soon his insecurities would ease and he would see that she was his, not because he demanded it, but because she chose it. But she was not sure how much she could take of this suffocating behavior. Of every move of hers and every interaction being heavily watched.

~

She rarely let her frustrations boil to the surface, but this time was different. As she sat across from her husband in their private chambers, the weight of the senator’s venomous words and their impact on her marriage gnawed at her patience. For days and days now, Geta’s suffocating possessiveness had taken over every aspect of her life, and she could no longer bear the thought that this rift between them had been instigated by a man seeking to undermine her, a man seeking to replace her.

She set down her goblet with a sharp clink, her hands trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained annoyance and anger. “I’ve been thinking, my dear husband,” she began, her voice calm but carrying an obvious edge to it.

Geta glanced up from his seat, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. “What is it?”

She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic determination. “The senator who came to you with these baseless rumors. I believe he must be punished.”

Geta blinked, clearly surprised. “Punished? For what?”

“For daring to speak against me,” she replied, her voice firm, slightly exasperated that he did not already know what she spoke of. “For poisoning your mind with lies and causing this… this chaos between us. He sought to undermine your confidence in me, to cast doubt on my loyalty, to possibly destroy my reputation. That is not something we should let go unanswered.”

Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You surprise me, wife. I thought you were above petty revenge. You have always counseled me against such rash decisions before”

“This is not petty, nor is it rash!” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “He sought to disgrace me, your wife, your empress. By doing so, he has disgraced you as well. How can you tolerate such audacity?”

Her words struck a nerve. Geta’s insecurities flared, his mind racing as he considered her argument. She was right. The senator’s insinuations had not only called his wife’s loyalty into question but had also implied that Geta was a weak ruler, unable to control his own household. The thought made his blood boil.

“What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice low.

“Demote him. Remove him from his position. Let it be known that you will not tolerate slander against your Empress.”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “And if others see this as an act of weakness? A sign that I am blinded by my love for you?”

“Let them see it as a warning,” she countered. “Let them know that your loyalty to your wife is unwavering and that you will not allow anyone to sow baseless discord in your court.”

Her words appealed to Geta’s pride, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. After a long silence, he nodded slowly. “Very well. The senator will be dealt with. I’ll ensure his removal will be public and soon.”

Relief washed over her, though a part of her felt dissatisfied about simply just having the senator removed from his position. The senator had meddled in her marriage, made her husband watch every move she made for days now, and he deserved to face more severe consequences for it. The senator has a daughter around her age, she felt certain the senator was likely hoping to get her pushed aside to potentially make way for his daughter to get close to Geta, for her to be the next Empress of Rome. Geta’s wife seethed silently at the thought of someone replacing her, of someone attempting to steal her position. She thought about paying Caracalla a visit and informing him of the treacherous senator in their midst. He would certainly give her the dramatic reaction she wants.

Geta rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand before her. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze softening. “You are right. I should never have allowed his words to poison my mind. You are my empress, my wife. No one will come between us again”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch and calming for a moment. “And I will always stand by your side Geta. But we must stand together, against anyone who seeks to divide us.”

Geta kissed her then, fierce and possessive, as if to reaffirm their bond. She let herself melt into the embrace, even as a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she should push for more to be done about the senator. 

~~~~

reader can't take out her frustrations on Geta so she will take it out on the senator who started all of this instead lol

[two-white-butterflies]

❀ - so confusing sometimes | multi

Description: i have a request for some beautiful lotr elves! how would they react to their human s/o being so…human? sleep talking, bumping their hips on a counter, catching their clothes on doorknobs, expressive, etc? REQUEST

Thranduil. Legolas. Elrond.

A/N: I wanted to squeeze as much elves in here but alas I only wanted to make this for the elves that (i feel like) i know.

Thranduil of Greenwood (Sleep-Talking)

He's been having difficulties with sleep.

It all started after the darkness took hold of his kingdom, placing his people's lives in danger. How was he to rest? When his soldiers were risking their lives fighting against the darkness - all while he had the luxury of sleep, on a soft bed with his lady-wife beside him.

His human.

Gods, another reminder of why he cannot sleep.

He fears that time will steal you away from him. Your life was a mere blink of an eye to him, a minute of rain and he'll be thrown back into the barren desert. He cannot bare to lose you. It will consume his soul with grief. It will ruin him. It will kill him.

"Catch the fish, Thran." you mumbled in your sleep.

He raises an eyebrow, believing you to be awake. "It's a big one." you continued mumbling, while burrowing deeper into the sheets. "Meleth," he whispers, wrapping his arms around you. "But I feel bad, we should let it go." you hummed.

He forgets about his fears - his anxiety.

You looked adorable while sleeping - evidently still dreaming about the summer you both spent in Laketown. Before the darkness. Before the clock ticked against your favor.

"I am quite hungry." you bit your lower lip.

Thranduil chuckles, pulling your body closer until your head was on his chest. "Continue dreaming, my love. I hope that you find light in your dreams, as we've been surrounded by darkness as of the late." he whispered, although you were unable to hear.

Still dreaming about the past, and mumbling strings of incoherent words about fish and lunch.

Legolas of Greenwood (Bumping their hips on a counter)

Legolas was perhaps the most hilarious elf in all of Arda. He likes making jokes, sharing anecdotes of all the trees he's had a conversation with. He's always on top of a tree, coming home all covered in mud. He was adorable.

But he was still an elf.

He still possessed grace and elegance. He's never scraped his knees as a child. He never loses his balance. He always has his shoulders squared, and walking in a straight line.

"Chocolate is evidently better than vanilla." he rolled his eyes at you.

"You are an elfling." you say plainly, continuing to mix the batter for his father's nameday cake. "Chocolate is naturally better. When an elfling wants to be happy, they don't reach for the vanilla, they climb the counter and reach for the hidden chocolate." he defends.

But you can see through him. He's a sweet-tooth.

"You told me that Ada's favorite flavor was vanilla." you reminded, referring back to the conversation you had about your good-father.

"- but I am also his favorite child, which means that I will have the biggest piece of cake. I want to eat chocolate." he pleaded.

"You are his only child, Las." your eyes narrowed teasingly. The humans were always quick to point out the chasm between your ages, but Legolas acted more like an elfling sometimes.

"- and you will eat chocolate cake on your nameday" you walk past him.

Bumping your hips on the counter.

"Ow," you flinch, and his eyes widen.

"What was that? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he wrapped his arms around you, caging you in his warm embrace.

"Are you sick? Is that normal?" he continued asking, concern flashing through his blue irises. The pain subsides, but his concern does not. "Should I call for a healer?" he inquired.

Why was he so worried? You only bumped your hips on the counter. He continues staring deep into your irises, checking your eyes for any sign that you were feeling pain.

You piece his reaction together.

Damn.

"My wife." he repeats firmly, snapping you back into reality. "Las," you say before beginning to laugh.

Your reaction catches him off guard. "Why are you laughing at me?" his eyebrows merge together, his face turning serious. "There's nothing to worry about, I just bumped into something." you comfort.

"There's something wrong with your eyes. We must have it healed." he insists, but you shake your head. "It's normal, Las." you smile.

"- you mean to tell me that you didn't see it?" he was flabbergasted.

His face softens, his eyebrows return to their normal place. You answer him with silence and with silence he understands. You are human, same in face as the elves - but still human nonetheless. "I'm sorry," he apologized, you wrap him in a warm embrace.

Ultimately forgetting about the cake you were baking.

Elrond Peredhel (Catching their clothes on doorknobs.)

Elrond's heart heaves at the sight of that scowl on your face. His lady-wife whose anger quickly turns into sadness. "Meleth, please, talk to me." he pleaded - like a lost little puppy. "I can't believe that you've left me in the dark about the Fellowship." you frowned.

You've been married for a decade, and he's always told you everything. What he ate for breakfast, luncheon and dinner. He even shares with you the types of wine he drank. You trusted each other with even the tiniest details of your lives, but why did he lie?

"I do not wish for danger to happen upon you. The great darkness has been marching against us. I fear that those forces take you." he confessed, keeping his voice low. "- but there is no use in hiding that from you, not when you already know." he breathed.

His eyes were cloudy with tears.

"As Lady of Rivendell, is it not my duty to know?" you explained, suddenly feeling guilty about confronting him all those hours ago.

"I know that it your duty, meleth. I was being selfish. I allowed my fears to consume my judgement." he apologized.

"- while the Fellowship still marches, I urge you to not speak about them, even in the confines of our haven. The darkness has grown in power. I believe that he is strong enough to pierce through my defenses." he reminded.

"Yes, I understand." you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Standing up to close the door, after closing it shut - you turn around to face him, but your robes have been caught in the doorknob.

"Gods," you mentally facepalmed, trying to pull your robes free. "Meleth," he stood up, helping you free your robes but you continued tugging at it - giving him a harder time. "Meleth," he smiled, preventing the chuckle that threatened to escape from his mouth.

The littlest joys.

He frees your robes from the treacherous hold of the doorknob.

"Thank you." you smile in return, already red in the face.

[beloveds-embrace]

NORTHERN DUKE KÖNIG STEALING DUCHESS PRICE PT 2 !! Where he finally puts his plans into action and maybe gets a moment alone with the duchess and confesses his feelings and maybe she tells him she's been wanting an escape because she's been trapped in a loveless marriage and has lost hope on John ever loving her so she's 100% on board with his plan. Maybe König even tells her that he doesn't believe in the rumors of her being barren, that he thinks it's John whose infertile only for the duchess to reveal she hasn't slept with John at all and idk maybe Konig becomes angry with how neglected she's been and makes an intense vow to never leave her unsatisfied.. mentally, emotionally, physically 😏.

The garden was silent beneath the heavy cloak of snow, save for the crunch of your boots as you followed Duke König down the winding path. Lanterns lit the walkway, their golden glow casting long shadows against the frost-kissed hedges and frozen roses.

It was beautiful. Quiet. Safe.

But your pulse pounded in your ears. König hadn’t spoken since he’d asked you to walk with him, and the weight of his silence filled the space between you like smoke.

You stopped beside a stone bench, your breath curling in the cold air. “Your Grace?”

He turned sharply at the sound of your voice, his pale blue eyes catching the light and glowing like ice under a full moon. For the first time, you saw something raw there- uncertainty, vulnerability, and something far more dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“I cannot keep this to myself any longer, Duchess,” He said, voice low and rough.

Your lips parted, but he stepped closer, towering over you with a presence that stole your breath.

“I have tried to resist it,” König continued. “To be honorable, to keep my distance- but it is impossible when every moment apart from you feels like torment.” His gloved hand brushed your cheek, hesitant and reverent, as though he thought you might disappear if he touched you too firmly.

You shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity in his gaze.

“Your Grace…”

“Tell me I am not mad,” he pleaded, soft and fervent. “Tell me I am not imagining this connection between us.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightened. “You’re not.” You whispered.

Relief washed over him like a crashing wave, but it didn’t temper the fire in his eyes. He cupped your face with both hands, his calloused thumbs brushing over your skin as if memorizing the very shape of you.

“Then come with me,” he said fiercely. “Let me take you away from all of this.”

Your breath hitched, eyes wide. “You mean… leave John?”

His lips curled in frustration. “A man who does not deserve you,” he snapped. “Who parades you around as a trophy while the world whispers lies about you. Who neglects you so cruelly that you-” He stopped, exhaling sharply as if the thought pained him. “You deserve more.”

You swallowed, your voice trembling. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t hold back the next words that poured out. How many nights have you spent in the aching loneliness of your bedroom, aware that your husband merely tolerated you out of necessity and nothing else?

“I know.”

König froze, searching your face. “You… know?”

You nodded, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “I’ve wanted to escape for so long. I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever care enough to take me away.”

His expression twisted, anguished and furious. “Care enough?” he repeated, dangerous. “I would burn kingdoms for you.”

A sob broke from your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him, letting him pull you into the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, as if he could shield you from the world. There was something so delightful, so safe, in the way he held you so wholly- hiding you in his arms from all the world.

“But what if the rumors are true?” you whispered against his chest, saying aloud the doubts that have started to take root in your mind from hearing all the rumors swirling about you. “What if I can’t give you the future you want? What if I can’t give you children?”

König pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands bracketing your face. “I don’t believe the rumors,” he said firmly. “Not for a second. It is Price who is unworthy- he is the one who has failed you, mein Liebe, not the other way around.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping you. “He hasn’t failed me because we’ve never even tried.”

König stilled, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

You looked away, ashamed. “We’ve never lain together. Not once.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

König’s hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders trembling with barely contained rage. “Not once?”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, but when you looked back at him, there was no anger directed at you- only heartbreak.

“He’s treated you like this?” König growled. “As though you are unworthy of his attention, his affection? Like a possession to be displayed but never cherished?”

The tears were freely flowing now, and no verbal confirmation was needed.

A guttural sound rumbled in König’s chest, his fury barely leashed. “He has neglected you. Deprived you.” His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “I swear to you, I will never make that mistake.”

You blinked up at him, startled.

He stepped closer, his presence alone overwhelming. “I will never leave you unsatisfied- mentally, emotionally, or physically.” His voice was a vow, sharp and unyielding, not allowing any space for doubt. “You will never have to wonder if you are loved, worshiped.”

The heat in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t step away. If anything, you leaned closer, tearful eyes wide.

“Say you’ll come with me,” König urged, his thumb brushing away your tears. “Say you’ll let me take you away from this emptiness and give you the life you deserve. Be my Duchess.”

Your breath caught. This was a horrible decision- you couldn’t imagine what would be said about you, about König, what your parents might do, what John might do-

“Yes.”

König didn’t wait. His lips crashed against yours, fierce and desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You melted into him, clutching at his coat as he deepened the kiss, claiming you with every stroke and sigh.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, and his eyes burned with promise.

“Two days from now,” he said. “I will send that Narr your divorce papers, and I will take you away from this nightmare.”

And for the first time in years, hope bloomed in your chest.

[wheatbreadfuckyeah]

Oh, To Capture You In pages

[Viktor X Reader]

—–‐–——–‐–——–‐–——–‐–—

Okay so like im obesessed w him help.

Tell me if I capture him well, oki bye

—–‐–——–‐–——–‐–——–‐–—

"I draw you a lot," I admit, my voice barely audible as I snap my notebook shut. The thought of showing him feels like exposing some deep secret I hadn’t meant to share.

Viktor raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Do you now?" he asks, his tone laced with mild amusement, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his amber eyes. "I cannot imagine what about me you find so... compelling."

There’s an edge of self-deprecation to his words, but it doesn’t quite hide the spark of genuine interest. He pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Would you indulge me? Let me see?" His voice is calm, but the intent behind it is unmistakable—he’s intrigued, perhaps more than he wants to let on.

I hesitate, fingers tightening around the notebook. For a moment, I consider refusing, but his gaze holds me fast. With a quiet sigh, I open it and hand it over, bracing myself for whatever he might say.

Viktor takes it carefully, his long fingers brushing against mine as he flips open the cover. At first, his expression remains impassive, the analytical focus he always wears when working settling over his features. But as he turns each page, that mask begins to crack. His smirk fades into something quieter, more thoughtful, and his brow furrows slightly, as though he’s examining more than just the drawings.

"You’ve been busy," he says finally, his tone dry but tinged with something softer. His fingers linger on a sketch of him hunched over his workbench, his posture weary but determined. "You’ve captured my good side," he adds, the faintest glimmer of humor returning to his voice.

I shrug, my heart hammering in my chest. "You're... interesting to draw," I mutter, struggling to meet his gaze.

"Interesting," he repeats, his smirk deepening. "That’s a diplomatic way of saying I look peculiar, no?" He glances up at me, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement, but the warmth there catches me off guard. "Though I must admit, you've done something remarkable here." His tone shifts, becoming quieter, more introspective. "You’ve seen something in me. More than I would expect anyone to notice."

I fidget under his gaze, unsure how to respond. Viktor, ever perceptive, notices. "You don’t have to be nervous," he says, his voice softer now, though his smirk hasn’t entirely faded. "It is... flattering, in its own way." He hesitates, looking back at the sketches, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I should start paying more attention to how I appear. Though I doubt I’ll ever see myself as clearly as you do."

For a moment, I see the mask drop entirely—a glimpse of vulnerability beneath his sharp wit and unshakable resolve. It’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it lingers in the way he handles the notebook with unexpected care, as though the sketches are more than mere drawings to him.

[readerforexiao]

𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Itoshi Sae x Reader | fluff, romance | word count: 1k

⌗ A/n: i love this man. I love having thoughts about him. Also is tumblr ruining the quality of my banner?? :(

⌗ "For a peck could leave you breathless and lightheaded, but a kiss— his kiss— could unravel you piece by piece, leaving you vulnerable to everything he promised."

Sae doesn’t kiss you often, but when he does, it is always special and deeply meaningful.

Slow. That is how it begins. Not necessarily in the sense that it drags on endlessly, but in the way he ensures every second counts.

Sae lingers still at first, unmoving, as if savoring the closeness. Then, with the softest, almost hesitant of motions, his lips brush against yours to test the waters, relearning and remembering their shape. His movements are deliberate, intentional, so much that he needs to feel the intimacy bursting between you both before he even dares to consider it a kiss.

He leaves gentle pecks, his tongue barely grazing your lower lip and it sends a shiver down your spine, sparking what you cherished most, his attentiveness.

His eyes remain open and gazing at you before they flutter shut and he indulges himself.

It all happens in mere seconds, yet it feels like time stretches on with every heartbeat sundering and unweaving the threads of your resolve.

His touch. Fingers that brush along the length of your forearms, tracing over soft, pampered skin— provokes a shiver to cascade down your spine. It elicits goosebumps, a subtle reaction but so dearly cherished by him. It ripples through your very being, how he can love you such that it gravitates towards your core and embraces it.

And your soul unfurls for him. Like two ends of a string destined to intertwine, they meet, his love anchoring itself in your heart and becoming home.

The world dissolves into a haze until all that remains is the weight of his forehead resting against yours and his hands steady but sure as they hold you close.

Sae knows that when you kiss, it is meant to be a moment where his guarded walls are lowered and you can feel the sincerity of his feelings.

It amazes you to no end how he, known to be cold and blunt in his ways and relentless in his drive, is able to pour all the words he cannot say, the emotions he struggles to express, and the love that seems to overwhelm him beyond his ability to comprehend— into a single, fleeting gesture and mean it so passionately, for there’s a strange comfort in how he can engulf the emptiness when you’re at your lowest.

There have been times before when others offered comfort, only to unintentionally leave you feeling even more depleted. Sae somehow replenishes you without taking a piece of your soul.

He fills that empty glass with delicacy that not a drop manages to spill through the cracks. His effort is there, albeit subtle. It is never overwhelming and restores what's been used without leaving you more exhausted.

So yes, Itoshi Sae may not be the most expressive or the most forthcoming with displays of affection, but he is far from unware of your feelings and your rights. In his own quiet way, he respects and understands you, always finding a compromise that neither discomforts him nor deprives you.

Like during mundane tasks, such as house shopping when he walks with his arms slack at his sides, the distance between you blurring as his pinky purposefully brushes against yours. Before you know it, he takes your hand loosely in his, not even realizing that simple act is calming the anxiety within you.

Whether it’s a grand event or something small, Sae remains the star of the show and the center of spotlight. Always. And though never one to entertain the crowds, his presence was strong, the protectiveness and loyalty toward you undeniable!

As you leave the venue spent and yearning for the plush of your mattress, under the night sky and stars glimmering the pathway of your leave, his hand settles on your arm, gently running up and down to warm you, because unfortunately he is not wearing a blazer he can offer.

Sae pulls you a little closer to his side, opens the car door for you, straps you in, and presses a passing kiss to your temple.

Or maybe it’s a random Saturday evening, and he has nothing on his agenda. He’s doing what he does during resting periods, not resting, when he hears you moving about in the kitchen.

For a while, he’s content with that— the simple sounds of you being near, a reminder that you’re there. Then, without a sound, he appears in the doorway as the TV hums in the background, a distant murmur. His laptop and work were forgotten.

You’re caught off guard when he peeks over your shoulder to see what’s cooking in the pan.

“Sae?”

He doesn’t respond and merely glances at you from the periphery of his vision, shrugging before he pulls out a barstool and grabs his phone. He settles into the kitchen, preferring to be closeby while you cook or bake.

On nights after long games and yet another win, the front door clicks open, soon followed by the shower spraying. When he finally settles into bed in nothing but boxers, a low hum draws out in relief as he feels your skin against his own, bare and warm. He lays there, watching you from his side of the bed, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek.

“Beautiful” he says softly but aloud, and you hear it. You always do, just before you drift off to sleep. You’re happy, knowing you’re loved by the man beside you.

Thus, the passion beneath his exterior easily seeps through if given time— and time, your relationship had been built upon.

Itoshi Sae, who doesn’t kiss you often, takes every time he does with utmost seriousness! There is nothing more important to him than proving to you that he wants you, he loves you, and he is yours. He will always be yours.

For a peck could leave you breathless and lightheaded, but a kiss— his kiss— could unravel you piece by piece, leaving you vulnerable to everything he promised.

You look forward to every meeting of your lips, and Sae, little by little grows obsessed. Fearing one day, he may not want to leave your lips alone, because already he finds himself losing to the pull of it.

But no matter how often or rarely it happens, whether a little or much more, each kiss is special— and so it shall remain.

All rights reserved | Copyright @readerforexiao 2025 | Do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform 🧡

[coveofsecrets]

Hiiii I was wondering if perhaps you could write a similar fluffy drabble to the “Oh to be loved by Sanji” but instead it’s Zoro… you characterize everyone so well and your writing is delicious, tysm!!!

"𝙾𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚉𝚘𝚛𝚘"

─── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

-> Roronoa Zoro x reader

-> Warnings: n/a

-> Word count: 429

-> wehehehehhee thank youuuuuuuu!!! I always try my best with characterizations, and Zoro is. so yummy. I wanna eat him.

─── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Zoro is almost like a dog.

Without any orders, he follows you around almost everywhere you go, yet not breathing down your neck.

No.

He’s just… there.

Simply because he likes being near you.

Zoro is a greedy man, so any time he can soak up your presence, he’ll take it.

Oh, to be loved by Zoro.

His greed is a bleeding artery; never able to slow down.

It bleeds for his crewmates, those he loves, and you.

When he thinks about his loved ones- those he has shared food, sake, and laughs with- people who he breathes for, it makes his heart hurt.

The ache is neverending, and no matter what he does, it will not stop.

A bottomless stomach: always hungry, neverending its tantrum.

However, Zoro does not ignore that yearning. Rather, he embraces it.

So, any chance he gets, he consumes your being.

In the same room, he’s cuddling with you; on the deck, if he’s not training, Zoro is by your side; at the dinner room, he makes sure he’s sitting right next to you.

It is so he can spend as much time as he can with you. Neither of you have to talk, you just have to be near each other for his hunger to be temporarily satisfied.

During those moments, he makes sure you are safe and  okay. If he notices anything amiss, he will pounce on it like a vulture to dead meat, asking you what’s wrong. Almost anything you need of him, he will complete without a moment’s hesitation, the man greedy for your approval.

His greed is exemplary of his love.

He knows you can take care of yourself, that you’re strong without him, but his lingering, his devotion is out of pure desire, not necessity.

Oh, to be loved by Zoro.

His love is quiet, but not without impact.

Words murmured in night-enveloped times, gazes of eternal adoration presented to you, and hands of longing gentleness.

When he kisses you, he makes sure to put his all into it.

Emotions he cannot put into thought are expressed within that kiss, unspoken loyalty poured into that simple action.

Full of sweetness, but never short.

Zoro refuses for his kisses to be short.

They are long, drawn-out, more important than air. The mere seconds spent kissing you feel more like minutes, the man taking his time to communicate his deep affections for you.

Anything less than that, is shameful to him. 

He refuses to give any chopped-up efforts to the person he loves most.

Oh, to be loved by Zoro.

[deakyjoe]

Stay Sweet

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (afab)

Category: smut

Summary: Copia is all too enthusiastic when you suggest something new.

Warnings: 18+, smut, f receiving oral, face sitting, dry humping, kissing, Copia’s nose, Copia being beautiful, Copia worshipping reader, fluff, established relationship

Word count: 2k

A/N: Happy Birthday @littlemissemeritus!! I cannot believe writing a face sitting fic for you motivated me to get back into writing after several months. Hope you have a good one today, this is for you :)

The Cardinal had such a beautiful face. It was the kind of face that artists yearned for as to inspire their pieces of work. You could imagine that anyone with an ounce of talent in their bodies would long for him to be their muse. He had the kind of face that people went to war for.

Which is why you had the burning urge to sit on it.

Especially his nose. His gorgeous nose.

A flurry of butterflies swarmed in your stomach any time he looked at you, which had been a lot in more recent times. Ever since he expressed an interest in you really. You had always admired him from a distance, keeping away from him as your desire for him overwhelmed you any time you were in close contact. So you watched him, just looked at him, from afar. It turned out that he felt the same way for you, as he awkwardly admitted one day. He was endearing as well as beautiful which really screwed you over - the lust that buzzed in your bloodstream only doubling with that new information.

Another fun fact about the charming Cardinal Copia was that he worshipped you. By simply throwing him the bone of sharing a mutual affection for each other, he was willing to do anything for you. Which is why it didn't take too long once the intimate side of your relationship had started for you to express your want, no need, to sit on his face. And he was all too happy to hear it.

The way his eyes lit up at the mere notion of it showed you how in tune the two of you were. His words only solidified this. "I think that is a wonderful idea."

You weren't entirely surprised by his enthusiasm, he had shown in the past how willing he was to try anything in the bedroom with you. And with how much he practically bowed down before you and grovelled at your feet, it wasn't exactly a shock that he liked the idea of you potentially suffocating him by sitting on his face and crushing his head between your thighs. Not that you'd let that happen, you liked him too much so would prefer it if he stayed alive. Copia wouldn't have hesitated in saying that dying as a consequence of giving you an orgasm would be a pretty good way to go.

You were, however, slightly surprised when he suggested going forward with the activity right then and there in the moment.

"Wait, right now?" You gasped at him.

"Why not?" Copia shrugged in response, a smile on his face. "I have time. You have time. My bed is right there."

Your eyes drifted towards the piece of furniture in his room. You should've seen this coming really with how you'd brought up the idea whilst in his bedroom. It seemed only natural to immediately give it a go.

He saw you hesitate. "My face is also willing and available."

Your gaze snapped back towards his face. His beautiful, beautiful face. His nose really was calling to you, begging to be ridden on.

"Okay, let's do it."

"Great!" Copia cheered and bounded over to the bed, leaping onto the mattress and landing on his pillows with a couple of small bounces. He starfished momentarily before waving you over. "Come, come! So I can make you come!"

You shook your head at his joke, stifling a smile, and started kicking off your shoes. Pausing, you stared at Copia sprawled on the bed. He was fully dressed, and would remain so. You, on the other hand, would be have to be naked from at least the waist down. 

The Cardinal noticed your hesitation and pushed himself up on his elbows to look at you. "If it makes you feel better, I am very excited about this."

The sincere grin on his face, the face you were about to sit on, was very convincing of his enthusiasm. So you stripped. Well, stripped from the waist down at least. And then you crawled onto the bed, smiling at Copia as he flattened himself against the bed again, fully prepared for what was to come. However, he appeared confused once the length of your body covered his and you stopped with your face hanging over his. 

"Amore, what are you doing? This is not prime position for what we discussed." Copia's eyes roamed your face, affection filling them as he gazed up at you. He was confused but he certainly was not complaining when he had your breathtaking face so close to his own. He always found himself feeling rather lucky that you felt the same way for him as he did for you. When he had first admitted his feelings, he had expected that he would have needed to grovel at your feet in order to convince you to go on one date with him. He was shocked when you had immediately announced that you found him beautiful and jumped at the chance to spend the evening with him. It had only gone uphill from there.

"That'll come soon enough." You nudged your nose against his. "But kissing first."

"Well, if you insist." Copia chuckled lowly and closed the inch of distance between the two of you, his lips covering yours.

It was always nice kissing the Cardinal. Extremely nice. He knew the perfect ratio of lips to tongue, the exact way to have your toes curling without even touching you intimately with his hands, and the precise moment to break away that always left you craving more. He always had you clinging onto him, trying to pull him impossibly closer, bucking your hips against him with the desire for some sort of friction. You believed it was part due to your carnal attraction to him based on his beautiful face, but you knew it was because he possessed the gift of knowing you, of understanding you. He could sense exactly what would get you ticking and used that to his full advantage.

Which is why it didn't take him long before he was sliding one his thighs in between yours and pressing it against you. 

You whimpered against his mouth and reluctantly broke the kiss. "That is not what we agreed."

Copia smiled. "Oh but, amore, I know it's what you want."

Damn, he was right. How he read you so well would continue to be a mystery. But oh, it was a mystery that you loved. 

So you kissed him again and rutted your hips against his thigh, letting out a soft moan against his mouth as you did so. This sound made Copia smile, as it usually did. The initial objective was forgotten momentarily as you suddenly favoured the idea of riding his thigh rather than his face. This particular activity wasn't new for the two of you, in fact it happened to be one of the first things that you had explored with him and tended to make an appearance during every sexual encounter with him.

You desperately grinded your pelvis against his thigh, chasing the high that you knew would come soon enough. The Cardinal could sense your impending orgasm so shifted his leg into a slightly different position that would get you there sooner. He knew all the tricks with you, after all. But just as you inched closer and closer to that inevitable drop, Copia dropped his thigh from beneath you and slide it out from between your legs.

You groaned in protest. "Why? Why did you do that?"

The quaking feeling of the approaching orgasm faded away into a buzz that had you clenching around nothing. You hated him sometimes. Despite worshipping the ground you walked on, he could also be a tease.

"I think it is time for you to sit on my face now, don't you think?" He grinned up at you like the Chesire Cat and made a circular motion with his hand at his face. "Use this to make you come instead?"

He knew exactly how to get you.

Seeing the desire in your eyes, he patted his chest. "First slide on up here and take a seat."

You did as you were told, very aware that your arousal was staining his clothes. "Now what?"

"Now you sit on my face."

With a low sigh, you scooted forward until you were hovering over his face. But then you paused.

Copia's hands rested on your thighs, gliding up and down the skin to calm you. "Sit down. I promise it'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I don't want to break anything."

He laughed. "You won't. Just sit."

"But... your nose." You whined, thinking about how one slight slip up could leave it a mess forever. A crooked nose would look good on him, granted, but you did also like the way it looked now very much.

Copia huffed. "I can wait here all day if you like, I have a very nice view, but it's you who will be left with cramping legs and sexual frustration if you do not sit down."

He was right. The bastard. So you sat.

The delighted squeak that left Copia and was muffled against you did not leave you regretting that decision.

There was only a fraction of a second of delay, that had you wondering whether you had suffocated him, before his tongue darted out and swiped against you.

"Oh." Your hips squirmed at the sensation, the angle somewhat different to usual oral. 

Copia's hands gripped your thighs tightly, somehow forcing you to sit against him even harder. It was like the taste of you sent him into a frenzy, it had, that caused him to make his mouth go wild on you. He devoured you. Licking, biting, sucking, shaking his head from side to side. Anything that he could reach was touched by his mouth at least once. 

One of your hands flew to the headboard of his bed, clinging on for stability, whilst the other slapped across your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds that were attempting to escape you. But as much as you could control the sounds your mouth was making, you could not control the movement of your hips. A primal urge overtook you that had you rutting your hips backwards and forwards. And once your clit hit his nose, you were done for.

A choked cry left your throat, the hand covering your mouth abandoning it's mission and flying down to grip onto Copia's greying hair instead. The grasp you had on him kept him in exactly the position you wanted as you rode his face, pelvis circling so the tip of his nose continuously hit exactly where you needed it to. The Cardinal beneath you had no issues with that and just carried on using his tongue to hungrily eat you like you were his last meal.

So lost in your own ecstasy, you didn't notice the squeaking of the bed springs behind you as Copia uselessly thrust his hips up into the air seeking out a friction that did not exist. However, he suspected he was probably going to come based on the taste of you alone. So sweet. So delicious. So addictive.

You weren't surprised at how little it took to have you approaching the edge of your orgasm with how good it felt. You expected maybe a few more knocks of your clit against his nose would have you there but you were caught off guard when the tips of the Cardinal's fingers dug so deeply into the flesh of your thighs that you predicted you would be seeing bruises sometime soon, and he pushed his face even harder against you. With the added pressure, your body tensed up and you crashed over the edge.

A strangled scream left your mouth as you collapsed against the headboard. Copia smoothed his hands up and down your thighs to calm you down as you slowed your breathing down, eventually lifting a shaking leg to move off of his face and sit down next to him.

The room was silent for only a moment before your beautiful Cardinal spoke.

"Well, that was fun." He chimed happily. "We should do that again."

You glanced over at him, taking in the sight of his skin glistening with the remains of you, looking drunk on the taste. He really was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

[hambiichu]

Hogwarts au

Sumarry: There's a rumour that Levi is dating outside of his house

Don't like how this turned out, please enjoy :))

If you prefer at ao3

Divider by: @/notaorbital

Tags: Slytherin! Levi, female! Reader, rumour, short story, drabble, hogwarts au,

"Have you noticed the way Levi looks at me during Quidditch practice?" Marine gushes, dramatically fanning herself with her hands, her eyes sparkling with a blend of admiration and infatuation. She seems utterly enraptured by thoughts of Levi, the charismatic captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

With his tousled dark hair, sharply defined jawline, and confident demeanor, Levi commands attention not only on the pitch as an exceptional athlete but also as a respected figure among many students. As a proud Slytherin, Marine feels an indescribable thrill coursing through her at the mere mention of his name.

"Ughhh, he’s so incredibly handsome and charming! I absolutely cannot wait to ask him out!" she exclaims, glancing over at her friend Max, who is deeply engrossed in crafting a heartfelt love letter at the table. The quill in his hand moves across the parchment with such fervor that it shakes the table slightly, earning curious glances from nearby Slytherin students who momentarily pause their conversations.

"Can you write any faster? We need to finish before his Quidditch final!" Marine huffs playfully, giving Max a gentle kick under the table that makes him jump in surprise. The scattered Slytherins around them shift their attention momentarily, intrigued by the commotion still echoing amidst the buzz of the Great Hall.

"I’m going to confess to him," Marine continues, her voice bubbling with excitement. "I’ll show him my love and unwavering devotion! Just imagine if I wore something really special to grab his attention—oh, that would be delightful! I might even consider using a love potion to ensure he falls for me, no matter what!" Her eyes widen with enthusiasm, practically glowing at the thought.

Max pauses for a moment, his expression shifting to one of concern as he raises an eyebrow, clearly unsettled by her last suggestion. Absently twirling a strand of her long, blonde hair around her finger, he responds, "Isn’t that a bit unethical? Using a love potion? It’s against the rules because it’s, like, super non-consensual."

"Silence!" she playfully admonishes, rolling her eyes dismissively as if swatting away an irritating gnat. "Who cares about that? I can do whatever I want! My family is wealthy and works in the Ministry—no one’s going to bat an eye at me!" The confidence drips from her words, reflecting her belief in her own entitlement.

"Yeah, right," Max scoffs, inching himself away from her a fraction more, a bemused grin creeping across his face. "Not that anyone is stopping you—except for the muddled rumor that Levi might be dating someone from another house."

At the mention of that rumor, Marine's expression morphs into a disgruntled pout, her previously bright demeanor clouded by an unmistakable wave of irritation. She has certainly heard the whispers surrounding Levi and the potential love interests he may have outside Slytherin.

The mere thought of another girl possibly winning his affection sends icy waves of jealousy crashing through her. Her green eyes narrow, a predatory glint flashing as they dart across the Great Hall, locking onto you and your friends as you share warm laughs and lighthearted moments in your own corner. How could anyone dare to compete when Levi’s heart should unmistakably be hers?

"Her?" Marine scoffs, her tone dripping with bitterness. "She’s an ugly twat, a good-for-nothing person! How could Levi even like her when all she does is hang around with her friends and float about like a nobody?"

After hastily finishing the love letter, Max pushes it across the table towards her, wearing an uncertain expression. Marine quickly tucks it into her pocket, her glare still fixed intensely in your direction. "She’s utterly useless! She and Levi barely even talk! How could a captain fall for someone like that?"

Max crosses his arms, contemplating her words with a skeptical look. "I don’t know? Maybe Levi finds her more appealing than you? I mean, look at your attitude—bratty and spoiled. Do you really think he’d even want you?"

Marine responds with a swift kick to his shin that carries a hint of seriousness, her eyes blazing with determination. "Of course he wants me! He totally stares at me! Trust me, I've overheard him whisper to his friends that I’m far prettier and richer than she is!"

She turns her head pointedly in your direction, adding with a flash of confidence, "Have you seen the signs?!"

"No," Max shakes his head firmly. "I see the signs of how annoying you are."

"Annoying?! Who could possibly be annoyed by a pretty woman like me? Trust me, he'll fall for me," she declares with pride. "And he’ll show me off to all of Hogwarts and prove that I, Marine Gold, belong to Levi Ackerman!"

"Whatever," Max scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You’re so delusional and weird." His voice drips with disbelief as he leans back, the laughter of nearby students blending into a tapestry of teenage antics echoing throughout the hall.

As the Quidditch final approached, the atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of cheering and excitement from all the houses. It was Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and the sun shone brightly overhead, a gentle breeze weaving through the cheering crowd. The teams soared through the brilliant blue sky on their brooms, skillfully maneuvering to earn points for their respective houses. Each team had a Chaser determinedly aiming for the goal hoops, while Beaters swung their bats to send Bludgers careening toward their opponents. Meanwhile, each team had its own Seeker, ready to chase the elusive Golden Snitch.

Levi, the confident captain of Slytherin, soared high above the pitch, scanning the area for the glimmering Snitch. He barked orders to his teammates, urging them onward as the crowd erupted into cheers, rallying around their house. You stood amongst the throng of your house, waving your house flag proudly, your heart swelling with every spellbinding play.

Nearby, Marine was doing her best to catch Levi’s attention, waving her flag furiously. Yet, it was clear he was oblivious to her efforts, focused entirely on the match. Frustration etched across her face, she turned to Max, her annoyance evident.

“He hasn’t noticed me!” Marine whined, her voice tinged with disbelief. “It’s so unfair!”

Max leaned closer, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, it’s because he has his eyes on someone else. Look,” he said, nodding toward you. You, wearing Levi’s Slytherin blazer—his last name, ACKERMAN, emblazoned boldly across the back—stood with a radiant smile. The oversized sweater hung loosely on you, but you wore it with pride and affection for Levi; after all, it was a gift from him.

Marine's face turned red with frustration as tears glimmered in her eyes, confirming the rumors swirling around Hogwarts. In a fit of anger, she ripped up the love letter and stormed away, bumping into people as she made her exit.

“You owe me gallons for that!” Max called after her, barely containing his laughter, enjoying the spectacle. "Remind you, I wrote that!"

As the Quidditch match finally reached its climax, the tension in the air was palpable. With a final flourish, Levi led Slytherin to victory, and the crowd erupted in jubilant cheers. Spotting you in the sea of the crowd, he soared toward you, determination gleaming in his eyes as you waved your flag more fervently than ever.

“Levi! Congrats, you wo—” you began, but before you could finish, he removed his goggles, leaned forward, and kissed you passionately. The collective gasp from the assembled houses quickly transformed into thunderous applause as rumors that had circulated around were dramatically confirmed. Even Max clapped, joining in the celebration.

Pulling away slightly, Levi tenderly stroked your chin, entrusting the Golden Snitch to your chest as a symbol of his victory. “With your love and cheer, it drove me to win,” he murmured your name softly, kissing you again, sealing the moment with joy that echoed throughout the stadium. It was a moment that would forever be etched in your memory: the thrill of the game, the warmth of his affection, and the ecstatic cheers of your house.

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Unintended (pt1)

A/N: HELPPP guys I feel terrible after writing this😭 this was the hardest, most heartbreaking angst I've ever written.

Syn:unplanned pregnancy with Choso as your boyfriend but the trauma of his origins speaks for him...

TW: HEAVY ANGST!!, traumatized Choso, unplanned pregnancy, panic attacks, suggestiveness, mentions of abortion,dark topics and possible spoilers (about Choso's origins)

1.5k words | PT 2 COMING SOON

Your period was late. You had first noticed it two weeks ago on a seemingly ordinary morning, but today felt different. Today, you decided it was finally time to take the pregnancy test you had been anxiously holding onto. Choso had been away, along with Yuji, on a mission for a few days, and he was due to return today. As you stood by the bathroom sink, a single tear of joy slipped down your cheek, the test trembling slightly in your hands. The reality of it washed over you: you and Choso were going to be parents. Sweet images of the two of you raising a child together danced in your mind, filling your heart with warmth and anticipation as you gazed at the two small parallel lines that had appeared on the test.

A couple of hours later, you sat in your living room, wearing your favorite dress, counting the seconds until Choso walked through the door. The anticipation filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves; you could hardly wait to share the news. For Choso, the last two days had felt like an eternity. The longing to touch you, to kiss you, and to hold you close had been a kind of torture. Yet, as he opened the door to your shared apartment, he was met with an unexpected heaviness in the air. The familiar scent of home was tinged with something so foreign yet somehow familiar, a strange vibration that has been sending shivers down his spine whenever he approached you during the previous weeks. That same protective instinct he classified as the special way you always made him feel. Just now he understood how much of a fool he had been for underestimating it.

His sharp senses were now on high alert. Choso noticed immediately that you weren’t rushing towards him with your usual enthusiasm. Instead, you sat on the couch, a uniquely beautiful, radiant smile illuminating your features, but there was something in your eyes that made his heart skip a beat. He approached you cautiously, his brow furrowing in confusion as he took in the scene before him. 

Your gaze locked with his for a brief moment before you lowered your eyes to the small blue box that lay on the table in front of you. Choso’s heart raced as he approached the box, reading the unfamiliar brand name—Clearblue—etched on its surface. The moment he recognized the potential significance of the object wrapped in a delicate white bow, a wave of unadulterated panic flooded his mind. “What does this mean?” he asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

“It means I’m pregnant, Cho!” you exclaimed fiercely, your eyes sparkling with the joy of the moment. “You’re going to be a father!”

The word “father” echoed in his mind, a jarring sound that sent his thoughts spiraling into chaos. What did it even mean to be a father? Choso had no idea about what that word ultimately meant. Was a father merely the individual who biologically contributed to the creation of a child, or was he the one who bore the weight of responsibility for that child’s life? In any case, he never knew what that meant. The foreign concept of parenthood unsettled him to the core, stirring an urge to flee from the situation entirely. He wasn’t ready for this, and the thought of becoming a father and possibly continuing the path of despair created by his own ‘creator’ filled him with dread.

Your face fell at the sight of his serious, unwavering expression. “Oh my god… this cannot be true…You—you don’t want this, right?” The realization that everything you had hoped for could crumble before your eyes shattered your heart. You had believed, with every fiber of your being, that your relationship was stronger than any obstacle, but now, standing before him, you felt the ground beneath you give way.

“H-How could this happen?” Choso’s voice was barely above a whisper, laden with confusion and disbelief. He couldn’t meet your gaze, unable to bear the sight of the pain etched across your features. His mind raced, grappling with the bizarre reality that his half-cursed cells could actually have made someone pregnant. The thought was as surreal as it was terrifying. 

You scoffed bitterly, your voice laced with sarcasm. “How could this happen? For real, Choso? I’ll tell you how it did happen: you must have gotten me pregnant on one of those early mornings when you woke up and held me tightly against your chest in bed  making love to me for hours, because ‘I was too soft to resist’; or maybe it was that night we went stargazing on the rooftop. Do you remember how you pushed me back down on you and finished deep inside me because you ‘needed to feel me for a little longer’? About how we slept -totally unbothered- the whole night still tangled up like that?” Your words dripped with disdain, each one a reminder of the intimacy you had shared. “You didn’t think about the consequences back then, did you? You know what hurts the most now: you did all of this while claiming you loved me all along…but how can you love someone and dread the idea of creating a future with them at the same time? You said you wanted to be with me forever...”

Choso collapsed on the sofa, frozen, his mind scrambling to process your words. “But you said… you said you were taking precautions…and…” His voice was weak, barely a whisper. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, causing his lungs to burn with anxiety.

Your humorless laugh filled the space between you, thick with despair. “Well, breaking news, Choso: precautions aren’t infallible… especially when you spend half the day nutting inside your girlfriend…”you yell to his face “Did you ever even consider that something like this could happen Choso?” You began to pace the room, your heart racing as tears of frustration threatened to spill. This definitely wasn’t how you had envisioned sharing the news of your pregnancy. You had known Choso lacked any form of experience when it came to relationships, but his shock over something so obvious still drove you mad. 

Choso was lost in a fog of disbelief, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. He remained seated, wiping his sweaty palms nervously against his thighs, eyes fixed on a distant point as a whirlwind of thoughts spun through his mind. The most terrifying of scenarios played out before him: the pictures of your smiling face and his mother's ones blurred in his brain and he imagined your fragile human body, corrupted by a life that should not exist, a parasite slowly draining you of your vitality. A parasite like the one he once was. No. He couldn’t lose you like that; he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering as his mother had. Panic crept in, grasping at his throat and squeezing tighter.

“Okay…” he whispered roughly in between short, ragged breaths “we’ll get rid of ...it… and start again… just you and me…” The words desperately slipped from his lips before he could even figure them out, sharper than any blade. 

Silence hung heavy in the air as your heart shattered at his implied suggestion. Something undeniably broke the moment those cursed words cut through the air around you. Tears started to copiously stream down your face, and you could hardly believe what you had just heard. Deep down, you knew that Choso’s trauma was speaking for him, but the pain of his words cut deeper than anything else. 

“Y-You didn’t say that… You couldn't…I refuse to believe it, Choso…” you tried to deny it, your feet unconsciously stumbled back, your whole body recoiling as horror washed over you. Your shoulders slumped in defeat, hands raised defensively, trembling lips and puffy eyes betraying the turmoil within. Choso realized he had crossed a line just by taking a look at your shocked appearance, that he had just dug a deeper wound. What the fuck did he just say? He had fucked up and he didn't even know how to take it back.

“I didn’t mean… I—” He longed to reach out, to pull you into his arms and assure you that he hadn’t meant a word of what he said, but the words were stuck in his throat, the weight of his own thoughts holding him captive. “I cannot do this right now… I am sorry.” his child, his offspring…how could he have thought such a terrible thing?

With his hands tangled in his hair, Choso stood up abruptly and stormed out the door before you could stop him, leaving you in a whirlpool of confusion and heartbreak. He needed to run, faster than his fears, faster than the image of the disgust on your face, faster than the horrible scenario his mind conjured up.

You fell to your knees on the cold floor, sobbing as despair enveloped you. Your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach, you whispered promises to the life growing inside you. “I’ll protect you forever, even if it will be just the two of us.” Tears soaked your dress as you vowed eternal love to the child that had formed from the tender moments you had shared with Choso, while also grappling with the painful realization that this might be the last stop for your relationship….

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Tormented Spirit | 19

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: it's been a while, so i'd like to acknowledge this ask, the lovely comments i got from it, and this ask, because they were really sweet and really motivated me to finish this. the chapter feels a bit aimless because its a filler chapter, so i would love to know how you all feel about it. if i find people are not very interested, i might just do the big time skip and end this story, so please consider leaving a comment/reblog | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

"Kepus."

Daemon looks over his shoulder, finding Rhaenyra strutting over. Her violet eyes were not on him though, but on the blood wyrm sprawled on his belly yet again. Caraxes recognizes her and huffs smoke through his nostrils when she is upon him.

Rhaenyra knits her brows and prince steps aside, allowing her to pet his mount. "I did not think it was possible for a dragon to appear as such, much less a dragon as high and mighty as Caraxes."

Daemon does not speak. His face remains stoic but Rhaenyra knows better than to believe he is unfeeling. Still, she decides to linger in his silence. She ceases stroking Caraxes when he does.

He turns to her; she looks concerned and sad and it makes his chest tighten. He knows his instant recognition of it is borne from familiarity— familiarity for you emanated such emotions. He mumbles, "do not be so worried."

A line forms between Rhaenyra's brows. Part of her wants to snap at him— of course she would be worried! She wants to thrash her grievances out and tell him he ought to be glad she was worried about Caraxes, about him; it was never something he afforded her, not in the way she would have wanted. Her pride reigns her back from doing anything however.

Daemon witnesses the inner turmoil seeping on her features. Try as she may, she was not a difficult read. It was clear his sentiment was not appreciated. "I don't mean that I don't want you to care."

Rhaenyra opens her mouth, but no words come out, as she was not expecting such a response. Mockery? Something akin to it? Yes. But not that.

Daemon stares at his niece, brows raising at her shocked expression, "I do not want your youth and beauty to be wasted."

She purses her lips. Earnest. Her uncle was earnest. Her lips curve into a soft frown. His wife has made him soft. Her belly bubbles with feeble jealousy.

He shifts in his spot, their arms brushing against each other's as they turn to pitiful Caraxes. He links his hands together, "would you do me a favor, my girl?"

Rhaenyra's nostrils flare faintly. Am I your girl?

"I am to leave soon."

Her brows furrow, "what?"

He shifts again, "I cannot remain merely watching as Caraxes worsens day in and out."

"But I am to be married in three days!" Her lips stiffen, "will you not stay three days for me?"

He raises a brow "what use am I on your wedding day?"

Though he says it plainly, she hears it laced with vitriol, "to support me? To be there for me?!"

Daemon chuckles, genuinely endeared by the sentiment, "you need not your uncle's support on your wedding day."

She does not recognize his endearment. She scoffs, "you've made me come here to ask me for a favor, yet you m-"

"Lykirī," Daemon chortles, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "I did not say I was leaving before your wedding." Calmly.

She stiffens.

He smirks, pulling his hand away, "I was merely explaining, my absence would not be so substantial if I we-"

"What do you want?"

Daemon watches her tap her foot.

"What's the favor?" she motions with an impatient gesture.

He stands still for a moment, building the nerve to say it as plainly as possible. His voice betrays him with a random voice break, "m-y wife." He clenches his jaw. Gods. He can hear his own desperation.

Rhaenyra is offended by his aching, or rather, she wants to be. She was unsurprised that whatever he needed had to do with you, yet, it still went down her belly horribly. "What of her?"

"Last time I left... much of her was lost..."

She frowns in remembrance.

"... much of us."

Her reaction is involuntary. She scoffs and raises her brows, "do you forget, she wrote to you and you never once responded?"

Daemon's jaw sets. He slowly shakes his head, "I do not forget." He turns back to Caraxes, rubbing his side, "I shudder to think my penance is at the peril of my mount."

She stiffens, unexpecting another... earnest response. She nibbles her lip as guilt tightens her chest. Rhaenyra never believed Daemon was heartless, yet to see him so haunted... so vulnerable— "was it not you who said we carve our own destinies?"

He does not look at her. He hums, "and did I not carve out this demise myself?"

She watches him slowly turn.

He purses his lips, waiting for a response.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, "no. It's not like you made both your wife and your dragon sick."

Daemon chuckles and shakes his head, "you are kind to me."

She huffs through her nostrils. She thinks about his words for a moment then suddenly tenses, "wait. Are you telling me she is with child again?"

Daemon stiffens. For a moment, he wants to make her believe it, that his wife has not rejected any and all of his advances, but as he sees her horrified expression, he realizes she must think him villain, that he's had his way with you because he could, because it was easy. He clenches his jaw, "no." He wipes his face, "I simply want someone to look after her upon my leave."

Rhaenyra slowly tilts her head.

"My madness forthcomes if she withers because of my absence," he mutters lowly, turning back to his dragon.

"She is daughter to the Hand," she crosses her arms, "she is well looked after."

He chuckles dryly, "yes, oh I do so trust my wife's well-being with that old cunt." He shoots Rhaenyra a withering glare.

"She is sister to the queen," she raises a brow and crosses her arms, "you'd be wiser to have gone to her. I am outranked."

"And Alicent is far weaker to him than she," he narrows his eyes, "besides, I come to you because it is you I rest my confidence in," he gives her a solemn expression, "and you alone."

For a moment, Rhaenyra is satisfied. She basks in the thought, but it is soon not enough. She takes the opportunity to spur him on, "what of her twin?"

Daemon tenses, "what of her damned twin?"

"I'm sure if you wrote to Ser Gwayne, he—"

"Yes, and I'm sure you know how little my patience is."

"Well," she looks off and shrugs, "if you wish to surely see that you-"

"What do you wish me to say?!"

Rhaenyra pauses.

"Is it my tears you thirst for? Or you want me to beg?"

Her jaw slowly clenches. Perhaps.

"Or do want me to admit you that you were not my first choice, girl?" Daemon tilts his head as he looks upon her.

Her lips part.

"I asked Laenor first for he is her friend," he explains, sparing none of his vexation, "they're the same age, so he to her is like that fucking brother she so fucking deeply misses, Rhaenyra," he seethes, "is that what you wish me to say?"

Her expression hardens.

"You would be glad to know your promised is a loyal thing, Naturally, he agreed, and naturally added that if his princess told him otherwise, he would do otherwise."

Rhaenyra looks away, feeling in the least bit gladdened.

Daemon watches her aimlessly scan the room.

Caraxes rolls over, finally on his feet. He immediately is met by Daemon, who coddles him and sighs when he nuzzles into his chest. He spares Rhaenyra a glance, "doesn't feel good, does it?"

The princess would have flared at the words had her iciness not been shattered by the dragon's frailty. She huffs and rapidly shakes her head, "what do you want me to do?"

Daemon places his palm on the dragon's snout, turning to her as Caraxes leans into him.

"Shall I write letters to you everyday regarding her conditions?"

A line forms between his brows. He places the hand he had on his mount on her shoulder, "let her keep her peace... do not let anyone rob it simply because I cannot safeguard it."

Rhaenyra gazes upon her uncle. Her brows now match his, tightened with a weight of emotions they could not so simply name. She swallows the lump in her throat and lowers her gaze, "ao jorrāelagon zirȳla." You love her.

It was not a question, yet Daemon hums, "bona ñuha ībyr ōdrikagon." That my bones hurt.

She looks up at him, eyes beginning to water, "skoro syt..." Why...

Her uncle captures her chin and brushes it gently.

"Skoro syt gaomas tolvys vestragon naejot henujagon nyke?" Why does everyone seem to leave me?

"Eman daor geptot ao," Daemon shakes his head, "ñuha egros iksis aōhon." I have not left you. My sword is yours.

"Ossēnagon nyke lēda ziry pār," she snaps, pulling away from him. Slay me with it then.

"Rhaenyra-"

"Enough," she raises a hand, "I've heard enough."

He does nothing but clench his jaw.

She scratches her eyes, "rest assured that any who dare deturb your lady-wife's peace, mine own and my husband's dragon shall bedash their corpse."

As quickly as he takes a breath of relief, just as quickly does Rhaenyra walk off. Daemon only watches, though part of him did not want her to leave him so angry.

Daemon remains in the pit, fussing over Caraxes to the keepers, until supper nears. He leaves to join you, luckily spotting you just outside your niece's nursery.

Helaena is in your arms, asleep it seems. You spot him as he approaches, offering him a soft smile, "I'm just going to set her down."

Daemon notices there were flowers in your plaited hair. You were surely in the gardens with Aegon... and by extension your wards, but he trains his focus on your face. He opens the door for you.

"Thank you," you mutter, walking in.

He follows you towards Helaena's cot, watching as you set her down and tuck her in. The locks by your ears spill over your face. As you straighten and push your dark hair back, he wishes that he could have been the one to do so.

You smile at him again, "she nearly stood up today."

Daemon smiles back, eyes trickling down your form. Color has found its way back to you, to your clothes and your face. Today, you wore green, but nothing slimy and greedy like the color of your house. Twas taffeta in a freshly-grown-leaf green, embellished with silver lace that embraced your form. You looked like a woodland nymph, especially with the braided flowers running down your spine. Your eyes were not so sad and your skin was not so grey, though your cheeks remained rather hollow.

"I am eager for the day she speaks," you say as head out, your husband closely tailing you. You link your hands together as you walk side by side down the hall, "she looks always as though she has much to say."

Daemon hums, eyes pinned on your features.

You turn to him.

He smiles softly.

You recognize the exhaustion on his face, even through his current expression, "how fares Caraxes?"

His smile fades. He shakes his head, "there must be something done for him."

You frown when he clenches his jaw. You rub your arm, "is he still unwilling to fly?"

"He's unwilling to do anything save wallow," his nostrils flare.

"Poor thing..." you clench your jaw and rub your arm, "what do you plan to do?"

"I read that there is a gut illness that makes beasts lethargic. Apparently, there is an antidote in an herb that grows by the banks of the river Noyne."

You nod and furrow your brows.

"I will set to Norvos to procure them in three days, immediately after Rhaenyra and Laenor are wed."

You stop in your tracks.

Daemon does the same, only to take a step towards you.

"Oh... I..."

"Travel to Essos would take two moons, if luck finds me," he speaks carefully, "I will not take a second longer than I must."

Your lips part.

"I would take you with me," he reaches for your hand, "but I am to travel by sea and I fear too greatly your health will worsen on the way."

His hand is burning hot against yours. Goosebumps prick over your arms as he rubs your skin.

Daemon's heart drops when you lower your head. He gulps and bends down, desperate to see your face. It gashes him when you turn away.

"Kostilus," he mutters, "gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ojughagon ñuha zaldrīzes." Please, I do not wish to lose my dragon.

Your eyes are glassy as you look back at him. You shake your head, "you need not explain... nor do you need my permission," you sigh, "I will not beg you to stay."

He clenches his teeth hard enough that it hurts him.

You take a deep breath and rest your free hand atop his, "pepper balm, is it not?"

Daemon straightens up.

"The herb in river Noyne?"

"I-" he nods, "yes. Ysartia. Pepper balm."

You nod, "it is a ghastly bitter herb. I do not know if Caraxes will down it. I barely could, even with milk and honey."

He knits his brows, "you've had pepper balm?"

"I've had possibly every herb you can think of, Daemon," you mutter.

This only makes his brows further tighten.

For a moment, you lower your gaze in thought, then you decide to continue walking, "Delacius."

Daemon follows you, eager to keep holding you.

"He was the man my father hired whenever he needed something from Essos. He had a silver beard and a cut on his right eyebrow. He was massive, terrifyingly so, and had runes on his arms," you shake your head, "I met him only a few times, but he was someone you could not forget."

He is immediately enthralled. Your stories were normally told to all else but him. He is raring to hear this.

"He either smelled of sweat and sun... or barley, and gave me pressed flowers from his travels," you knit your brows, "... he was uncharacteristically gentle, considering my father told me he was a sellsword with a bounty on his head."

"Why did your father hire a sellsword to procure pepper balm?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "to cure me, Daemon," you roll your eyes, "hopefully."

The prince looks forward, "I did not know of this herb's existence until a week ago. None of the maesters nor dragon keepers seem to know it either."

He looks back at you when you squeeze his hand.

You offer him a gentle smile, "the oldest memory in my mind is that of my father leaving Oldtown to go to Highgarden. It did not know it, nor did I understand why. He had not been out longer than a day since we were born, neither had he ever gone without bidding me and my brother farewell. He had bid Gwayne, but I had slept in longer, and just missed him.

"I remember seeing his horse. I remember him seeing me run out to the yard. My nursemaid caught me and pulled me back, and father spared me but a glance upon his horse before trotting off," you shudder as the memory plays in your head, "I do not know why I thought he was leaving because me, but it was believed. It was the first time my heart tightened and my body trembled in anguish. I was bedridden when he returned, and he did not leave the chair beside me until I was strong enough to rouse.

"Since then, I have only gotten worse. The maesters first said my illness was simply borne from the fear of separation, of losing my father, my loved ones. It proved to be true, because whenever he left, I would get sick. Then my mother died, and heart began to give in if I ran too hard, or worried too much. My father allowed me to do less and less and procured more and more medicine," you purse your lips, "including pepper balm."

Daemon does not like the chuckle that leaves you.

"Clearly, none of them worked."

"Well, pepper balm is for the gut, not the heart," Daemon mumbles.

You shrug, turning away, "what cures the heart, I wonder."

He frowns at your expression and squeezes your hand.

You turn back to him.

"Love has brought color back to your face."

You chuckle and rub your tightening chest, "love is what drained it to begin with."

He looks away and hangs his head. He tenses when you pull away, but does not try to stop you.

Dinner is more frigid than usual for you were all of you cursed by the presence of the Lord Hand. Normally, attendance was reserved for four: you, Daemon, Alicent, and Aegon. Yes, there was the occasional ward, sometimes two, but even that he could stomach. There was something so putrid about the atmosphere because of this sour cunt, and Daemon knew it was not only him who thought so.

The only sounds in the room were of the cutlery and Aegon's babbling. Sometimes you or Alicent would respond to the boy, but it was silent otherwise. There was no reason for conversation to flow for you had not spoken to your father since Daemon's altercation with him in the hallway. And your sister was never particularly chatty in this time of day.

That all changes when—

"I have reassigned your wards," Otto mentions casually.

Everyone, save Aegon, turns to the old man. He, in turn, turns to Daemon, face blank, yet appearing as though he was looking for a challenge. The prince merely chuckles under his breath.

Your face, however, falls, "what?"

The Lord Hand takes a scoop of peas and chews it rather slowly

Daemon clenches his fist and slowly turns to you. You had been smiling at your nephew just a moment ago and now you were tense. He clears his throat and adjusts Dark Sister, which was leaned on the side of his chair.

Otto notices it. His lips curve as he swallows. He pats his mouth with a table napkin, then turns to you, "you have no use of them now that your husband is an ever ready presence."

Daemon chuckles, louder this time.

Your father's eyes flicker to him. He tilts his head, "do you disagree?"

You and Alicent tense as you look between the two glaring at each other.

"Mummy," Aegon points a chubby finger, "gravy please."

Alicent turns to the boy and pours some gravy on his potatoes.

Otto continues, "I don't recall you were ever fond of them anyw-"

"AH! MoOooOre!"

"No, Aegon," Alicent pushes his hands back when he tries to snag the gravy, "it's not a soup, you shouldn't put-"

"PLEASE!" he whines.

"-I don't recall you were ever fond of the Cargyll brothers," Otto finishes, eyes turning from his grandson to Daemon.

Daemon shrugs.

You frown, "where did you reassign them?"

"Back to their usual rotation," Otto turns to his plate and cuts some meat, "don't worry. You will not be seeing much of them, as they have much to attend to, considering the upcoming wedding."

"Āzma hen iā orvorta, glaesagon hae iā orvorta," Daemon says, making you turn to him. Born from a cunt, lives as a cunt.

"Orvorta." Aegon repeats. Cunt.

You gasp, "Aegon."

Daemon laughs, "kessa, ñuha valītsos. Aōha kepāzma iksis iā orvorta." Yes, my boy. Your (maternal) grandfather is a cunt.

"Gaomagon daor bodmagho se valītsos kōz ēngos," you grab Daemon's arm, making him laugh louder as he turns to you. Do not teach the boy evil tongue.

"Orvorta iksis daor kōz," Daemon chuckes, "mērī zirȳla... aōhon iksis gevie." Cunt is not evil. Only him… yours is beautiful.

You make a face and slap his arm.

Daemon snorts through his nostrils.

Otto attempts to get a word in again, but Aegon nearly jumps off his chair after deciding he was finished with his meal, stealing everyone's attention with him as he nearly crashes to the ground.

Alicent is forced to end her meal, and you do the same, not having much of an appetite anyway. You stand with your sister, and Daemon stands with you. He unabashedly eyes your father, silently warning him not to follow. Soon Otto is left in the room alone.

"Do not worry," Daemon tells you once you've parted with Alicent and Aegon in the hall.

You turn to his face and then to his hand when he takes your arm.

"You will keep your wards."

You take a sharp breath.

"I will not let him torment you with this," he shakes his head, "I cannot stand them, but I will not leave you lonelier because of mine own feelings."

Your lips wobble at his words.

Daemon frowns at it, heart aching at the slightest look of worry upon you, "I will speak to my brother about this, and if need be, I will speak to them myself."

Your forehead curls.

Daemon reaches for your hand, "do not worry. I will not cause commoti-"

You kiss his cheek, stealing his words and his breath at once.

He is gobsmacked when you pull away, unable to believe what had just happened.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Daemon feels his cheek tingle. He cannot help himself and touches the area which you laid your affection.

For a moment, it amuses you, but then his intense shock begins to make you wonder if you had overstepped... after all, you were never so physically affectionate. You only kissed when you laid together, and even then, it was hardly ever tender.

You shake your head and decide not to address it, "I... we should go to bed."

Daemon rubs his cheek, "... yes... t-to sleep..."

You feel your face flush and shake your head faster. You mutter, "yes, of course, what else for?"

Perhaps Daemon should be grateful that Otto was a scheming cunt. Things changed between you because of that dinner, because of that kiss. A barrier had been broken, a wall torn. You were no longer so distant. In times where he itched to reach for you, he would be shocked to have you touch him first.

You had invited him to do mundane tasks you normally accomplished on your own, like choosing the dress you were to wear for the day. You were no longer on such high guard.

And now, as music played in the great hall, as lords and ladies danced in celebration of the union of Rhaenyra and Laenor, you danced amidst it all and he could see you glistening. He saw you in a light he had not seen, or rather, he had been blind to.

You laughed, you frolicked, you danced, you lived— you were living. You were a shining, beauteous lady. You were you. This is who you were without the debilitating melancholy, without the cumbersome illness, without the suffocating father... without the sordid husband.

He watched upon the his seat on the banquet table how you grinned when it was your turn to spin around with Laenor. The sound of your laughter was set apart, as was the rest of you. You glimmered in your dress as you acted out the steps. Your face was not weighed so heavily by inhibitions. This was how you really looked. Daemon had never known it till now. He could not hide his awe.

Laenor notices and mutters as he twirls with you, "you should ask him to dance."

You look at him, smile morphing from glee to confusion, "who?"

"Who do you think?" he laughs, tilting his head to the side, bringing your attention there.

You look and see your husband, gaze locked upon you with the gentle smile. You stop dancing because of it, taken off-guard by the expression you had never seen before. You didn't think it was possible for him to look this way, to look at you this way. He looked fond, not lustful or hungry... dare it be love?

Laenor takes your arm, pulling you back into reality. When you finish the dance and applaud, you turn your back to Daemon, who was still staring at you.

Your breath catches in your throat when he stands and walks over. You are frozen in your spot.

Daemon tilts his head back and drinks in your form. He reaches a hand, "ñuha dārilaros." My princess.

You take his hand.

"Bisa siñagon ao," he rubs your knuckles with his thumb, "iksan biare naejot ūndegon ziry." This becomes you. I am glad to see it.

He pulls you into him and you hear your pulse thumping in your ears. His hand comes to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. The other comes to the small of you back, where he presses you flush against his.

Your breathing begins to shorten.

His lips barely move as he mutters, "lilagon lēda nyke?" Dance with me?

Your lips part but you can only nod.

Daemon pulls away but takes your hand. He leads you out of the room.

Rhaenyra watches you both leave the celebration early.

"I... did I misunderstand? Did you not ask me to dance?" you mutter as both pace down the western hall.

Daemon turns to you, squeezing your hand, "I did."

You stare at him for a moment, hoping that he'd explain.

He merely smiles at you.

You only realize he had taken you to the gardens when you arrive. It is a dark, moonless night, but you could still see his soft expression.

He brings you towards the fountain then takes both your hands.

You look up at him as he steps forward. He places your hands on his shoulders before brushing his own down your waist. You hold your breath when he brushes his nose against your temple, leaning into you. He begins to sway and you slowly follow suit. You sway with him, and only then do you bring yourself to relax. When you do, you take in his scent and relish his warmth.

"I will miss you greatly in my travel."

You tense and turn to him.

Daemon's eyes lock with yours. He tucks your brown hair behind your ear.

"The thought does not comfort me."

His brows furrow, "I... only meant to tell you."

Your eyes rove over his features. You notice the corner of his lips begin to droop, "why?"

"... why?" he repeats, almost questioning you. His brows furrow further, "I... I wish to be known..." he takes one of your hands from upon his shoulder, "like you know Laenor."

You watch him move your hand to his chest.

"Or Gwayne," he whisper softly, "or..."

You turn to him, brow quirking at his lowered gaze, "Alicent?"

"Mmm," he turns back to you, voice growing quieter, "yes... though I was going to say... ... your wards."

You laugh at his whisper.

Daemon thrives at the sound.

"My father is right," you shake your head, "I have not spent much time with them for you have kept my company..." you take a breath, "I admit, it has been a while since I've spoken to them."

"Well... that will change as I must leave your company again," he mutters.

"You can still keep me company even if you are not here," you bring a hand to his cheek.

He stiffens, throat tightening at your touch, at your words.

You feel your pulse begin to quicken as you open your mouth, "you... you could write to me."

Daemon involuntarily shakes his head, "I..." he grips the sides of your waist, "I would go mad not to receive word back from you."

You knit your brows and tilt your head, "do you assume I would ignore you?"

He pulls his head back. His lips part, "I-" he gulps, "it would be fair."

You take your turn to shake your head, "why would it be fair?"

"I... I hurt you."

"And hurting you in return will be a balm to me?" you brush his jaw.

"I-" his breath hitches, "it would be fair... to you."

"Fair..." you sigh, clutching his cheeks, "nary equates to right."

He is unable to keep your gaze. He chuckles under his breath as he looks off, "no one alive deserves your kindness."

"Deserve it then."

Daemons eyes flicker back to yours.

"Do not make me into you," you whisper, "be a little more like me."

You both stop swaying.

"Know me... like Viserys or Rhaenyra."

Daemon squeezes your side, "my love-"

Your belly rolls at the term.

"- we would not survive King's Landing if I let kindness cloud my judgment."

You sigh and shrug, "perhaps spare a bit of kindness for me?"

He deflates and rests his head upon yours. He embraces you tightly, "I swear to you, I try," he rubs your back. His body tingles when you return his embrace and rest your head on his shoulder. "You must understand I find it would be kind to behead your father."

You cannot help the chuckle that leaves you.

"I will not, for I know you find no kindness in it-"

"I do not."

"-but... it is truly kindness in my eyes."

You sigh, "then perhaps you must understand that I find it would be kind of me never to admit how your leave inspires my jealousy."

He stiffens and pulls away.

You chuckle bitterly as you see the looks of him, "I am sick... yet you would not stay for me."

Daemon opens his mouth, "I... I found no one who would go to Norvos."

You nod as your vision blurs with tears, "I kno-"

"I swear to you, if I could, I would bring you wi-"

"I know," you press your hand to his lips. You find yourself chuckling again but this time, tears stream down your face, "I will not stop you." You shake your head, "I should not have said it. It is not in my interest that you lose Caraxes."

Daemon grows teary eyed, "neither is it mine."

You nod and smoothen out his top.

"... shall... shall you see me off?"

You lower your head and disagree, "I would much rather not."

He squeezes your hand, "I understand."

The docks are surprisingly busy when he gets there. His things had been loaded beforehand, all that's left for him is to board.

"Why did you do it?"

Daemon stops and turns around.

Otto stands there in a dark, hooded cloak, "why did you reinstate her wards?"

He is immediately riled up, "what?"

"I was doing you a favor."

He chuckles dryly, "well, do me another and drown." The prince turns and makes towards the ship waiting for him.

"My daughter is a feeble woman," says the Hand, watching him walk away, "but she is a woman no less."

This makes him stop in his tracks. Daemon slowly looks over his shoulder, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

Daemon is freezes. The sound of a ship rocking with its anchor sounds with the wind. The next second, the prince turns on his heels and storms towards Otto.

The Hand is completely still as the prince yanks him by the collar. Daemon seethes, "you would poison me with ideas to the detriment of your daugh-"

"I tell you because I wish to save her," Otto quips, "this is your consequence; it was you who has poisoned her, made her strong-willed and disobedient. She was never meant for you. She would be happily living in Oldtown had you not been less of a weaselin-"

"Careful!" Daemon barks as he shakes him, "I have my hands on your neck."

"Kill me at your peril," Otto scoffs, "your satisfaction will be shorter than mine own once I meet the grave."

Daemon shoves him back and Otto skids on the dirt, nearly toppling over.

"Remember it was you who brought Arryk and Erryk back into her company," the old man dusts off his cloak as his nostrils flare.

"And remember it was I who took who your daughter's maidenhead and nearly slayed your son during a tourney."

With this, the prince storms towards his ship and the lord feels bile rise up his throat.