#iii. my blood; my family is standing right here

[rosewaterandivy]

iii. starlit night

summary: it's either fate or a cosmic joke.

pairing: s.h. x werewolf!reader

w.c.: 5.3K

warnings: blood, bloodlust, blood drinking, guts, gore, possessiveness, supernatural elements, quasi-mating rituals, exhausted best friend!eddie, no a/b/o, angst, mild dubious consent, amateur wound care, power dynamics

a/n: consider this my warm welcome to spooky season, happy autumnal equinox y’all! monsters need love too 🐺

m.list | playlist

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Eddie gave nothing away, and neither did you which was more than a little infuriating for Steve.

After the incident with the impromptu dog sitting and tire tracks on his lawn, he hadn’t seen hind nor hair of you. No daily runs in the woods, or in the crowd at Corroded’s Tuesday night shows, and certainly not frequenting Family Video.

The balm of summer has settled upon Hawkins, humidity sticking like dew to his skin no matter how long he lingers beneath the spray of the showerhead. He’s sweated through his shirt and vest by the time he clocks out to leave for the day, muttering his goodbyes to Robin as she reminds him to pick her up at closing tonight.

For as much as Steve loves the languid drip of summer days, he positively loathes the heat. Can’t stand feeling sticky and damp with no reprieve. So it’s really a no-brainer that he elects to waste the afternoon in the swimming pool, waiting for the a/c to cool the house to a respectable 68 degrees, utility bill be damned.

He’s driving back from Family Video, Robin in tow, as night falls. The streetlamps had a dull and ineffective glow which only partially illuminated the edges of the road. Steve took the back roads to Robin’s house, one of his many shortcuts through a town in which nothing ever happened.

“Steve!”

Robin’s gasp, and spastic pointing are enough to startle him from fiddling with the radio. Eyes slicing to the road, he sees an animal darting across the pavement, and swerves to miss them. The front corner of the car wings left as it grazes the animal with a loud thud, following by the shrill screech of wheels skidding to a stop.

His right hand splays against Robin’s collarbone and chest, pressing her back into the seat. He can feel her frantic breaths heaving from her lungs as she sucks in paltry breaths.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, fingers fumbling to release the seatbelt. She’s shaking a little from the shock of it all— Steve hitting an animal with his car on the edge of the greenbelt. Her mind is spinning and she can only imagine how he’s feeling, if the slight tremor in his hand still affixed to her chest is anything to go by.

“Is it—?”

He clears his throat and unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door quickly. “Just stay here, I’ll check it out.” The hazard lights click on as Steve steps out to approach the animal.

It’s lying at the center of the road, the poor thing’s chest rising and falling in slow succession. It’s still moving, hazily coming to in the still summer evening. Head turning toward him and eyes blinking away the fear in a flash of milk glass.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

Suddenly spurned into action, Steve moves with a speed that even Robin finds shocking. It’s a moment she’ll never forget. In an instant he heaves the large dog into his arms, shouting at her to open the back door in a panicked voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

She wonders why her best friend is profusely apologizing to an animal that seems, at first glance, none the worse for wear. Steve slides it into the back and jumps into the driver’s seat, peeling out so fast that she barely has time to get into the vehicle herself.

“Steve, what the ever loving fuck is going on?”

Turning to him for the first time since the slapdash animal rescue, Robin’s mouth falls open in thinly veiled terror. Steve is drenched in blood and debris, remnants of fur and skin stuck to his gray shirt, slowly staining itself maroon and perfuming the air with a metallic tang. It’s too much blood to be from the accident, right? The animal was already injured when they clipped it; it had to be.

He doesn’t reply, electing to simply speed back to his house and run a bloodied hand through his hair frantically.

Robin faces forward and blinks.

She catches a flicker of something in the rearview mirror.

Wrong noises are coming from the backseat, terrible growls and low whines. The sound of joints popping in and out of place, muscles shifting and pulling taut beneath skin. Teeth scraping and grinding against one another.

It’s the pain that brings you to consciousness— knifing through your skull and making you want to vomit. Swallowing back bile and blood in your mouth, you want to rip yourself apart and keep ripping until there’s nothing left. Your jaw is moving unnaturally so, everything is wrong and you want to scream. Piping hot and burning, you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust any second now when a hysterical shriek rends the air.

But not from you.

Steve is wholly unequipped to deal with his best friend’s nervous breakdown and a very naked what he can only assume werewolf dipping in and out of consciousness and bleeding out on the tile of his bathroom.

Between Robin’s blubbering and your soft murmurs, he can really only think to do one thing:

Call Eddie.

And that seemed like a good plan half an hour ago when he laid you in the bathtub and swaddled Robin in a smattering of blankets on the sofa downstairs.

But now, he’s not so sure.

Because Eddie strides into his house like god sent him to settle a score, wearing fury on his face in a way that could be considered cuttingly alluring, if not for the broken glass bottle digging into the skin of Steve’s neck as his back hits the wall.

“Give me one reason not to spill you guts all over your Nikes, Harrington.”

It’s more of a snarl than a request.

And what is there to say, really?

Sorry, I hit your werewolf best friend with my car after snooping around because for some ungodly reason I’m drawn to her and unable to control myself.

His hands and temples are covered in dried blood, dark and foreboding, crusted on his skin and hair and nails. To say nothing of his shirt, plastered to his chest and emanating a startingly metallic odor.

As if suddenly realizing this, Eddie blinks and loosens his grip on Steve’s shirt, palm coming away tinged in blood.

“What did you do?”

And, to be frank, Steve preferred Eddie’s rage to whatever this was, dread, he supposed.

“It was an accident.”

They both turn to the pile of blankets on the couch that is Robin. Only her face is visible, pale and dazed.

Eddie turns back to Steve with a look that could turn most people to stone, and yanks him up the stairs to the bathroom.

Greeted by a warm wall of steam, Eddie shoves Steve toward the sink with gruff instructions to find a first-aid kit. He crouches in front of you and murmurs in a soft voice. Languorously, you turn your head toward him with an easy smile, lips bloody.

“Hiya pal.”

Your voice is a croak, rough and jagged as it edges up your throat.

Eddie says nothing, rolling his lips between his teeth as his hands close in around your face turning it this way and that as gently as he can. The spray of the hot water has matted your hair impossibly at the back of your skull, rivulets coming back a translucent red on his palm. A large bruise blooms burgundy against your hip, splotchy and livid.

He leans you forward to survey your back, brushing away the rocks and dirt embedded into your skin and mindful of the raised red road rash. But none of that goes to explain the blood swirling down the drain— where is it coming from?

Steve stands awkwardly behind, red and white box in hand.

Elbows resting on your knees as Eddie continues his perusal of wounds, you shoot him a sleepy smile before your head falls to your forearms. The mad fluttering of your eyelashes as you battle to stay awake.

“She can sleep damn near anywhere,” Eddie mutters as your body goes lax in his arms, “Long as she knows she’s the deadliest thing in the room.”

“Is that, uh, safe?” Steve asks, handing the kit over as Eddie extends his hand.

“Safe enough. Help me turn her on her side, will ya?”

Both men let out a jarring gasp at the sight of the bite to your side. A festering and weeping thing, blood almost black as it skitters down your stomach and back. Steve’s mouth fills with saliva as he steps back and vomits. Eddie’s nostrils flare as he breathes steadily in and out, trying to piece out who or what could’ve done such a thing to you.

Steve spits a few times for good measure before gargling some mouthwash.

“I told you not to go in the woods.”

It’s about as subtle as a grenade, Eddie’s pointed accusation.

But that doesn’t make it any less true. If Steve would have just minded his own business, heeded Munson’s warnings, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in his bathtub right now.

“I-I know. I’m sorry.”

He leans back on his heels, a ringed hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as Eddie methodically begins setting out bandages, antiseptic, and gauze.

“Can you thread a needle?” He asks around a wisp of silver clenched between his teeth and hands the needle and spool of thread to Steve.

“Yeah, sure.”

“And find her some clothes.”

“Uh huh.”

He hands the threaded needle back to Eddie with trembling hands, absolutely terrified at the gray pallor of your skin. The surface wounds stitching themselves closed, as blood seeps from mangled flesh curving along your side.

Steve haphazardly grabs a shirt and shorts, tossing them to the side as he’s hauled back toward the bathtub. In the few minutes of his absence, Eddie has worked quickly. Your wounds are scrubbed clean and bandaged, and he’s angled the showerhead to hit just beneath your wound having cleaned it prior.

“Okay Harrington,” Eddie begins, grabbing a switchblade from his pocket and pouring the antiseptic over the blade as it flicks open. “Here’s how it’s gonna go: the wound is too severe for a simple bandage and she’d bleed through it anyway. The only shot in hell we have is you staying close and using your blood to jumpstart her system. We’ll have to be quick—”

“Wait, what?”

“Because I’ll have to disinfect the bite before her were instincts kick in and she starts healing on her own. S’like jumping a car, no big deal.”

Stupidly, Steve doesn’t pull back his palm from Eddie in time, as the wet slice of the blade pierces his skin. It burns as the blood wells up from the cut, bright red and cascading down his hand. Eddie yanks Steve’s hand toward your partially open mouth, eyelids fluttering in your uneasy sleep.

He presses the heel of Steve’s palm to your lips until you subconsciously latch, the tips of your fangs grazing his skin. It’s horrifying, Steve thinks, how easily your tongue laps at the ruby red rivulets weeping from his broken skin. You hum contentedly, swallowing over and over again until he realizes that he’s gone all slack and whimpering.

Well, now that is just embarrassing.

“All right, champ,” Eddie says, pulling you off of Steve and he mourns the loss of the warmth of your lips.

You tip back against the porcelain and howl as Eddie pours antiseptic onto the wound that is rapidly stitching itself together on your side.

Steve falls with a thud against the wall, cradling his cut palm to his chest as he watches in holy terror as you magically revive before his very eyes.

“Blood of your blood.”

Eddie says this as if it could possibly explain anything.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Steve can see the blood— his blood— as it warms your cheeks and lips, pumps life back into your muscles and arteries. And you must be a living nightmare torn straight from the depths of his mind, more wild than the wilderness skirting the edges of town, a cursed thing surely there to kill them all.

“She’ll be weak for a few days,” Eddie says, leaning back against the wall after he cuts off the water. “We’ll just keep her hydrated and fed and she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Delirium must be setting in, because Steve finds himself nodding along to Eddie’s instructions. Allows himself to be tugged forward by the lanky man as he slices a near-identical cut into your palm.

“Drink, it’ll close up soon and you need your strength.”

Steve doesn’t even think twice about it, sinking his teeth into the meat of your palm and sucking. Every time your body tried to stitch itself back together, he draws forth another pull of garnet blood, precious droplets cascading down his jaw and neck, failing to stifle the noise trying to break free from his throat.

The room doesn’t so much as spin as it shifts, blurring out in haze and lights bursting like stars behind his eyelids. He tongues at your lifeline, gasping, slurping, and moaning until—

“Okay Romeo, slow it down there.”

Eddie grips the scruff of his neck like he’s an overexcited puppy and jerks him backward onto the cold tile floor.

“‘Kay,” He blinks lazily, mouth slick and painted a violent shade of red as he slumps to the floor.

Eddie eyes him warily, “Ya with us, Harrington?”

“Feel high,” Steve replies, still woozy and buzzing.

Before he can reply, you shake yourself awake and shudder in the cool air. You look around, everything too bright and smelling like you’d huffed the entire contents of a janitor’s closet. Someone tosses a shirt and shorts your way, and you slowly worm your way into the clothes. Skin feeling too tight and something smarting at your hip.

“Fuck,” A dazed voice says, sending a shiver down your spine. A hand gently touching the side of your face, blood smearing against your cheekbone as he turns your head. “Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

Eddie scoffs from somewhere near, as your lips kick up in a smile. His thumb grazes the full of your lips, skirting against the pearly white of your fangs. And it’s only when you take in a lungful of Harrington that it all falls together.

Tearing yourself from the surging desire to nuzzle into his open palm, you bare your teeth and train your eyes on Eddie. Snarling to say:

“The fuck did you do.”

Because there was absolutely no way this human was somehow halfway to being your mate.

Not when you’d told your Guardian, who was smirking down at you now, that under no circumstances would that be happening.

He barks a laugh and shrugs as if to say, you were dying, what could I do?

You shakily stand, ignoring the crestfallen expression on Steve’s face, and amble out of the bathroom.

Life must have been some cruel joke, only to serve Steve Harrington, of all people, up on a plate and wave him in your face as something you could ever afford to keep.

A cutting slice of tragedy to give him some kind of forever, when you couldn’t even take care of yourself, much less a pack.

The words of the only father figure you’d ever known pounded in your skull as you hurried down the stairs and out into the balmy night:

This is a gift, it comes with a price.

You’re gone for what feels like days.

A span of time that finds Steve shaky and pale, nearly biting off the heads of everyone currently invading his house instead of answering their inane questions, until a voice in his head warns, Easy now.

Robin’s somewhat functioning, though not entirely recovered from the shock of the century; the revelation that werewolves exist. And that her best friend is fated to be with one.

She just about lost her mind when Eddie sat the pair of them down to explain things.

“Mates. What does that mean?”

She’d done most of the talking, since Steve hadn’t said a word since you left.

Eddie sighs and his eyes dart back and forth, as if he’s second guessing himself in sharing this information outside the pack, as ramshackle as it was.

“It’s like, having partner, I guess. But it’s predetermined biologically? We don’t really know how or why it happens, and it’s rare when it does.”

“So… not every werewolf gets a mate.”

“Well, I mean they can date and be with whoever they want, just like us. But if there’s a mate and the circumstances align just so…” He trails off and glances at Steve, guilt etched on his face. “It makes being with anyone besides your mate difficult.”

“How so?”

“Kind of like a bad break-up, but you both want to be together? There’s no physical ailment, but you just feel—”

“Abandoned.”

Eddie swallows and nods.

“And she just—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” He cautions Robin. “She could come back, we don’t know. But, to be fair, I did kind of fuck it up.”

“Wait, hold on.” Robin extricates an arm from her swaddle of blankets and grabs Steve’s hand, “So you’re saying that she didn’t reject this whole thing?! She just ran out of here like a bat outta hell! How is that not a rejection?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Okay,” she drawls, “And?”

Eddie sharks his head, “I really can’t say more than I already have.”

She scoffs, “That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.”

Eddie’s eyes cut back to Steve as he lets Robin run his thumb across his bandaged hand. His eyes almost looking through Eddie, far off and distant. It’s spooky, how quickly the light left him as you slipped out of the front door that night. How Steve could tell the instant it happened, jerking upright on the tile floor and Eddie watched as his body tensed, muscles coiling with adrenaline and no way to rid himself of it.

He scrubs a hand down the tired plane of his face, letting loose a beleaguered sigh.

“Look, I’m a Guardian, not a Scrivener alright?”

“Like we’re supposed to know what that means!” Robin hisses in reply, thumb worrying across Steve’s lax palm.

“I just gotta make a call, okay?” He says, rising to stand and roll his neck. “Stay with him until I get back.”

“Yeah,” She calls as he walks to the phone in the kitchen, fingers punching in the familiar set of numbers. “No shit, Sherlock!”

Eddie drums his fingers against the wall and hopes to God she picks up, because if he has to talk to her mother one more time—

“Hello, Wheeler residence,” She chirps down the line.

Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, his forehead resting on the cool wood paneling as he says, “Hey Nance, we’ve got a bit of a situation. Can you make it to Harrington’s place?”

It takes all of ten minutes for Nancy Wheeler to come barrelling in, her arms laden with books and giving Eddie a look that would strike lesser men dead on the spot.

“I could kill you Munson.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He says with a lazy wave of his hand, “Join the club Wheels.”

“I get first dibs,” Robin pipes up with her first smile of the evening.

“Guess I’ll settle for sloppy seconds then,” Nancy huffs, dropping the books on an ottoman. “I can’t believe you did this, going against not only her express wishes but Steve’s as well? Bet you didn’t even tell him what all this entailed and now look at him!”

Steve, for all the talk about him, says nothing. His face radiating heat and steadily becoming a vibrant pink.

“Is he,” Eddie begins, stepping closer. “Blushing?”

“Nah,” Robin says knowing best and laying a cool palm to his forehead, “That’s no blush, that’s a fever.”

The thing about Steve is that he rarely, if ever, gets sick. Had perfect attendance all through school, until he got caught skipping, because he’d never gotten the crud. So when he emits a full body shiver, Robin has no choice but to act.

His teeth are still chattering even after being hauled upstairs and smothered beneath blankets. And saying that Steve feels ill, or under the weather or even is inching toward death is a massive understatement.

He grunts beneath the sheets and blankets, socked feet sliding against the rumpled fabric. He aches from the top of his head to the toes of his feet, somehow his fingernails hurt. What is up with that bullshit?

And yeah, he’s supposed to stay in bed, he knows that. But he can’t see the door from up here and what if you come back, what then? What if you and Eddie get into it again and you storm out?

He’s not warming up any more up here than he would down there. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he thrashes beneath the covers and hobbles down the hall.

What Steve is not anticipating however, is to find his living room filled with the likes of Chief Hopper and his daughter El, a lanky older man that he doesn’t recognize, the Byers family, Lucas, Dustin, Mike, Max, Billy fucking Hargrove, and finally, you.

So, it’s not all that surprising when he slumps to a heap on the landing of the stairs.

Alright, okay, he passed out a little bit. What gives?

Well, in your opinion (which really is the only one that matters at present), Steve fucked up is what.

Not only did he get out of bed and drop like a sack of potatoes at the sight of what can only be described as a pack of people? Werwolves, who knows—in his house, but on the way down, he managed to knock his head on the banister and come to with someone half-shouting at him and half-shouting at everyone else in the room.

“If anything, this is Munson’s fault.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove,” Eddie sulks, “No one asked for the opinion of a drop-out meat-head.”

“That’s rich coming from you, super senior.”

“I swear to god—”

“Boy, you better settle down!”

“C’mon Wayne, I’m just—”

A low, warning growl cuts through the room.

Everyone has the common sense to look abashed, tail between their legs, and even Hargrove stubs out his cigarette.

“Cut that shit out.”

Angry eyes greet Steve as he groggily comes to. Irises bleeding milky white as you struggle to contain your baser nature.

“Are you alright?”

Each word is bitten and harsh, your teeth set in a tidy row against your plump lips.

He nods, wincing at the pain blooming in his temple. You continue to glare as you sit him upright, “You.”

Steve flinches, pain thudding dully in his skull, all too aware that there will be an audience at his execution if your expression is anything to go by. He opens his mouth to apologize, the sibilant ‘s’ on the tip of his tongue, until your eyes slice to his and stun him into silence.

“Don’t you even start.” With a sigh, you join him leaning back against the railing, hand falling uselessly between you. “This is all my fault. You wouldn't be in this mess if I had any lick of sense.”

It startles a laugh from him, how quickly you rush to accept the blame.

“Well, I did hit you with my car.”

“Oh, right,” You snort, “That.”

“Can I um,” He says haltingly, “What happened?”

Your head knocks once against the wood banister, “You were supposed to stay in bed.” Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Best I can guess is you were worried and got up. Only to be greeted with the shock of a lifetime by having a buncha weres in your living room.”

His lips form a silent ‘oh.’

“We’re not a pack,” You’re quick to clarify, “At least, not officially. And they’re not all weres, just most of ‘em.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, and Steve is placated, for now.

“Hey, boss?”

Though, he still can’t get over that Billy motherfucking Hargrove is in his living room and deferring to you. You merely turn your head before he says something about some vital information being left out of the welcome packets for tonight, and you sigh with a roll of your eyes.

“Sure Hargrove, lemme get Steve settled and we’ll get into it.”

You stand up pulling Steve with you, and he sees Billy nod before lighting up another cigarette and turning toward the window.

He’s insistent that he doesn’t need a babysitter, but that does nothing to stop Dustin from inviting himself into Steve’s room when you go down to sort things out with the not-pack. He feels marginally better, and maybe Eddie was right when he said proximity helps. He doesn’t feel as wrecked as he was earlier, and if anything, it’s getting a bit hot underneath all the covers on his bed.

“Don’t smother him, Henderson,” You grunt, sticking out your chin as you lean on the doorjamb an hour or so later, while Dustin continues piling blankets on Steve. “This isn’t Mommy Dearest, kid.”

Steve thinks it’s cute, the slight drawl in your voice as you scold him. It’s probably your not-pack voice, the lower register, and gruffness of it. Packmaster-mode, Dustin had called it, even though the title is technically Alpha. But no one calls you that to your face, something about not liking the moniker or responsibility of it.

“Alright punk, scram.”

Dustin does as he’s told, begrudgingly so.

“Y’know,” He says, pausing at the door, “You’ve got to work on your people skills.”

Flicking the hat off of his head and shutting the door in response, you turn back to Steve looking ready to throttle the pipsqueak.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You sigh, slumping down on the bed.

“It’s his ego, right?”

You blow a raspberry and let out a humorless laugh, “Eddie says it’s his tone.”

“Hmm, yeah. That too.”

Steve shuffled over to make room on the bed and peeled the covers back in a huff. You’d kicked off your sneakers and snuck one leg under the sheets next to his, the other propped with your foot resting on the mattress.

“Oh my god, you’re so warm.”

“Yeah, we run hot. It’s a were thing.”

Steve doesn’t sag against you exactly—it wouldn’t make any sort of physical sense—but he feels like he does it metaphorically.

“Ugh, that must be brutal in the summer.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” You give him a small smile and let your arm graze his thigh. “But it’s not all bad.”

Steve picks idly at the fraying hem of his shorts, fingers itching for something, anything to do. He’s not mad, well, not exactly, but he is kinda keyed up.

“Can hear you thinkin’ in there.”

You crack an eye open, and he turns back, a blush dusting his cheekbones.

“It’s just—” He starts to say, falling silent as you sit up beside him, the legs of your shorts, which are unfortunately boxers he grabbed without looking, rise up to reveal the soft skin of your thighs. And your skin is the only thing soft about you, from what Steve can tell.

“You didn’t even give me a choice.”

The light in your eyes snuffs itself out. Your face falls as you take in what he’s just said.

You clear your throat, “It’s not much of a choice,” Voice soft and small, “Not really.”

Steve nods, rolling his shoulder and chewing on his lip.

“Look, I’m really sorry Steve, truly. And if there was a way I could go back and undo all of this, I would.”

A momentarily panic flares up in his chest. No, that's not what he— he didn’t mean it in that way. He frustratedly runs a hand through his hair, recalling how Nancy pointed out that communication had never been his strong suit.

“No, hold on. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all fucked up now,” You admit, “Eddie knew how I felt about it and he went and did it, anyway. He claims it was done in my best interest, but he’s a smarmy motherfucker when he wants to be.” It all rushes out of you in the span of a breath, but now you’re on a roll and can’t stop, no matter the defeated expression on Steve’s face.

“He just like, dove straight in and started the Blood Rite without either of our consent, and now we’re stuck in this labyrinthian limbo from hell because you’ve had my blood and I’ve had yours. So how are we ever gonna know if any of this,” You wave frantically between your bodies as if it’s somehow proof, “Is a legitimate and purposeful choice or the result of fucking werewolf nonsense?!”

Well, Steve certainly wasn’t expecting any of that.

He looks at you, so directly it’s almost a challenge, the muscle in his jaw working steadily and you have to will your need to dominate deep down like the slumbering beast it is. But he’d look so pretty laid out and begging underneath you.

Ahem, another time maybe.

“You don’t wanna do this.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant.”

“Steve, no—”

“Heavily implied.” He spits, turning toward you and shifting up on his knees. “I’m not stupid, y’know.” Steve says, and seeing you caught off-guard like this has set something into motion that he just can’t get the precise nature of yet.

You swallow and drag your hand down your face, letting it settle across your lips as you study him. Keen eyes, a predator’s eyes following every movement as he spreads his legs wide, nearly straddling you but not quite.

“A part of you wants me.”

You're staring at the ceiling fan now, but your face has gone tight with frustration and something else.

“More than you should.”

One hand distractedly pushes the hair from your face, your mouth falling open to argue.

“Well?”

You swallow, pushing yourself up straighter. “I should go,” You say carefully, eyes rapt on Steve’s face. Responding more to the tone in his voice than anything else, and you chafe under the ease with which he wields it.

He doesn’t back down, which only stokes your ire. Steve’s close enough to touch, but remaining just out of reach, taunting that part of you that howls for him.

Well, two can play at that game.

Desire uncoils in your gut at a lazy pace, taking its time to pool beneath your navel. It shakes you alive, prompting you to disentangle yourself from the sheets wrapped about your ankles. Rising to your haunches as if readying yourself for a chase, Steve feels himself prickle hot all over just at the sight of it.

He licks his lips, and he’s so close that you can feel rather than see the slight shudder of his body. If you pushed just a bit harder, took in a little more atmosphere he’d fall like a house of cards.

And then, to the victor go the spoils.

Steve shakes his head and sighs, it’s such an infuriatingly him gesture that you’re nearly taken aback. But his gaze remains steady, just as his hands and heart do, the comforting da-dum, da-dum, da-dum of it drawing you closer and closer.

Normally, you’d find it endearing. So familiar that you can paint it with your eyes shut, but not tonight, not when you have the moon and him singing in your veins, emotions a bit fraught and not entirely your own.

Walking on your knees across the bed as if it’s a desert, and you’d spent hundreds of miles repenting, Steve stills.

Baring your teeth to smile wide and wild, “C’mere honey,” You croon, saccharine sweet. “I’ll play nice.”

He breathes your name, there’s no other word in his head.

Some things are fated, destined, and mapped in the stars, but nowhere is it said that these things need to be kind.

[damnatvs]

tag drop (relationship tags)

[anundyingfidelity]

RED LEDGER — Soldier Boy/Ben (Chapter III)

Summary: As a former FBSA analyst, you find yourself fighting against supes in a morally gray manner. Knowing there’s not much to do thanks to Hughie’s revelations about your current director and your hidden feelings for him, you agree to help his team despite your lack of special abilities. Just like Butcher and his boys, your family has been hurted badly by Vought and its superhuman puppets. But the one you hate the most is perhaps the worst nightmare you could ever ask to face every damn day: Soldier Boy in the flesh.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 3.6k.

Genre: slow burn, angst, some hurt/comfort and romance in the end.

Warnings: Soldier Boy hurting reader intentionally and unintentionally, some misogyny, suggestive and sexual themes, mentions of a dead older brother, mentions of drugs and alcohol usage, usual language, canon violence, wounds, blood, some OOC!Soldier Boy, reader is a badass, unrequited love (Hughie x reader).

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III

GEN MASTERLIST!

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Anyone could say Hughie was doing better, staying behind during missions with Frenchie as they watched over the lab with the hacked cameras inside his van, but you were great. The constant bicker and verbal vomit you exchanged with Soldier Boy was becoming a routine at this point, even if Butcher had tried to make his presence less sufferable around you. However, once you made it back to the building, you felt everything was different since he had saved you. You had to enter the bathroom to wash your face before taking at least two hours to sleep and try to suppress the dazed thoughts in your mind. But once you went out, you encountered Hughie standing against the wall with arms crossed over his chest. His eyes brightened when he saw you.

“You okay, right?” he asked with a frown, looking for any wound or sign of discomfort on your face. He truly showed that he cared about you, and it made your heart ache just a little.

You hummed, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’m fine. I gave Butcher the device already. Guess I was lucky enough…”

“He saved you, didn’t he,” Hughie commented. “I saw Soldier Boy and the supe terrorist from outside, but I couldn’t watch the room you were in. I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Well, without you I shouldn’t be here either,” you smiled softly at him.

“So I’m the hero now?” Hughie teased back and you chuckled. He had this confidence with you only and you had missed him being like this the past few days.

“No, I think you’re better.”

He beamed at your compliment, because both of you knew how supes could be. How heroes could really be. Hughie was none of that, and he cared for the team, and you, and then Annie. Avoiding your mind wandering all over those awful feelings of yours, you said goodnight with a smile, considering it was dawn already. Hughie gave you a nod before disappearing on his door, meeting his girlfriend inside. You knew she was there now because the walls were so thin sometimes, and you could hear her voice even after the doors were closed.

“You always follow him like a lost puppy,” Soldier Boy said on your back, making you turn around to meet his gaze as he wiped the dry stain of blood on his bearded cheek. “You should give up already.”

He looked very different from the man who had saved your ass less than an hour ago. You rolled your eyes.

“Are you still jealous?”

He scoffed. “What for?”

“Because Hughie is a decent human being with me, you can start there.”

The playfulness in his eyes quickly vanished, and was replaced by an unreadable feeling you couldn’t precisely describe. “I saved your ass out there. Not because I think I owe you, it was the right thing to do.”

“You can’t say that while treating me like a piece of meat—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted your words with the same stern gaze and you found it impossible to look away from his eyes. “I know you think I’m a monster, and I don’t blame you, but I’ll do it again if necessary. You don’t really know me, Y/N. And you don’t know what I’ve been through, here or back there in that hell of a shithole. I’ve had it as hard as any of you could have it in hands of those russian fuckers, playing with my mind and my body to try and find a way to kill me, and after all, they still failed.”

There was a small spark in his eyes, speaking with sincerity, and you remembered reading his file, and hearing about the tapes they found of those tortuous experiments he had been put through. But you had to tell yourself he was just playing with you, using his own suffering to make you feel a bit of empathy for him, which behind all the hate you grew in your chest, was still there. It was completely normal and human to feel that way nonetheless. You just thought he didn’t deserve it.

Fucking men. They all thought you owe them for doing something slightly honorable and modest, like saving a non-super girl’s life. And this is why you started to hate the fact that Soldier Boy did save your ass back there, without caring if it was just because of his own personal interests. What’s done is done, they say. You were in red numbers now in your little, personal ledger book and it was the worst feeling ever.

“You don’t know me either, Ben. Save that up for yourself,” you talked through your teeth before walking away and locking yourself inside your room.

He promised himself that day he had to have you anyway.

For the last few days, Butcher had been complaining about your bickering with Soldier Boy about the smallest of things. He wasn’t the only one though. You had to bear MM and his talk while he also wished to kill the supe, and then there was Hughie’s attempt to calm you down, even if he was pissed inside due to the reckless behavior coming from Soldier Boy. Finally, the signs Kimiko used that you barely understood were because she also thought Ben had to be punished for his stupidity, and Annie being absolutely on your side. Everyone knew he was a jerk.

And now, after planning to take down another lab you found on the map, he was an insufferable pain in the ass with you. Since Hughie was almost completely healed along with you, he had been noticing you spending more time together. Yeah, you missed your friend, but Ben had no right to behave that way with you. Not after making it clear you and him didn’t connect really well.

“If you’re gonna stare all day, I can give you a picture,” you said without looking away from your laptop.

Soldier Boy raised his eyebrows at your remark. “You told me to shut up, sweetie. But a picture wouldn’t be wrong.”

You grimaced with disgust, typing on the keyboard. “You’re still here, it’s annoying.”

“You have so much luck we’re alone right now,” he said and you could imagine the dirty smirk putting on his lips.

“No, I’m not lucky to be here with you, it’s threatening,” you said harshly, looking at him for the first time since he sat down to watch you work.

His eyes softened for a moment as he spoke. “Well, I guess we can bond.”

Turning your eyes away, you let a silence embrace both of you. You were praying for a moment of peace without him, but that was nearly impossible. It was like he was the one following you around like a lost puppy, and you couldn’t really shove him away.

“Look, I might know how you feel,” Soldier Boy started, you watched him from the corner of your eye just expecting his next words. “And I do remember that mission in East Philly. Vought forced us to go there. They used to create some small criminals if things were quiet. That day, the robberies all over the city were, well, part of the show. We didn’t care at that time, but now it’s… different. And I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said with a calm and soothing voice that surprised you that you even stopped typing just to listen. “If anything, my team’s dead, longgone, and I was suffering for four decades at the hands of the reds.”

Yes, but you’re still here and now I owe you my life even though I still hate you.

With a sigh, you tried to swallow his words and his fucking apology. He took so long for that. Maybe he wasn’t really feeling what he had just said, probably it was just an act, but you were starting to feel worn out for Soldier Boy, for his acts, for his presence, and all the hurtful things he’d said to you, and you realized it wasn’t really worth it. His true self towards you was everything but being kind, so this was new and in any way, you had to take it to not look like a bitch. And the memory of him saving you was hunting you deeply. Sometimes you just wished you had died right there instead. You wouldn’t be feeling this way if that terrorist had ended with your life. You let out a deep sigh and continued checking the screen of your laptop under his stare.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled. “It happened already, we can’t change the past.”

“No, but we can let this go in a different direction.”

Surprised by his statement, you looked at him, trying to decipher if he was being honest or not. But he was so damn hard to read. You swallowed, searching for something to say. Anything that could end the conversation already. You nodded with your head, studying his gaze.

“Okay, but this is the only chance you’ve got. Don’t screw it up.”

“C’mon,” you hissed, hitting the door button for the elevator multiple times.

The lab base you were in now was the biggest one since you started taking them down. It was a huge, old building with around fifteen floors. Most of the metal around was rusty, and it was possible most of the dirt stains on the walls were because of blood, guts and brains splattered all over. It was certainly disgusting to wander around and touch the machines in the room you had been in. And since the place was enormous, the team had to split up. You were on the last floor, unfortunately followed by Soldier Boy while taking out part of the information inside the computers with your device. Hughie and Frenchie had discovered there was another room with data in the sixth floor though, and you had to head there fast, meanwhile Ben distracted the huge guard injected of V back in the aisle. You were pretty sure that fucker was around seven feet tall when you saw him, and you were somewhat and justly damn scared.

Like heaven sent, the doors slid and you heard heavy steps approaching you. Looking for the sound you saw Soldier Boy walking towards you with long strides.

“Let’s go,” you said, getting inside. Soldier Boy followed in silence while taking a quick glance around. “Is he dead?”

“I hope so,” he replied and you eyed him warily. The elevator doors started closing. Just like pretty much every place you’ve been, it was as corroded and dirty inside, the lights barely on and flickering.

You pushed the button to the sixth floor. “Why you hope so?”

A huge hand stopped the door from closing completely, you yelped, stepping back immediately until your back hit the wall.

“Because of that,” Ben said, noticing the elevator won’t move.

“Well, I hope we don’t get trapped!” you shouted as he used the shield to cut off his hand but it was harder than he expected.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed through teeth.

The unknown hand was able to throw his shield away, grabbing Soldier Boy by his neck. He lifted Ben up with ease and even if you had the strength to pick the shield you wouldn’t know what to do. Quickly you took a glance to the panel of buttons, and pushed the alarm button in hopes that it might do something. You pushed it repeatedly until your hand hurted. In seconds, the lights went out and the elevator started to fall. The good thing coming out of it was the supe’s hand being cut, releasing Ben’s throat as the stained blood doors closed.

With a loud gasp, you fell on your butt down to the ground, feeling gravity taking you to the bottom of the building. You grasped onto an iron bar clamped to the wall as the emergency lights went on and you pushed the red stop button. For some reason, you were hoping to not work but, thankfully, it did. The lift stopped abruptly on the next floor. The old marker said it was the fifth floor. Soldier Boy sat up straight on the ground, his eyes shockingly staring at you, wide and with his mouth falling open in awe. However, it was still difficult for you to read exactly what he meant. He was too prideful to admit you had saved him from that monster.

You pushed the open doors button again as he stood on his feet and followed you out.

“Well, we’re even now,” you remarked with a playful tone in your voice. “We're gonna use the stairs starting today.”

Quickly, you walked away to get to the stairs not letting him answer. He knew better you had paid your life debt. He smiled following you through the empty aisle, and found out he loved your confidence more than he would ever admit.

Not a word about the elevator incident had been exchanged between you and Ben. Since that small talk you had, he certainly tried to be better with you. Sometimes he had those stupid moments, saying dumb things and snapping back at you for small things and you used to fight him with words in front of everyone, but besides that, you noticed he really started to change. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy teasing him back. In the end, he deserved it and you needed some fun.

“We need to attack from the back,” Ben fumed, discussing the next plan in the living with you. The last plan was Vought, and being honest it was also frightening.

“No, it’s better if we infiltrate. But not with you, of course,” you said plainly. “You stay behind.”

“You still need me for this, sugar,” he teased with the last word and you felt your cheeks burning at the pet name.

A couple of weeks ago, you had to admit to yourself that Soldier Boy wasn’t that bad, and you were still learning to forgive together. Deep inside, you weren’t so different. Both hurted souls, forced to be there in a way due to the circumstances, regretting terrible things you had done to others… You had much more in common, and maybe if he hadn’t started with the wrong side, probably he would have gotten what he wanted from you by now. You got to understand his pasts, his demons, and everything you welcomed all that inside your heart because it hurted, as much as what you’ve been through. He wouldn’t drop the words from his mouth, but standing close, talking, and sharing your past in random night conversations had certainly done something for him, and you were starting to get used to it. To know he was improving because of you. Now, nothing didn’t matter. Your wound? Better than ever. You had worse anyway. It was just the blind loathing taking care of your actions and your feelings.

And Ben, on the other hand, had the slight chance you’d be liking him more now. He noticed your heartbeat dropping from the ridiculous high rate when you saw Hughie to a normal one. Instead, he felt yours rising a little when he was near. Just like in this moment, sitting together by the desk. He could feel your thigh against his own, the personal space not being a nuisance anymore for you. And he longed for it more than ever. He liked you since the day he saw you, but the circumstances and the events that life had presented to both of you made everything twice as hard. Until now.

You dropped your shoulders and sighed, trying to relax. “I guess we do. But you’re still being watched. We can’t risk it.”

He lifted a brow, surprised by your words. “Are you worried about me?”

All you could do was shrug. “I— I don’t know. I mean, uhm, how are you ever going back there?”

“Y/N,” Ben called you softly, his rough hand cupping your cheek. “I have things to do and speak to some people for the last time and finish one last personal mission. So don’t try to stop me.”

“But then what?” you mumbled, leaning against his touch.

“I sneaked before in this stupid century without knowing anything. I can do it again,” he said, as if promising something.

But you couldn’t get it clear when he leaned towards you, his lips so close to yours. In that moment, you wanted to taste them, to throw yourself at him after denying your body and mind for so long. He was the one you wanted in the end. Not Hughie, not anyone. Ben showed you the worst of him, as much as his best. You couldn’t withhold the need in your heart to say you liked him, or maybe more than that. An idiot and all he was, but you were far beyond perfect too, and it was fine.

“Ben, if you’re trying to tell me anything, just say it…”

And instead of saying, he showed you. Lips went against yours softer than you expected, as he began pulling you against him. You closed your eyes, letting him guide the kiss smoothly. The taste of his last shot of alcohol filled your senses, his beard scratching you a little, losing yourself as his other hand tangled lovingly in your hair. For the first time, you breathed the same air and the tight knot in your chest blew up, finally giving in one of the things you also were most afraid of. But you both already had a broken heart before. Feeling him was worth the shot.

“What does this mean?” you whispered once the kiss was broken.

He softly caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, and you finally could read his face. It was affection and it made your heart clench.

“That I want you to try this, to try us.”

All you could do was nod, speechless. He kissed you again, a little impatient this time and you moaned against his mouth. Ben picked you up effortlessly and sat you down on the empty side of the desk, his hands wandering on your skin as your fingers scratched his arms, pulling him closer until you were chest to chest. That night you had the place to yourselves, so he took sweet time with you, worshiping your body like no one ever had, and you fell harder each time he brought you to the sweet edge until his name was the only thing in your mind. You knew escaping together after the whole shitty circus of Vought ended would be like the best honey you ever tasted.

THE END.

Soldier Boy taglist: @delaynew @k-slla

@thesilmarillionblog

@onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester

@daisy-the-quake

@jackles010378

@mostlymarvelgirl

@deans-spinster-witch

@stoneyggirl2

@sapnaploves

@yvonneeeee

[delulustateofmind]

Between Worlds Part III

A/n: Wasn't planning on writing more, but your support changed my mind! The series now has a title. Thanks to all who liked and reblogged the first two fics. You're amazing! Hope you all enjoy the third part :)) I did change the POV to make it flow nicer, had a coworker edit the fic for me too, let me know any thoughts!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Coming soon!

Summary: Reader wakes up in ACOTAR a year after the war with Hybern. A bunch of events happen that leads to them waking up in a one night stand with Azriel.

Trigger Warnings: Maybe slightly scary Azriel but none that I can think of besides slight angst.

Word Count: 1.6k

It was supposed to be a simple one-night stand with a handsome stranger, a way to steer clear of the story’s main characters. But, after a few too many drinks—Sake Bombs to be exact—I woke up in the bed of the Night Court’s spymaster, one of Prythian’s most dangerous men. One word stood out to me, echoing in my mind. The shock was clear on my face.

“‘Mate’?” you stammered. A mate bond between us? That was impossible. You weren’t even supposed to be in this world. Was the tightening in your chest from the bond or just your own anxiety?

Azriel chuckled, looking down at you. You could tell that he saw through your pathetic attempt at hiding your feelings. I mean, you could feel the invisible thread pulling you together. You could feel every emotion he was expressing through the bond. Azriel was the spymaster; he was trained to read every emotion and find any information he could get.

“You felt it, didn’t you? The love and affection that I am sending you.” His voice was laced with amusement as he watched you squirm a bit. “You’re not getting out of it that easily you know. Mate bonds are sacred after all.” His expression turned serious as he said this, looking down at you.

“This is going to sound selfish,” he said softly, not meeting your gaze as he looked around the room. “Please, give it a chance. I have been waiting so long to find my mate and here you are.” A soft, breathy laugh escaped his lips. “Who knew I’d meet my mate drunk at a pleasure hall? Never in my five hundred years would I have expected that. The Mother must work in mysterious ways.” He finally met your gaze, his gaze held warmth but seemed to be evaluating your every move.

That’s right, he is around five hundred years old and just had a mate bond snap…which means that he probably wants to have a ceremony as soon as possible. I could feel the anxiety creeping up. I know he can sense and feel every emotion. What would he do, if he found out that I am not even from this world? That I am not his true mate?

You somehow manage to blurt out without stammering, “I…want to form a bargain with you.”

“A bargain?” His expression darkened with curiosity.

You shifted nervously in the bed, a knot had built in your chest, and you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. You needed him to say yes, you needed time to figure out your situation, even if you had to throw a bargain that he would more than likely say no to. A bargain that would make him feel rejected.

His gaze held yours for a moment, the only movement being his eyes as they scanned your every expression. “What would you like to bargain with me about, y/n?”

“First, I want to make sure the ceremony date isn’t for another six months, preferably longer. Second, you cannot use your shadows to spy on me. They cannot access my room or any of my items. Lastly, I need three months before I meet your family or before you can meet mine.” You could feel the anxiety brewing in your stomach. His expression showed a tiny amount of sadness and curiosity. You felt as if he knew you were hiding something but was choosing to ignore it, for now. “Is there anything you would like to add?”

Azriel stared at you incredulously. You had wanted the ceremony to be delayed, and not only did you not want him to access your personal life, but you wanted three months to go by before he saw your family, or you saw his. A few minutes of silence passed as Azriel pondered his next response. His face was expressionless, showing none of his thoughts.

“Three months? Why three months?” The soft amusement was back in his voice as he shifted forward, placing his scarred fingers under your chin so you’d meet his gaze. A gaze that could only belong to someone who was feared among every court in Prythian. A dangerous gaze that spoke volumes. The room was silent, as you couldn’t say another word. Instead, he spoke in a low, soft tone that seemed to taunt a reaction out of you.

“You know I could find any information that I could ever want, right?” Words that were laced with truth, a subtle warning in his tone. 

You felt like your heart was going to burst from the anxiety inside of you, a part of you hoping it would so you could avoid this conversation. “I know you could find any information about me that you could want, I just…I don’t want to move too fast. I mean we just met, you know?”

He chuckled softly as he dragged his scarred thumb across your cheek. In a whisper that seemed laced with something dark. "We did just meet, but I do know one thing about you already." Azriel gave you a warm smile and stared at you as he whispered the words "You're scared and I know you’re hiding something, sweetness."

You took in a deep breath, trying to clear your thoughts. This male was going to be the death of you.

You stammered your sentence for a moment. “I’m not scared, it’s just…I can’t exactly tell you right now. I need to figure out some things first. But, that’s not important right now, do you accept the bargain?”

Azriel frowned as he looked at your face, somehow trying to find information through your expression. After another moment, he finally said, "Fine, you have your bargain. But only if you promise me one thing."

He accepted? That was different than what you were expecting. “What’s your condition?”

Before you knew it, you truly saw the spymaster of the Night Court in action as he moved closer to you. He raised an eyebrow at you, pulling his hand away from your face, and moved them to either side of you. Leaning down close enough to whisper in your ear. "You'll tell me whatever truth you're keeping from me after three months, no games, no bullshit. But only after the three months have passed." He seemed to wait until you could gather your senses to respond. His gaze was harsh but still held some warmth.

“We have a deal,” the words stumbled out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We have a deal,” Azriel repeated with his voice sending a shiver down your spine with its coldness. He hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as if wrestling an inner turmoil. Then without warning, a bargain marking materialized on both of your wrists, taking the form of a small star.

Another long period of silence. Nothing in the room moved but his shadows that moved between you like silk. Some of the shadows felt like kisses on your wrist as they slithered over the bargain.

“I suppose I should take you home,” he whispered, his voice coming out rough. As if he wanted to say something more. You gave him a slow nod, and he moved away, climbing off the bed to hand you a simple dress. “I had my shadows bring something, you…ruined yours last night. I’ll save you the embarrassment,” he teased lightly before stepping out of the room to allow you some privacy.

Oh…what did you do in front of this beautiful creature? You are never drinking again if it's what you think it is.

You slipped on the dress; it fit nicely. How he knew your size or his shadows knew was beyond you. You chose to ignore those thoughts as you tied your hair, looking in the mirror. One thing you knew for sure, you needed a bath.

After you stepped out of the room, your eyes fell upon Azriel, already clad in his Illyrian leathers, the blue cobalt siphons shimmering in the morning light that filtered through the window. He looked every bit the formidable warrior, yet there was a softness in his eyes as he reached out his scarred hand to yours. 

In an instant, we were no longer in the confines of the townhouse, but standing at the gates of your parents’ estate. Azriel’s expression softened, his gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. 

“Y/n, there is one more thing before we go back in there,” he said, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken words. 

As he glanced towards the estate, a sense of unease settled over me, knowing what was coming next. "Your secret, whatever it is, will always be safe with me,” Azriel said, his gaze unwaveringly sincere as he met your eyes.  “Whenever you are ready to tell me.”

You met his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension, emotions swirling within you like a storm. "It's not that bad of a secret," you began, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt." You paused, gathering your thoughts. "Don't worry, in three months you can introduce me to your family. In six months we can set a date for a ceremony."

Azriel leaned forward, his smile gentle as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His expression was a blend of disappointment and sadness flickering in his eyes. It seemed as though he had something more to say, or perhaps do. After a moment of tense silence, he nodded as if coming to a decision. "See you in three months, my mate," he said softly, before turning away and disappearing with a graceful winnow. Not even leaving a trace of shadows behind. All that was left was his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

Tag list: @mybestfriendmademe, @why4anne, @impossibelle

[ak319]

Yan G!P Princess x fem reader

Part IV ➺ Part III

(Your name is Deniz in the story)

(YOUR POV)

The buggy halted before the palace's entrance and I jumped out. "Ah, Ms. Deniz, you certainly didn't disappoint." My eyes were fixed on the other buggy pulling in, my game strapped in the backseat. "She's a mighty catch," Richard commented making my heart swell in pride. It was an arduous task considering it was my first time hunting and the target being such a wonder in itself however, Louisa was a great mentor and I felt as if I had been hunting my whole life. The deer’s compact body, about the size of a large dog, is limp, with its slender legs bound together. Its head, with majestic, pointed antlers, hangs to one side, eyes half-closed, giving a glimpse of the dark, glassy orbs beneath. The scent of fresh earth and musk clings to it, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

Attendants worked around it, preparing to carry it inside. I almost felt guilty for shooting such a noble creature but somehow I did feel a bit alive especially because I imagined Kade's face while pulling the trigger.

"Shall we? The Princess awaits. And your tea too." The older man's voice made me turn to face him at last.

"Where are my parents?"

"They are still at the cabin, being tended to. After tea, I will bring them here. Now, please, let's not keep Her Grace waiting." I rolled my eyes and nodded, allowing him to lead the way. As we walked, I took in the sophisticated yet opulent decor. Attendants were turning on lamps as the sun dipped below the horizon, and I hadn’t realized how quickly time had passed.

Richard then opened a door and I sighed entering to see Kade sitting on an armchair near the fireplace. Her hazel eyes, usually so expressive, were momentarily distant as she gazed at the steam rising from the fine china teacup in her hand. Then she abruptly put the cup down and stood up with her arms behind her back.

"How did it go?" Her voice was almost a low murmur. "Went great..., fun. It's beautiful, and I wanted to ask if I can take it's head."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, but something in my gut told me it was insincere, her eyes remaining unmoved. "Of course." It struck me as odd that she hadn’t offered me any tea. I was exhausted, having been brought directly from the airport. I wondered if my parents were feeling the same.

"But... I’m sorry, I can’t. If it had been hunted legally, I would have allowed it." My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Clearing my throat, I let out a snort. "What do you mean by 'legally'?"

"Hunting on the royal family's grounds is not permitted. And you did it." Is she serious right now, or is this some sort of twisted prank?

"What are you saying? Is this a joke? You asked me to! You know what, never mind, keep the head."

"She is right." The hairs on my skin stood up at the sudden intrusion of King Ewan and some people behind him. My eyes darted between Kade and them.

"M-I don't understand. Kade? What's- " Calm down Deniz, calm down. Don't lose your mind right now. "Sir, your daughter asked me to hunt the Muntjac, you can ask Richard. Louisa went with me and-"

"It doesn't matter, girl. You broke the law. You trespassed." My throat went dry as he now stood towering over me. My eyes, now pathetically pleading for some clarity and support stared at Kade, who was standing so stoically. So...this was a trap?

"YOU! EVERY TIME I THINK THAT MAYBE YOU WILL LEAVE ME ALONE YOU FUCKING DO SOMETHING TEN TIMES MORE DIABOLICAL!" Ignoring the King's presence I stormed towards her.

"YOU ARE CRAZY! A NUTCASE! Kade, please, please fucking say that you are pranking me right now."

"I am not, Deniz. You went to hunt, on your own accord."

"I DIDN'T! YOU INVITED ME HERE!"

"ENOUGH! Don't you talk to her like that!"

"TELL YOUR DAUGHTER TO STOP DOING THIS TO ME!" I couldn't care less if I was screaming my lungs out at this point but what brought me back to my senses was someone handcuffing me and holding me from both arms.

"LEAVE ME! Please, please, it was- fine I am sorry for hunting but don't-" The King and neither Kade paid any heed to my cries and instead my parents were ordered to be brought in.

I squirmed as I was made to sit on the sofa and continued to call to Kade but she didn't even turn to face me from where she stood. Which made me curse her more and more.

As my parents were brought in, Ewan explained to them what I did but they knew me better than anyone, their daughter wouldn't ever do such a stupid thing as trespassing, and they knew he was lying. It was all a play, a fucking heartless and disgusting plot. Before my father could lunge at the King, he was held back and the next words froze us all.

"Six years, or more. And as you should know, we, the royal family, are not subject to civil or criminal charges. I can press severe charges against her for her behavior as well. And since you two are here on the property as well, it means six years for you too."

The room fell into a deafening silence as my world crumbled. It was all my fault. I should have never come here, never gone hunting. God, Clara's words echoes in my ear , one of our ranting sessions about the rich and the powerful. 'They treat us like dirt for their own gain'. Just look at her eyes now, feigning sympathy. After orchestrating all this, she has the audacity to look at me.

"No...please! Let my daughter go! This is a mistake! She wouldn't do such a thing. They both were acquaintances back in the day and we have proof that she invited us here, that too by BLACKMAILING!" Papa's words fell flat as King continued, unbothered.

"Your bail in the court will be rejected too. But...there is a way, you can stop me from dropping charges and just forgetting about this evening forever." I swayed back and forth shaking my head. I just knew what was coming.

"Look, I am a parent too. At the end of the day, we want the best for our children and their happiness. So why not just put all of this behind us and get Deniz engaged to Kade." There it is, oh, Kade. How predictable. You scheming bitch-

"You would be foolish to reject this. My daughter is perfect in every way not to mention the fact, a princess that is head over heels for your daughter, what more do you want, what more does she want?" He pointed at me.

"You know what I want! SHE KNOWS TOO!" I glared at Kade with disgust. "You all are just blind to it. I never expected the royals to be so cheap. You should be embarrassed." My father's shoulders sagged as my mother tried to support him. Suddenly, she left his side and crouched in front of me, tears streaming down her face. "Deniz, please. I can't lose you for years," she begged, her voice breaking. "Just agree to this and—"

"ARE YOU INSANE, MOTHER?! I'd rather rot in jail than be her wife!"

"Deniz!" My father’s voice boomed, making me flinch. He sighed deeply, but before he could continue, Ewan spoke up. "I'm sorry, but I’m tired of my daughter playing these games too, Deniz. I understand your frustration more than anyone. But you’re the one who can end this, and you’re going to end it today. Isn’t that right, Kade?"

"Yes, father."

"I said, I will rot in jail that means I will rot in jail. That is what is going to happen!"

"Clara and Leo..." Kade grabbed my attention. "They are doing good work, aren't they? Would be a shame if one day they...just lost their jobs and..."

I stood up, but I was restrained from charging at her. "DON'T YOU DARE RUIN THEIR LIVES!"

"Then we shall leave you three to make a choice."

She walked past me, our gazes meeting for a brief second and I felt tears welling up again, overwhelmed by the cruelty of the situation. The way she walked with such authority, it was another jab at me.

"Father." The King glanced at us one more time before making his leave along with her, locking us in the this forsaken room. I stood frozen in despair, still in handcuffs.

"Adam, for God's sake say something. Deniz?!" My mother shook me.

"I said my part. We are not accepting this."

"We are." My head snapped to my father, who came and held me. "You think it's easy? Them sending you to jail? Separating us from you?! We cannot bear that!"

"But you can bear me being tied to this asshole!? This isn't what you taught me papa! Accepting defeat, just like this?"

"Do we have a choice other than this?! Deniz...they can do much worse...and I think they will. Do you think I am happy right now? Begging you to accept this?! You have no idea--how much I am hurting from inside." Seeing him sob made me lose my self-control too. The words flowed as whimpers from my lips.

"I am s-sorry. It's--I should have never come back.." He hugged me along with my mother as tightly as he could.

"Shush. It's not your fault---it can never be. These people, God. They will answer for this day, surely after death. I cannot lose you Deniz, we cannot. At least, we will be able to meet you if you are free..."

"But papa-"

"Enough. Please." His tone was no longer soft making me shiver and shake my head violently, my mother tried her best to comfort me but the world around me was a blur.

"How will I even--live with her, papa?! As her wife?! Forgetting all this?." He said nothing as he turned his head away from me. "I wish I knew...I wish I could help...Deniz. But I am not letting you go to jail."

"I will escape then-!" He cut me off with a dry , defeated chuckle, wiping a tear from my cheek. "It's not easy , Deniz. You are not thinking from a parent's point of view right now, you cannot. Because you don't know how it feels. I just...know you will be happy in some way , some day. Surely being with a princess, the way she loves you I mean-"

"Oh, really?! You too? Thank you for this reassurance! Honestly--wow."

"I am not arguing further, Deniz." He went to the door and before mother and I could stop him, he was face to face with Kade and gave the answer. A yes.

Which was all Kade needed.

"I want Deniz to say it." She turned to you. As if I will.

"Damn you to hell." I wanted to rip off the subtle smirk from her face.

"Very well. So Mr. Adam, I will be escorting her to her chambers, while Richard will-" I didn't hear any shit out of her mouth, I refused to. I just...disassociated at that point.

I was guided to a plush, soft sofa, and the clinking of my handcuffs being released pulled me back to my senses. The faint aroma of Kade’s cologne drifted through the air as she leaned back after freeing me, making me aware of the lavish room around us. The scent was oddly familiar. She took a moment, then rubbed her hands together and settled into the farthest corner of the couch. The sternness she once had was now replaced with a gentle, serene smile.

"This room Deniz, it's ours by the way. Do you like it?" I made no effort to look around, simply staring at the table in front.

"I'm sorry, even though I know... I've made you hate me a thousand times over—maybe even to the point of infinity. But I had no other choice. I hate seeing you like this, but you know what? I’d rather have you hate me for the rest of your life if it means keeping you by my side, because I couldn’t take it anymore. And I wasn’t lying, Deniz, when I wrote that letter. When I said I’d depart from your life, I meant as your admirer. When I told you to release your anger and liberate yourself, it was about letting go of the hate and embracing love—so that we can both end this bitterness and start a new life together. A far better life, and I swear on my life, I’ll make sure of that every single second."

The nerve of this woman to manipulate everyone.

"You’re nothing but a selfish, manipulative, gaslighting piece of shit! A full blown psycho! I don’t even know where to start with you! Have you ever thought about therapy, for fuck’s sake?! And the idea of spending my life with you—hating you? Are you out of your mind?! Do you think that’s romantic or even normal?!" Her jaw clenched and unclenched with every word, but the most frightening thing was that her smile never wavered.

"Deniz…" she whispered, her voice trembling as I gasped for breath, my lips quivering uncontrollably.

"You will never know what it means to be in love... you never will. And by now, I thought you would’ve figured out that even your hate for me feels like the taste of heaven." God, I am terrified.

She stood up, forcing you to meet her gaze. "What’s wrong with me, Deniz, hm? Am I ugly? Am I not your type? Just fucking tell me why you hate me. Or is it because I’m not Reece?" Great. Now we’re really dredging up those wholesome memories, aren’t we?

(Kade's POV)

"JUST FUCKING TELL ME! I WANNA KNOW!" My voice cracked as I yelled, and you nearly leapt off the couch, your panic palpable. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Tears of guilt, fury, pain, frustration and envy streamed down my face. I wish I’d never met you—maybe then neither of us will be hurting right now. Desperation makes a person do unimaginable things, and a desperate lover like me is even more daring, ready to defy all limits for a fleeting moment of hope. I am both the architect and victim of my own heart’s darkest desires and still I am enjoying every bit of it.

But it’s too late for that now. I should be glad I finally have you where I want you, but it’s hard to feel anything but regret due to the path I had to take. If only you loved me back then we wouldn't be starting our new life like this.

"WHERE DID SHE FUCKING COME FROM?! I have told you this before! I don't want to be with a royal , especially a crazy one like you! And I never felt anything for you!"

"Well too bad. The first reason isn't going to change, ever. But the second will, someday, my heart says so."

"That's why you should have listened to your fucking brain all these years! IF YOU EVEN HAVE ONE!" I know you are right. But again, as if you know what it is like to be in love. It's pointless to argue about this with you.

"Deniz, you have the whole life to hate me, yell at me, blame me. But let me make few things clear. This marriage will happen. Your parents agreed and you are to stay here till then."

"You are making a huge mistake." You threatened but it was more of a plea. A plea to perhaps bring me back to senses.

I chuckled, and it quickly escalated into a full-blown laugh. "Mistake?. Take a look around. I had this room arranged specifically for you, tailored to your tastes, because I knew one day I’d bring you here. I plan everything in advance, and if you didn’t already know, I’ll tell you now—I am just like you, I don’t like to lose. And this time, Deniz, I’ve won. Whether you accept it or not."

Every part of me protested leaving you in that state, but I forced myself to walk out of the room, locking the door behind me. Almost immediately, I heard the sound of things being thrashed and broken, your angry yells echoing through the walls. Predictable.

Even though it shattered my heart into pieces, I still managed to smile, thinking about the future that awaited us. I will make you love me, no matter what. I'll try with every fibre of my being even if you resist till the end of time. For now, I must go to Father and discuss the arrangements for the wedding.

PART V

(AN: Kay, why is this giving you and Kade 😩 ??Spoiler, I guess)

[legacygirlingreen]

Part 4, Chapter 7: Repository III (the final) // Sebastian Sallow x Reader

AN: I apologize for this unedited mess. I am also so sorry I’ve been swamped and haven’t uploaded. I have a lot going on right now in my real life and writing has taken a backseat to it. I plan to finish this series soon. Thank you all for holding out with me. This is mostly just filler. Again, sorry.

Pic belongs to @99luka9 on Pinterest! (Not sure if they have a blog here as well but I found in on there)

Warnings: mention of blood, death, violence

Word count: 3,800

Link to Masterlist

The more Sebastian dug into the stone the more blood began to pool in his palms. Sweat dripped down his brow and down the sides of his neck, as well as down his nape, before trailing into his shirt collar. As he went to push yet another piece of piled up rumble to the cave floor, the slick of his palm caused him to lose traction, resulting in him slamming his fingers into the harsh surface as he let out an expletive.

Frustratedly he wiped his hands on the surface of his pants in an attempt to once again gain traction before resuming his efforts to push the stones. The more rubble he cleared, allowing him to gain more information as to what was happening on the other side. More loud taunting, more loud crashing, and thankfully more spell casting. He couldn’t quite make out what she was shouting from wherever this opening would lead, but he could hear the distinct sound of a spell hurling through the air followed by the occasional roar or groan of Ranrok. Everything about this reminded him of how broken she had felt when he rushed into the house with Solomon hot on his heels while he gripped her bleeding body to his chest.

Solomon. That was the strangest part of the ordeal. The more he continued to dig, the more he could hear her sole voice calling back against the goblin. He knew that Solomon had been trapped inside the cavern with her, and a part of him hoped that at the very least the man was alive to help keep her safe, but given the lack of hearing the man’s gruff voice or simultaneous casting there only left a few options for his uncle’s fate: the man was knocked out, the man ran, or he was already dead.

And as callous as it seemed, Sebastian didn’t really care which of three it wound up being.

In fact, Sebastian knew that if he got inside with only the ability to save one of them, he would save her with no hesitation. Solomon may be blood, but that didn’t make him family. Especially after finding out what he had done to Anne, and leaving his love to die at the hands of Rookwood, he had no love left in his heart for Solomon Sallow. That - and years of abuse at the man’s hands didn’t exactly bode well. In some small ways it might be better if Solomon was already dead, he thought. That way he wouldn’t have to kill Solomon himself.

Eventually he pushed aside just the right stone to cause the majority of them to fall away, opening up a small hole which he could see lead into a tunnel. Seeing it as the only way forward he crouched the best he could, pushing through until the tunnel allowed him to once again stand to full height. Inside it appeared similar to San Bakaar’s fourth trial and the location in which he witnessed the memory of the keepers confronting Isadora.

Sebastian felt a chill run up the entire length of his spine before it settled against his nape as he shuddered remembering what he had seen. In some ways he respected San Bakaar more than the others - as the man seemed to understand his policy of using whatever means necessary when your life's on the line. Even during the keeper’s time at Hogwarts the killing curse was forbidden. Knowing all four of them agreed to use it on Isadora in order to protect the wizarding world from her demented actions of corrupting the purity of ancient magic with human pain, made him more inclined to trust their judgment. It also made him glad that he taught the girl how to use it in extreme circumstances.

“Sebastian I am not so sure about this…” she spoke as they rounded that all too familiar staircase of the restricted section. The weight of the books he was returning pressed into his forearms. This was not to do with Anne that he had come back here. In fact he’d given up searching months ago after she finally convinced him they would find a way with ancient magic. But for some reason, after a night where she’d stumbled back even later than his shift with Sirona, covered in blood from poachers, he decided maybe raiding some of the healing spells would benefit her.

“We are just returning what I borrowed. Not taking anything else, I promise” he told her with a sigh.

“What did you take?” She asked cautiously, worried he’d have slipped back into old habits.

“Healing spells they just don’t teach at the school. I wanted to be able to teach them to you. I’m sick of seeing you stumble back broken and bloodied.” He explained, finally coming back to the spot in which he’d removed a few tomes on advanced healing.

“Oh. I thought - nevermind” she said, coming forward to help place the books back on the shelf near him.

“You thought, what? That I was messing with dark magic again?” He asked playfully, not concerned about her response because he genuinely hadn’t. Sebastian had no reason to be embarrassed or start a fuss over something he wasn’t engaging with any longer. And if he was honest with himself… he felt better. His head felt clearer. His back, less weighted.

“Well… why else would one sneak into the restricted section…?” She asked as she peaked open one of the books seeing it did in fact have very complex healing spells before putting it back on the shelf.

“Pornographic material” he said with a shrug.

“What?!” She shrieked and he laughed at her response as he pointed back to a dimly lit alcove all the boys at school had heard about. It was true that several boys always found a way to sneak in and raid it. On occasion he’d grabbed a few on his way out to make the trip more worth it…

“Yeah some of them even moan and make noises and such-“ he started and she smacked his arm as he chuckled.

“Stop being a brute and just put back the healing books you stole. Merlin, why am I courting such a delinquent?” She asked.

“Because you love me?” He teased stretching his hand out, which she graciously took.

“I do. And I’m also glad you stopped looking into dark magic. I know there’s been circumstances your knowledge has come in handy but… overall I prefer not using it as a first resort”

“I agree. I admit, I might’ve started getting a tad loose with some spells I shouldn’t have. I do still think it’s important to have knowledge of dark magic. And there are times I think the ends justify the means…”

“What are you talking about?” She asked, feet stalling as she looked at him.

“Well, if you do face Ranrok, and he has you pinned down without a moment of your life or his, I would prefer to know that you at least knew the killing curse. At that moment I believe it would be a justifiable means to kill him. And I don’t think the ministry would care either given goblins and human rights aren’t the same. But either way, I would like to know you would do anything to keep yourself safe if it came to that. Not as a first choice but a last resort” he explained, somewhat timidly. He knew she didn’t love the use of dark magic, but she never discouraged him trying to gain understanding of it. She saw past the black and white nature of it all, and it was something he deeply loved and admired her for.

“Oh… I hadn’t really thought about it.” She said nervously.

“You don’t have to-“ he tried to explain he wasn’t demanding she learn one of the three unforgivable spells on his account purely, but she cut him off.

“No. You’re right. This is too important. This magic is too dangerous to leave in Ranrok’s hands. I should at least know what to do if it came to that. Not necessarily for my sake but everyone else’s” she explained leaving him stunned.

“I’m really surprised you are so quick to want to learn an unforgivable curse” Sebastian told her honestly.

“Like you said, this mission is important and killing him may be the only way to protect it. Come on down here. I’ll show you the athenaeum. It’s where I went that day you took the fall for me. You can teach me in there how to use it” she said, dragging him along further into the restricted section.

Sebastian had been surprised at her willingness to see the greater good and now he just hoped that she had both paid attention and was alive to make the call if it came down to it.

Finally having a plan seemed to help. The more she continued to use the attack strategy suggested by Sebastian, the more Ranrok began to absorb the pain as the magic separated from the toxicity contaminating it. This strategy seemed to be the solution, however the more desperate Ranrok became, the more she continued to be knocked down with his futile attempts at preventing her from removing his power.

Each fall felt worse on her already aching body. But at the end of the day, she knew that she would need to stop the goblin, even if it was the last thing she did. This was too important to give up now.

The swirls and conflicting magic surrounded them both as he drew smaller. And then with the most deafening scream of pain did the blast of red and black magic surround them as Ranrok once again returned to his original state.

“You are… but a child…” he grunted out in pain as he stared up at her.

“You shouldn’t understand anyone on account of being young” she spat as he quickly moved to his feet once again, only to be shoved down by her usage of the ancient magic around them.

Watching in horror as the last of the pain entered the goblin, he rose from the ground, screaming in agony as the pain she removed became too much. In horror she watched as she slowly began to glow, breaking apart into thin ash like parts before suddenly he was gone.

A gasp left her lips as she fell to her knees, shocked that it was over. It was finally all over.

Loud banging filled the space before the cavern lurked, loud sounds of falling rocks once again filling the space as she looked above. The chamber she was in began to collapse, as she struggled to rise. Energy depleted from the fight with Ranrok, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand long enough to search for a way out.

And in her heart she found comfort in knowing at least everyone would be safe. The world at large had been saved. The likelihood of her walking away was low. And yet, she simply wanted to be granted the opportunity to say goodbye to him. To the handsome Slytherin boy, who had taught her so much. Who had shown her great care. Who had loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Laying down, she simply closed her eyes, accepting her fate. Perhaps her mind's eye could recall his big brown eyes one more time. Or imagine all his adorning freckles. If she really concentrated she almost felt as if she could hear his voice shouting her name. What she wouldn’t give to feel him hold her one last time.

But then she felt it. A dirty trick of the mind to shift to the afterlife is what she assumed, but when she opened her eyes and saw the cavern collapsing just behind his head she gasped.

“Bash” came the hushed whisper before she was desperately pulled into his arms as he stood.

“Hold on, we are getting out of here. Just hold onto me” he spoke before whistling loudly, the sound of loud flapping filling the space as her eyes drifted closed. Flashes of feathers, falling debris and his worried face filled her mind before it all faded to black.

“Mr. Sallow set her down on the cot so the nurse can look over her injuries!” Professor Weasley shouted as the rag tag team of staff and students bust into the hospital ward.

The girl, having lost consciousness somewhere on the journey out of the repository, was still perched in Sebastian’s arms. The boy damn near growling earlier when someone tried to remove her. Lurching forward he set her down, unaware of the wards existing students.

Their friends and educators all coming around to stare down at the battered girl who had saved them. Well, all of them except one.

“Sebastian…” whispered behind him and when he finally tore his eyes from the girl he saw Anne.

“Annie…” he said in shock, having forgotten until now that poppy spoke about his witch find a cure.

“What happened? Where’s, where’s Solomon?” She asked, looking around.

His mind flashed back to the cavern, seeing his uncle crushed on the floor no longer breathing just as he had fled. She had whispered something akin to Solomon before she had fainted but he already knew the man was gone.

“He didn’t make it Anne” he spoke softly as his sister begun to wail loudly. Ominis coming forward to remove his sister from the already chaotic scene, he turned back to his love who still had yet to wake as the nurse began to try and heal some of her injuries.

“Is she going to be alright?” he asked softly as the nurse turned to him.

“I’d say so. Diagnostic spells show most of the damage is external, not internal.” The nurse spoke mending gashes and wiping away blood. As she did so, he took note of the already pink forming scar along the girl's face, now running through the middle of it. It wasn’t the kind of mark that happened by accident, the way it looked was deliberate. Poppy’s cries in the room of requirement were all he needed to know that it had been the result of Rookwood.

“Merlin…” he whispered as Professor Fig tugged him aside.

“It’s best to let them clean her up first. I need to speak with you” the man spoke and all he could do was nod. Deep down Sebastian knew the man was likely playing the events in December over in his mind, recalling how awful the boy had reacted to seeing her injured. Sitting at the edge of a separate bed he sighed.

Soon he found himself in front of the professors. Sebastian hadn’t noticed that Professor Weasley had escorted out all the other students, leaving only Leander who sustained a slightly sizable gash on his leg. But when the adults stared down at him as they refrained from talking he grew confused.

“Mr. Sallow you need to remove your shirt” Professor Sharp said sternly as he looked up confused.

“What?” Sebastian asked as the man harshly pointed at the wound on his shoulder. “Oh. I forgot about that…” he said gritting his teeth as he tried to unbutton the shirt with his non dominate hand.

“Adrenaline can make the body forget the trauma it’s experienced. It doesn’t look as bad now but still shouldn’t take too many chances with it.” The man said as he finished using spells he knew from his time at the ministry to examine the wound. Knowing the nurse would likely be too busy, helping the young Sallow man fell to him in responsibility.

“Is everyone decent?” Came a voice behind Professor Sharp who simply nodded as Matilda Weasley came forward.

“Mr. Sallow. I am going to need much more information this instance.” She demanded.

“Alright.” He spoke grumpily.

“Do you have any kind of idea the danger you put yourself, and your classmates, in?” She asked.

“Did you? Because from what I have come to realize, is that only Professor Fig and I were aware the danger everyone was in this whole time. I was likely more prepared than most of you to handle this”

“That doesn’t excuse your actions-“

“I will not apologize for wanting to make sure she walked out of there alive. Give me detention for the rest of the year. Expel me. Lock me in Azkaban. I don’t care. She is alive and going to be okay. That is all that matters to me” he spoke with exasperation.

“Matilda, perhaps given none of the students were in danger we should consider thanking Mr. Sallow for his assistance. Has they not arrived I am not sure even we all would have walked away” Professor Sharp spoke up.

“The distraction provided by Mr. Sallow and the other students allowed us to gain the upper hand during the battle.” Hecat pointed out.

“Yes but, they could have been hurt. How would I have explained it to their parents or the headmaster?” She questioned.

“Considering Sallow and I are the only two who got hurt, new fifth year excluded, I’d say it’s not something we need to be concerned with Professor Weasley. Chalk it up to some Slytherin resourcefulness and Gryffindor bravery.” Leander grunted as a house elf finished wrapping his leg.

The woman sighed before looking around. Eyes landing on the floor network as two figures emerged.

“Everett found me but when we made it back to the cavern everyone had left” Andrew Larson spoke walking forward with Officer Singer.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here? What is this I hear of a goblin attack?” She asked looking around at the battle worn professors and few injured students.

“Yes. And it appears several of our students mounted a counter offensive” she said with a frustrated sigh.

“Students?! The minister-“

“Will be delighted to know that Hogwarts has such brave, resourceful, loyal and intelligent students that they would be willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Going so far to go against the measure we took to ensure their safety” Professor Weasley spoke.

“I will need to contact the minister and start a full investigation into the matters-“ Officer Singer began before Matilda once again cut her off.

“Tomorrow. These students, and us for that matter, have been through a great deal. Let them rest. Recover from their injuries before we go bringing up such events again.” She said sternly, nodding to Sebastian that his witch was alert.

No longer caring about the logistics he ran forward, sliding onto his knees as he took to her bed side.

“Sebastian?” She asked gently as he grabbed her hands in his own, kissing the skin along the back of her hand firmly over and over again.

“You are alive. Merlin be praised, you are alive!” He said excitedly as he no longer cared about the hospital ward full of people as he reached his hand out along the back of her neck and brought her into a kiss. It conveyed all the fear, anger, love and pain he was dealing with at all that had happened.

Breaking away to catch her breath the sighed in pain before looking back up at him sadly. “Sebastian… Solomon he…”

“I know” he told her, not really finding it in his heart to care about it at the moment.

“No. He saved me. I was falling. I - I would’ve died had he not saved me. And then he fell to his own death. Sebastian, it was horrible…” she said as tears began to well up in her eyes. He reached forward, hoping to provide comfort as she sobbed. Inside, the boy knew it was rather callous to not feel bad about his last remaining adult relative being gone, but after what he did to Anne, what Solomon did to him and most importantly what he had let Rookwood do to her, he didn’t care.

“We don’t have to discuss it now… you are alive and that’s all that matters” he told her gently as he wipped the tears from her face and she nodded. Reaching towards the table beside her bed, she produced Solomon’s wand and handed it to Sebastian.

“I managed to grab this before everything happened. I thought Anne might want it. But Sebastian-“ she started to speak as the girl in question ran forward.

“Why do you have our uncle’s wand?!” She shrieked.

“We got separated and he was with me when Ranrok-“

“So it’s your fault.” Anne spoke harshly as a gasp fell over them.

“Anne, I’m not sure we have all the information to make claims like that-“ Ominis spoke but the girl interrupted.

“No. She walked out. Solomon didn’t. That’s all I need to know” Anne responded.

“Anne. You have no idea the vile things Solomon did to even you. He-“ Sebastian started only to be interrupted by the witch at his side.

“You are right Anne. Solomon sacrificed himself to save me. And there’s nothing I can do to bring him back or make it okay. I’m sorry.” She said sadly.

“Maybe if you weren’t so careless he’d be alive. It is all your fault.” She spat before standing up.

“Anne! She saved you-” Ominis said standing up and rushing after the girl who was fleeing the hospital ward, leaving Sebastian and her to sit in silence over what had happened.

“Poppy told me what happened. Don't worry. Anne doesn’t know what Solomon did to her. We will talk to her-“ he spoke after a moment and she stopped him.

“No. Let Anne grieve him. She deserves that. I won’t take that away from her” she told him.

“She deserves to know she was dying because Solomon is a coward.”

“Sebastian, I will not be the reason your sister loses the image of her protective and loving uncle.”

“He was anything but that. I won’t have her speak to you that way. You saved her. For heaven's sake, you saved us all '' Sebastian told her sternly.

“And right now she is a girl who is sad over her Uncle’s death. She should be allowed to do that.” She replied.

“Not at the sake of your good name” he told her.

“We will tell her eventually. Right now I really just want to rest.” She said sadly.

“I have talked to Officer Singer. Tomorrow you will all report to discuss the events of today first thing in the morning. Classes have been canceled. For now you are released to go rest.” Professor Weasley spoke before turning on her heels to discuss with the other professors.

“Let’s get you back to the dorm-“ he spoke and she shook her head.

“Room of requirement. I can’t… I don’t want to face anyone right now” she spoke and he nodded, helping her rise to her feet and start down the stairs to their private sanctuary.

To be continued…

[targayrenss]

A Dance With Dragons (III) -Daemon Targaryen

pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Velaryon Oc

Content: Incest, Age-Gap,Angst

Author's Note: I haven't updated here in a while, this is my Christmas gift as an apology.

remember that English is not my first language

•••

When they entered the throne room all eyes fell on them.

Jocelyn and Daemon stood next to Rhaenys and Baela, the latter looking at them with anger while Rhaenys was happy to see his only legitimate granddaughter.

Jocelyn looked for her brothers and smiled at them to reassure them, especially Jacaerys since it was her legitimacy that would be questioned the most.

She was close to vomiting when she saw Otto Hightower so comfortable on her grandfather's throne.

Jocelyn was getting bored of her uncle playing the victim before the queen and her hand, listening to how she spoke badly about her mother and her brothers.

—Their children are bastards! My only legitimate nephew is Princess Jocelyn—Vaemond pointed to his brothers.

—And she—now they are addressing her mother—is a whore.

Gasps were heard throughout the room.

The king was going to remove Vaemond's tongue when Jocelyn ordered her husband to murder him.

—He can keep his tongue —Jocelyn approached her brothers.

—My daughter has one more announcement

The king's words puzzled everyone.

Rhaenyra walked to the center, ignoring the corpse of Vaemond Velaryon.

—He considered that my son Jacaerys is not suitable to rule Driftmark, my son Lucerys will do it better—Rhaenyra paused, staring into the eyes of her only daughter—That is why he wished to name my son, Jacaerys Velaryon as my successor.

Jocelyn felt her blood run cold, everyone began to whisper.

Alicent Hightower saw her with pity from her place next to her children.

Jocelyn stormed out with Daemon following her, she just asked her husband to murder her uncle for her and that's how he repaid her.

When they got to their rooms he was finally able to take everything out.

—How dare you? You are his heir, the only legitimate one among those bastards.

—She always knew, that I would not inherit the throne—tears of anger fell from her eyes—she always missed me for not being Harwin Strong's daughter, she now confirmed it before everyone!

—Everyone there knows who their legitimate heir is.

"She can't take my throne away from me." Jocelyn felt a pain in her stomach.

She moaned as she grabbed her belly.

"It's better not to think about that right now, my love." Daemon caressed her belly.

Jocelyn nodded knowing that she could put her son at risk.

•••

Both Jocelyn and Daemon wanted to skip dinner, but Viserys had insisted on everyone being together.

Jocelyn was sitting next to Aemond, next to her was Daemon.

Aemond seemed quite calm in her place, perhaps he didn't have a grudge towards her like he did towards her brothers.

Daemon continued to ignore her brother's children with Alicent Hightower, her husband couldn't stand the queen, much less his father.

Jocelyn and Daemon whispered to each other while Rhaenyra had her eyes on them.

Everyone stood up as the king entered and was placed between Alicent and Rhaenyra.

—How good it is to see you all tonight, together.

His grandfather looked like a corpse, he could swear that he had gotten worse in the few hours that had passed.

She felt the eternal dinner, she began to feel overwhelmed by the hypocrisy of the queen and her mother, toasting each other as if her stupid war had not ruined the entire family.

—I wanted to toast my son Jacerys—Rhaenyra looked at her for a few seconds before focusing on Jace—you will be a good king, as the conqueror once was.

Jocelyn felt the blow on her chest, she had earned the hatred of her mother without knowing the reason.

Viserys was the only one who raised her glass, not even Harwin supported his wife.

Aemond watched as her niece caressed her swollen stomach as she silently complained.

The prince stood up with his cup in hand—A final tribute, for the health of my nephews.

Alicent stared into her eyes, trying to warn her not to do anything foolish.

—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, all of them attractive and strong like their father

Daemon laughed, hearing his uncle's approval he couldn't stop.

—Let's empty our glasses for these three strong young men.

"I dare you to say it again."

—Why? It was just a compliment, don't you consider yourself strong?

Aemond and Jacaerys began to fight, the silver-haired prince obviously having the upper hand.

No matter how angry he was, he wasn't going to let his brother get hurt—Daemon, do something!

How a good obedient husband approached them, helping Harwin Strong separate them.

The king began to cough heavily, being taken by his guards to be examined by the maesters.

Jocelyn left after the king, she was no longer in the mood for dinner.

—Jocelyn! Wait for me! — She turned around finding Luke.

"What's wrong, Luke?"

—Are you mad at me and Jace?

Jocelyn smiled tenderly. “No, sweet brother, she would never be angry with you.”

—But if you are with mother

Jocelyn was going to answer her truthfully but she didn't want to worry her brother like that.

—No, Luke, I'm not mad at anyone, maybe Uncle Vaemond but I don't think that matters right now.

Luke smiled. “Rest sister.”

Jocelyn wished her goodnight and went straight to her room.

Later, she was reading while she waited for her husband, the children were already asleep in the nursery.

The door opened revealing her mother.

-Jocelyn

—Mother, what are you doing here?

—Tomorrow morning we will return to Dragonstone, I wanted to say goodbye

—Why? You had so many years to name Jacaerys your heir, why now?

-Jocelyn…

-Answer!

—I never named you my heir!

"It's my birthright!" Jocelyn felt her tears sting her eyes. "I'm your firstborn."

Rhaenyra cried without knowing what to answer.

—Why do you do to me what the Hightowers want to do to you? Is it because I am not Harwin Strong's daughter?

—Your words are considered betrayal, daughter.

—Your actions are too, mother

Both women saw each other with tears streaming down their cheeks, Jocelyn Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen declaring war on each other.

[velidewrites]

Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter II || Chapter III || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter I: May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favour

From the Treaty of the Treason:

In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and female between the ages of 12 and 21 at a public “Reaping.”

These Tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains.

Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games.

***

The sun rose over the forest, waking up her prey.

Most of them had not yet shaken off winter’s cold embrace, buried safely underground in a deep slumber. But it was spring now—still in its early days, perhaps, though like many others in District 12, Feyre Archeron had exhausted her patience.

She was ready to hunt.

The morning frost covered the ground beneath her feet as she looked for animal prints. She’d take anything, at this point—the past few months had been colder than expected, and their icy breeze seemed to have permanently settled in the pit of her stomach, growling occasionally to remind her of its presence. As if she hadn’t already known. Hunger, these days, felt like the most stable companion she’d had in years.

A bush rattled somewhere, cutting through the silence, and Feyre’s grip on her bow tightened.

With her mind cursing the loud, heavy boots she’d chosen for the hunt—the only pair she owned apart from her slippers, really—she made way towards the sound, each step careful not to alert her prey. She’d done that too many times, stepping on a dried out branch like a fool, moments before firing the fatal shot. She couldn’t afford to do that again.

The bush rattled again, and Feyre reached for an arrow.

Please, please be a deer.

Another rattle. Feyre took another step, her heart pounding in her chest.

A deer would be good. More than good, actually—a catch like this would feed her and her family for a week, if not more. She could almost picture the look on Elain’s face as she placed its carcass on the kitchen table. Her sister could use some good news after the winter they’d had, and especially on a day like this.

Feyre shook her head, forcing her mind back into focus.

Two winters ago, she’d caught a wolf. It had been the best day of her life. Her family didn’t know hunger for three weeks, and Elain had sewn her a flimsy fur coat. Even Nesta had smiled a little bit.

I take back my wish, Feyre thought. Can you be a wolf instead?

The bush rattled for the final time, and, with a loud gurgle, her victim made its final step into the light.

“Oh, please,” Feyre groaned out loud, and fired the arrow straight through the turkey’s heart.

Served her right for setting her hopes so high. A wolf. How ridiculous, she thought, kneeling by the dead bird to pull the arrow out. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Feyre murmured. “At least you’re fat. Thanks for that, I guess.”

“You are disturbingly good at that,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Feyre shot up to her feet, whipping her head to its source. “Shit,” she swore, placing a hand on her racing heart. “You scared me!”

Arms crossed as he leaned against a tree, Isaac offered her a coy smile. “Sorry,” he said, his shaggy brown curls shimmering in the sun as he angled his head in wonder. “Who’s this little guy?”

Feyre raised the bird in front of her, making the show of displaying it in its full might. “That,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips, “is my dinner.”

“Ah,” Isaac said. “Not a great way to start off the day. For him, I mean.”

Feyre shrugged, pulling the arrow out of the squelching flesh. “We all have to survive somehow.”

Something flashed in Isaac’s eyes as he took in her words. “Yes,” he said, his expression dimming. “I know.”

Feyre bit on her lip, her head dipping to the bloodied arrow in her hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Relax, Feyre,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I just came to watch you hunt.”

Shoving the turkey into her hunting bag, Feyre grimaced. “I’m afraid you’re in for a huge disappointment.”

“Still nothing, huh?”

“Just this pathetic little guy,” she said, patting the brown leather, then frowned. “I probably shouldn’t say that minutes after killing him.”

Isaac stared at her for a moment, then at the bag, its worn-out fabric already staining red. “He’s no less pathetic than the rest of us,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?” Feyre asked.

But Isaac had already turned away, his gaze focused on a point high up in the trees, where another bird chirped a sad melody.

“Mockingjay,” Isaac hummed, those absent eyes closing in content.

Pain stung at her chest as she watched him, so close within her reach, and yet so far away. She had barely known him before he returned from the Capitol two years ago, but she did remember him as the kind baker’s son who had always used to smile.

Now, Isaac only smiled when his mind escaped to a better place.

Sometimes, Feyre wished he would take her there with him—somewhere where she wouldn’t have to worry about the cold, the hunger, the looming realisation that this wretched reality would never change. Perhaps that was why she felt so drawn to him—in a world of pain and uncertainty, Isaac was a brief escape to peace.

“Do you know what day it is, Feyre?” his voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She assumed he’d dismissed her presence by now.

She answered him anyway.

“The Reaping.”

Isaac nodded. “The Capitol’s hunt.”

Feyre’s brows knotted in confusion. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at.”

At last, Isaac turned to her with a sigh. “How different, do you think, are we from your turkey?” He gestured to the bag at her side. “We, too, live out our lives in fear, our only hope to escape those who prey upon us.” Isaac shrugged. “The answer, Feyre, is: you and that turkey? You’re one and the same. The Capitol’s forest is only a little larger.”

A shiver went down her spine at the words, spoken behind the border yet dangerous nonetheless. They wouldn’t—couldn’t—hurt Isaac, not anymore, but her? She was fair game, and Isaac’s reflections were treason.

He must have realised this, and he flinched visibly, as if shaking off some haze. “I think I should go,” Isaac said, turning to her again with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Ignoring the cold filling her veins, Feyre nodded. “I’ll walk you home.”

They walked through the forest, neither of them saying a word, even the mockingjays having seemingly decided to stay behind. Feyre couldn’t blame them. In Panem, not even birds were safe.

Especially not in District Twelve. Frankly, Feyre was surprised birds as beautiful as the mockingjay had still bothered to visit the place. Only ravens and magpies seemed to remain now, pests, as Nesta liked to call them, though Feyre had never agreed. They were drawn to jewels—to anything that glinted, really—scouting for any sparkle in the ground they could find. As if the stars they’d flown with in the night had not been enough. Feyre envied them, if anything. She used to dream of touching the stars, too.

Even the jewels were out of her reach, so far out, in fact, that she counted herself lucky if she managed to get her hands on coal. Coal, minerals—for the longest time, they had been her district’s export. The mines hid wonders of immeasurable beauty and infinite riches, her father used to tell her. Immeasurable beauty and infinite riches—it was no wonder the Capitol would put its hands all over them as soon as they’d see the light of day.

Isaac used to work at the mines, just like her father had. He never had to—his own father’s bakery had been doing a good enough job to sustain the family over the winter—but he volunteered. Feyre didn’t know the whole story, but according to Elain, Isaac had taken an old man’s place, too sick to answer the Capitol’s call to labour. And so, at seventeen, her friend had gone into the mines to become “his District’s pride.”

He had only stayed there two years, of course. Feyre remembered that day as clear as yesterday.

It had been the first time she’d been allowed to watch the Hunger Games. In what Nesta had called a foolish, ridiculous effort to spare them from the world’s cruelty, their father would send them to bed early, every night from the day the Games began to the day they ended. Nesta and Elain would always sneak out, watching the screen in horror from where Father could not see. Feyre had stayed, and would continue to do so until he died.

She was seventeen, and Nesta has hardly shared Father’s sentiment. It’s my last year, she’d said. If they choose me, at least I’ll have some comfort in knowing my sister are watching until the very end.

But they had not chosen Nesta, a girl called Clare Beddor taking the female Tribute’s title. She’d died almost immediately.

The last time Feyre had seen Clare—in real life, not getting butchered on the small screen at her kitchen counter—was when she stood in front of the District’s Hall of Justice, tears streaming down her face as she shook the hand of the male Tribute beside her.

Isaac Hale had not cried that day.

He never cried after his return, either, though he was never quite the same. The Capitol hadn’t let him mentor last year, and from the rumours, he wouldn’t mentor in this edition, either. He’s getting a well-deserved rest, the news would say. He’s gone mad, the locals would whisper. But Feyre knew they were all wrong.

Isaac was simply…broken.

“Mind your head,” he told her gently as they leaned under the electric fence.

She’d have to turn right to head home, but Feyre had promised to walk him back to the Victors’ Village, and she fully intended on keeping that promise.

She’d never been into his house. He told here there were cameras.

The noise grew louder, and soon enough, they reached the black market, its merchants shouting over each other, each of them claiming to have the freshest, most affordable produce from Eleven. Feyre avoided them all like the plague, unless she herself had something to trade. It had been far more enjoyable to look at their stock knowing she could do more than simply look.

“Does my eye deceive me?” A raspy laugh reached them. “Feyre Archeron, back from the hunt!”

She turned to the old man with a polite smile. “I’ve got nothing for you today, Andras.”

His one, yellow eye narrowed. “And Isaac Hale, back from the dead.”

Beside her, Isaac paled.

Feyre gripped the sleeve of his tunic, nudging him forward. “I’ll come on a better day,” she offered. The man only shrugged.

Isaac stopped her at the end of the street. “I can make my way from here.”

Her brows furrowed. “It’s okay, I can…”

He placed a hand on her arm. “Feyre. Go home, eat your turkey. I’ll be okay.”

Her hand covered his own, and she did her best to keep herself intact. “We could run away, you know.” She swallowed hard. “We could get away with it, you and I.”

For the first time, Isaac truly and openly smiled. “I’ll see you at the Reaping, Feyre.”

***

The smell of blood and carcass filled the house as soon as Feyre stepped foot inside.

Living on the outskirts of the District borders was a blessing, really. Feyre couldn’t imagine having to sneak past the centre’s Peacekeepers with a bow in hand and arrows on her back—not if she wanted to make it out alive, or with fifteen lashes taking her quiver’s place at the very least.

She had already learned her lesson once, though, with five long scars creasing her back if she ever dared forget it. She wouldn’t—that one time was enough to make her cautious. On busier days, she’d leave her hunting gear in the small hollow of the oak tree five minutes north of the electric fence. If any of the Peacekeepers confiscated her bow, it would be over. She could sell everything she owned, and she still most likely wouldn’t have been able to afford one. Bows, after all, were illegal to civilians, and the black market prices had been absurd these days.

And so, the only thing carried by Feyre today was the dead, bloodied turkey, her bag heavy with its stench. It was worse than she thought, it seemed, judging by the sickly green hue of Elain’s skin as she handed her the bird.

“Feyre,” her name came with a sigh of relief. “You’re home early.”

“Still nothing?” Nesta cut in, rising from the chair at the kitchen table.

Feyre’s lips formed a thin line. “This was the best I could do.”

Silence fell over the room, filled only by the distant sounds of scratchy caws—ravens, Feyre realised, picking whatever lunch they could find off the streets.

Elain, thankfully, was the one to break it. “I laid out some clean clothes for you on the bed.” The one bed they all shared all winter, keeping each other warm. “So that you can look nice at the…later today.”

Elain wiped her hands on the apron nervously, trying to mask the way they shook as she almost said the word that made her skin crawl and the blood drain from her face. The Reaping.

Her throat tight, Feyre forced her eyes back to her sister’s face. “Thank you.”

Elain nodded, still trembling slightly as she placed the turkey on the red-stained cutting board. Feyre’s heart clenched at the sight, her own dread forgotten in light of Elain’s, who’d been enduring this for far too long. Who, year after year, had watched her neighbours, her friends, leave and never return. Slaughtered on a tiny screen the Capitol had forced into their house, their anguished screams the only goodbye they could offer. Elain, for whom this Reaping could only mean one thing—death or freedom, a permanent release from Panem’s blood debt.

At twenty-one, this year marked the last time Elain could be drafted as District Twelve’s female tribute. It also marked her name being added to the pool for the tenth time. Tenth.

They all knew what it meant.

“You’re not going to be chosen,” Feyre said, her voice cutting through the dismal silence. “There are so many people your age in our District. They’re going to draw someone else’s name, and you’re going to go about your day like you do each year,” she dragged the words out, her eyes never leaving her sister’s. She could only hope they carried as much confidence as her tone did. “And then, you’ll finally be free. Like Nesta,” Feyre looked to her eldest sister, who nodded in affirmation. “And like so many others in Twelve. Okay?”

Elain loosed a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said, and took Feyre’s hands in hers. “We both will. You only have two years left, and then everything is going to be fine. Better.”

It was true—she did have two years left, but it seemed as though each year, there were less and less of District Twelve’s kids left. At the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, her name would be in the pool eight times.

Nesta’s name had never been drawn, and neither would Elain’s. Perhaps fate would be merciful to the Archeron sisters—perhaps it would see the life they led each day and decide it was punishment enough.

Feyre squeezed her sister’s hands back, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Of course.”

At last, her sister smiled, then let go, her hands moving to smooth out her apron yet again. “I’ll draw you a bath. You stink, you know.”

Feyre laughed at that. “I know.”

With a small shake of her head, Elain disappeared into the adjacent room, the door clicking lightly behind her.

“They probably wouldn’t mind seeing you with blood on your hands,” Nesta’s voice sounded behind her. “It’s how they like us best.”

Feyre turned to meet the icy blue of her stare. “A little help would have been appreciated.”

Nesta waved a hand. “You and I both know she won’t stop fidgeting until it’s all over.”

With a sigh, Feyre dropped to the wooden seat, her forehead resting against the roughened table’s surface. A wave of tiredness crashed into her all of a sudden, washing over every aching limb until she wanted nothing but to fall asleep right where she was sat. “I suppose you’re right.”

A loud creak of the chair moving beside her signalled Nesta taking her seat.

“Was there truly nothing in the woods?” her sister finally asked.

That woke Feyre right back up. “You think I lied before?”

“Of course not,” Nesta said calmly, crossing her arms on the table. “I just think you should take a break for a day or two. You might even find more of those birds if you’re well-rested.”

Teeth digging into the inside of her cheek, Feyre accused, “You’re making fun of me.”

“I really am not,” Nesta sighed, two slender fingers moving to rub her temple. “But Feyre, this turkey you caught will last us three days at best. What then?”

Anger began to boil in the pit of her stomach, rising steadily with each word. “Nesta, I already told you I’m doing the best I can.”

Another sigh. “I know, Feyre, I only mean that…”

“If you’re so dissatisfied with my hunting, maybe you should try it out yourself.”

Nesta straightened in her seat. “That is not what I meant.”

Her hands curled into fists. “No, I think that’s precisely what you meant.” She met Nesta’s gaze and her eyes narrowed. “Winter or not, I hunt every single day. What do you do to help us survive?”

Flames rose in Nesta's cold, hardened stare, her jaw clenching tight as she measured Feyre’s form beside her. “You have no idea,” she said, her tone practically seething, “You have no idea what I’ve done to help this family. What I’ve been doing ever since Father gave up on us, then died like the coward he was. What I’ll continue to do,” she added, her voice breaking slightly, “until both you and Elain no longer need me.”

Feyre opened her mouth, but it was Elain’s words that sounded beside her. “We’ll always need you, Nesta.”

Feyre turned to face her, and Elain reached for both her sisters’ hands, her doe-like eyes shining with concern. “We’ll always need each other.”

Neither of them said anything, and Elain released them with a sigh. “Your bath is ready, Feyre.”

Feyre rose from the table, stepping towards the bathroom before turning to face Nesta one last time. “Will you skin the turkey while I’m gone?”

With a small nod, Nesta stood as well. “Of course."

***

Elain had chosen a pretty dress, long and made of blue linen, though Feyre still thought she looked ridiculous. It didn’t help that her sister decided a braid would be most suitable for such an outfit, golden-brown and thrown over the side of Feyre’s shoulder. She wouldn’t be surprised if she got thrown in with the fourteen year olds.

When the alarm sounded, all thoughts of the dress and her hair evaporated from Feyre’s head.

“It’s time,” Nesta told them, already at the door.

Feyre took Elain’s hand and squeezed it once. Her sister did not answer.

They walked with the crowd, large and beige and never-ending. At least the spring breeze accompanied them, and, not for the first time in her life, Feyre was grateful Twelve rarely suffered a scorching sun.

Families moved slowly around them, an aura of whispers and murmurs hanging in the air as parents assured their kids that it would all turn out okay. Feyre had never wanted nothing more than to believe them.

“Feyre,” Elain said quietly, her jaw tight enough for Feyre to notice how hard she fought to keep it from trembling.

She squeezed her hand once more. “I’ll tell you what, Elain,” she said. “When we get back, we’ll each have another, small serving of the turkey. Okay?” she asked, and Elain nodded. “Good. It will give you something to look forward to. For the entirety of this Reaping, I want you to think of nothing but how good the food is going to be.”

“It was really nice,” Elain admitted.

Feyre smiled. “Exactly.”

“Peacekeepers,” Nesta warned beside them. They were getting close, the massive sign in the distance signalling they have reached the Hall of Justice.

“Wait, Nesta—” Elain began.

Nesta looked firmly into her eyes. “I’ll see you soon. Do not make a scene.”

With a hard swallow, Elain nodded.

And with that, Nesta moved aside to join the audience of grieving parents, siblings and friends.

“Elain,” Feyre told her one last time. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”

Elain exclaimed in shock as a white-dressed, masked man grabbed her arm, pulling them apart. She thrashed for only a second before realising she was being held by a Peacekeeper.

“Registration,” the man barked.

Elain nodded frantically, and Feyre dared one last look at her sister before joining her queue.

Moments later, she was greeted by a stern-looking woman whose expression reminded her of Nesta.

“Name.”

“Feyre Archeron,” she breathed.

It would be okay. She’d done this millions of times.

Without another word, the woman reached for her hand, pulling it toward her violently before pricking her finger to draw blood. Feyre hissed as she pressed the fresh cut to a piece of paper, right beneath an awfully bad photo of her, dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks more hollow than the deepest of Twelve’s mines.

Some things never change, Feyre thought bitterly.

With that, she joined her sector, taking her place somewhere in the middle—close enough to see the large, white screen set beside the stage, but far enough to not be able to make out the faces of the Hall’s officials, standing straight and dressed in grey.

The queues behind her shortened within minutes, and when the last child took their place in the audience, the screen lit up without warning.

“War,” a voice rumbled over the crowds, old and wise and with a hint of grandfatherly authority that she’d gotten to know so well over the years. “Terrible war.

“Such a vile, cruel act,” President Hybern’s words continued to sound over the speakers, with images of smoke and fire flaring up the screen one by one. “An act that pushed our country into its greatest trial.”

Another bomb set off with an amplified thud.

“Seventy-four years ago, the thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Their malevolence spreading nothing but hate and destruction over Panem.” Now, the screen showed the Districts—Seven and Ten, from what little Feyre could make out—with their Halls of Justice on fire, their buildings nothing more than gravel on the streets. Another image showed a woman holding a small child, crying out in agony over its lifeless body. “Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This,” the President emphasised over a clip of children weeping, “was the uprising that rocked our land until nothing remained.”

A girl standing beside Feyre sucked in a breath.

“And then came the peace,” the President’s voice was now calm, serene, as the screen displayed Eleven’s wheat fields, floating atop the wind’s gentle breeze. “A Capitol rose up from the ashes and created a new era of prosperity. Of love. Of family.” A child ran up to their mother, launching into her arms, both of them laughing in happiness.

“But peace comes at a cost,” Hybern warned. “Together as a nation, we swore we would never know such destruction again. Would never know such treason again.”

Feyre almost rolled her eyes, bracing herself for what was coming.

“And so it was decreed,” President Hybern announced proudly, “that each year, the Districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.” A young man on the screen stood on a podium topless, his muscles glistening in the sun, as he threw up his hands in victory. “The lone victor,” the President continued, “bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of the Capitol’s generosity and forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future. This is how we stand together. As a family, as a nation. As Panem.”

With that, the video cut off.

Feyre had never heard the District’s centre be so silent.

And then, the door flung open, and a woman stepped in, her hands joined in a loud applause.

“Wasn’t this just beautiful?” she asked into the microphone at the stage’s centre, her voice dripping with syrup.

Feyre hadn’t seen her before—the Capitol must’ve sent someone new.

She was beautiful, to be sure—everyone in the Capitol was, or so the Districts were told, at least. Her face was covered with a thick layer of foundation so white she would have merged into the Hall’s wall behind her had it not been for her hair—crimson red, and long, falling in waves to her back and crowned with large black flowers Feyre had never seen in her life.

Feyre could just barely make out her face—nothing special, she decided. Dark eyes, straight nose. Pretty, she supposed, though she might have not been the best person to consult on such matters. Coal, on the other hand…

She didn’t even realise she’d snorted at her inner dialogue until the girl beside her elbowed her straight in the guts. She muttered a low “Ow!” before the girl’s glare told her all she needed to know.

Diverting her attention back to the crimson woman, Feyre listened again. “Now,” she crooned. “The time has come for us to select our courageous Tributes!” she clapped her hands again, and Feyre thought she had never seen a more idiotic spectacle in her life.

The woman winked, red-painted lips twisting in a smile. “If you were paying attention to the lovely video, you know we’re going to choose one lovely man and woman for the absolute honour of representing District Twelve!”

For a woman like her, Feyre supposed, everything must have been lovely. Even the imminent deaths of the two children she was about to hand-pick from her ridiculous crystal bowl.

“As always,” she winked again. “Ladies first.”

With a loud click of her heels on the wooden stage, she made way towards the bowl on Feyre’s right, a perfectly manicured hand dipping inside.

Feyre’s heard stopped. This was the time.

A few more seconds, and it will all be over.

Breathe.

Elain, I’ll let you have my extra serving, she swore in her head. Just let it all be over.

In the few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Feyre wondered if the bowl was made from real crystal, and if yes, if it had been her father’s dead hands that mined it.

And then, the crimson woman pulled out two cards.

She weighed them down in each hand, making a show of choosing before settling on the card on her left, the right card dropping back into the bowl.

Torturously slowly, she stepped back to the microphone and opened the card, her delighted smile now clear on the screen at the stage.

“The female tribute from District Twelve is…” She looked to the crowd, her eyebrows rising in feigned suspense. “Elain Archeron.”

No.

No no no no no no

“Elain Archeron?”

Please.

The ringing in her head was deafening.

“Where is the lovely Elain?”

Please.

Someone pushed Elain out of the crowd, her usually beautiful face now white as death.

Feyre’s whole body burned as she watched Elain move toward the stage on shaky legs.

“There you are! Oh, you’re gorgeous!” the crimson woman praised. “Come closer, dear, let us all have a look at you!”

A Peacekeeper pushed her closer, and Elain stumbled over a step.

Not Elain.

It couldn’t have been Elain.

It shouldn’t have been Elain.

No.

“No,” Feyre said out loud, her legs moving on their own accord. “No!” She shouted, pushing her way out of the crowd. “ELAIN!”

Elain’s head whipped back, and those doe eyes have never held such fear.

Two Peacekeepers reached her in seconds, holding Feyre back and into the crowd again. “No! LET ME GO!” Feyre trashed, kicking one of them in the shin.

She forced herself free.

“I VOLUNTEER!” Feyre shrieked with a strength her lungs had never known before.

Her entire body stilled, as if she’d surprised it just as much as the crowd around her.

“I volunteer as Tribute.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

“My, my!” the presenter wondered. “I believe we have a volunteer!”

The crowd began to murmur.

“Come on up, my dear.”

It had only been by Feyre’s sheer will that her feet carried her forward. She didn’t stop until she reached Elain, still frozen in place.

“Feyre,” Elain breathed, tears falling freely down her face.

“It’s okay,” Feyre whispered. “You’re okay.”

She didn’t know how she managed her way through the stairs and onto the stage, but within the next few moments, Feyre stood beside the crimson woman, her appearance even more ghastly up close.

“What is your name, my dear?” she asked.

Feyre looked over the crowd, her head still spinning.

Someone subtly cleared their throat beside her.

“What?” she turned toward the sound.

“I asked about your name, dear.”

“Feyre,” her voice was hoarse, and she swallowed hard. “Feyre Archeron.”

“Ah,” the woman acknowledged with a motherly nod. “And am I right in assuming that was your sister whose place you have just taken?”

Feyre nodded, her eyes still searching the crowd. “Yes.” Was Elain safe? Was Nesta? “Yes.”

“Well, Feyre Archeron, you are District Twelve’s first volunteer!” she turned to the microphone, addressing the crowd. “Such bravery. Such heart. Congratulations, lovely Feyre.”

Congratulations?

The woman clasped her hands together. “And now for the gentlemen!” she said happily, making her way to the other bowl.

Feyre’s heart sank as she realised her sisters were no longer in the crowd, and neither was Isaac. What happened to them? Where did they take them?

Oh, Isaac, Feyre thought. We should have ran away.

“The male Tribute from District Twelve,” the woman’s voice sounded loudly beside her again, shaking Feyre out of her daze, “is Tamlin Rosethorn.”

The florist’s son.

He stepped out of the crowd, pale yet standing tall and strong. His muscles reflected through his white shirt as he stepped onto the stage.

“Go on,” the woman encouraged with a smile. “Shake hands.”

Tamlin locked her hand in a tight grip, and as Feyre met his emerald gaze, she wondered if he would kill her first.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Tributes from District Twelve!” she exclaimed for the final time to no applause but the sound of Panem’s anthem playing over the speakers. “Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favour!”

“Come now,” she now addressed the two of them directly. “Inside.”

Feyre did not know how she got pushed into one of the Hall’s rooms and sat on a chair, the door locking her inside. “Wait here,” a muffled voice told her.

So Feyre waited.

An eternity, or maybe a second, had passed when the door opened again, two figures launching themselves in.

Feyre shot up from her seat.

“One minute,” the muffled voice told them.

Elain was sobbing as she threw her arms around Feyre’s neck. “Feyre. My beautiful Feyre.”

“Everything will be okay,” Feyre told her, forcing strength into her voice.

For Elain.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Feyre. I would’ve—”

“It’s done now,” Feyre said, pulling away to meet her sister’s gaze. “Listen, I don’t have much time.”

“Promise you will make it out,” Elain begged.

“I promise,” Feyre lied.

Her head now turned to Nesta, who began, “Feyre—”

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” Feyre cut her off. “My bow and arrows are hidden in the tallest oak tree in the forest, five minutes north of the fence by the house. Talk to Isaac. He will teach you how to shoot.” Nesta nodded, and for the first time, Feyre saw silver lining her sister’s eyes. “Take care of her.”

Nesta nodded again. “I always have.”

Feyre loosed a breath of relief. “I know,” she said, then pulled Nesta into their embrace.

“Time’s up,” someone said behind them, and Feyre took a step back.

“Try to win. Please,” Nesta told her.

There was nothing else to say, so Feyre said nothing. Soon, her sisters were escorted out.

“You only have thirty seconds,” a Peacekeeper told her, and another visitor appeared in the doorway.

“Isaac,” Feyre breathed, but he stopped her before she could waste their time with nothing but empty goodbyes.

“You can hunt,” he said, his eyes cleared and more determined than ever. “Use it.”

Feyre shook her head. “We both know I’m already dead, Isaac.”

He opened his mouth, but Feyre stopped him. “Take care of them. Please, promise that whatever you do, you won’t let them starve.”

At that, Isaac wrapped his arms around her. “I will,” he whispered into her ear. “I promise.”

They looked at each other one last time, and Feyre said, “We should’ve run away, like I told you.”

He offered her a sad smile. “You’d never leave your sisters, Feyre. Only death could ever stand between you.”

“Yes,” Feyre said, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I know.”

With that, Isaac left, and as the door closed quietly behind him, Feyre stepped into her new reality.

She was truly alone.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase

[ruiniel]

Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Chapter Count: 1.5K

Rating: 🔞

Chapter tags & warnings: Sengoku period flashbacks, Hurt No Comfort, POV Tsugikuni Michikatsu, POV Second Person, Blood Drinking

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VIII - Part IX

On AO3

Author note

Daisho: typically a set depicted as a katana and wakizashi (or a tanto) mounted in matching fittings

VII.

He runs a hand down the horse’s mane. “Soon, friend.” He considered not taking a mount at first, but given the need, it might be a significant addition. Michikatsu thinks of the recent days, all of which have marked the final preparations for departure. He does not know the demon hunters’ location, but Yoriichi agreed to meet at a spot familiar to both of them and go from there.

A heaviness presses on him: the inevitable worries that come with leaving a household behind for an indefinite period. He shakes his head. Determination was always a chief quality of his, or so his parents had often said. When one reaches a decision, one must follow through. 

Two more tasks left. He leaves the stable behind, crossing the courtyard. Already he’s donned his travel clothing, and all that’s left to take is inside. 

He raises his head; the thought dies when he sees you. 

You’re walking towards him, carrying something. Michikatsu swallows his regret, facing you and returning your greeting with a slight bow of the head. 

As you stand before him, he sees the objects you carry: a daisho set. 

“My husband,” you murmur with eyes downcast; your face looks tired—he’s not been to your bedroom in weeks, and now wonders whether he should have, if only to urge you to take some rest.  

“Hisami. Where are you taking your father’s swords?” He keeps his voice from trembling with some success. 

Without a word, you raise the weapons with both hands open, palms up, with their edge towards you and the hilts to his right—a customary sign of trust. “Please. I want you to have them.”

Michikatsu stares. The weapons have been in your family for over a century and are an heirloom since your father passed. The matching ebony scabbards are decorated with mother-of-pearl inlay, and he knows the sword smith who made the blades was an artisan of the craft. 

He sighs and places a hand on your shoulder, the other over the cold, lacquered scabbards. “I have my own. You know this.”

“Please take them.”

Your voice is calm on the words, but he knows you, senses what lies beneath. His grip tightens on your shoulder. “They belong with you. I would like you to keep them safe… until next time. Will you do that?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes squeezing shut, wrapping your arms around the set as though hanging onto an anchor at sea. “Michikatsu…” Slowly, you lean forward, with his hand still on your shoulder bringing you closer until your forehead rests against his chest. “Until next time,” you repeat, muffled against his kimono. 

“Yes,” he says, believing it wholeheartedly.

A wind brings with it a gust from outside, dispersing the heavy warmth settling in the room.

“...help?” You move away, watching as he drags himself and props his back against the wooden frame of the fusuma panel.

Between the fresh corpse bloodying your floor and him, you can’t tell which looks worse. 

“Yes… for this…” He points at the gash adorning his throat, then closes his eyes, hands falling lifeless in his lap. 

You pick up the sword again. “Who… What was that? Did you bring it here?”

He shakes his head. “What would I have to gain by sending another demon to your doorstep?” 

“How should I know?! You…” The blade shakes in your hands. “And what happened to you? What do you want?” 

He grits his teeth, barely maintaining an upright position against the wood. He must’ve consumed much of his strength earlier. “I’ve not told you how we die.”

A sigh leaves you, physical exhaustion making itself felt as the turmoil from earlier dissipates. Slowly, you also sink to the ground, careful to avoid the severed remains. 

He speaks of sunlight, or removing the head. But then…

“You can’t do anything this way, can you? You can’t die, but… you can’t function, either.” 

As the conclusion leaves your mouth, he nods, reopening his eyes. “I will be brief. Your blood…” he pauses, hands clamped into fists at his sides. “It is a rare kind, and very potent.”

“You came all the way here to take more of my blood?!” It sounds ridiculous, but he looks frighteningly serious about it. 

“To ask for it,” he says, “this time.”

True, before, it was you who offered, which leaves little in the way of a moral high ground here. It was the manner in which he did it, though, which caused your resentment and wariness. “And what if I refuse?”

He closes his eyes again. “There is nothing I can do…” and to prove a point, he tries to rise and fails. 

You stare at the amount of blood drying on his clothing… You’re no medical expert, but it looks as though anyone else would have bled out a long, long time ago. You shift closer, crossing your legs as you sit across from him. “Maybe you miscalculated. You’ve just told me the certain ways in which I can be rid of you. What makes you think I won’t use those methods instead?”

It’s difficult watching him in this state. It gnaws at you like a new disease, but the situation has all the making of a nightmare, and you desperately need some control. But, how? 

“Hah…” his eyes are red slits as he speaks. “You… are no killer. But I am. And rather than seeking to absorb a number of humans… a feat I’m incapable of, in this state...” he makes a gesture with his hand as though to say ‘here we are’.

This proud, aloof manner, even when so grievously injured, is enraging. “You’re a… a monster!”

Composed, he wipes blood off his lower lip. “Of course I am. What have I been telling you all this time?”

You hang your head. But then… in hindsight, many lives in exchange for a portion of blood seems not as wicked a choice as the alternative. 

Or you could let the daylight take him. 

I can’t. “How do I know you won’t kill me once you’ve regained yourself?”

The demon tilts his head, offering you the remnant of another smile. It looks so out of place on his pale, drawn face. A full-body tremor runs through you. “Have I ever tried to before, when I would have succeeded so easily?”

A side of you hates the way this ordeal is thrust upon you, while the other pushes the urge to get this over with. “Fine.”

No reaction. “... but?” he asks.

“But,” you gesture towards him. “Two conditions. One, you leave and never return here after this.”

He snorts. “You need not worry about that.”

“Two,” you continue, “... this time, we do things my way.” And saying so, you rise to stand even as he looks up at you, uncomprehending. Having a shred of advantage steels some courage.

With one foot, you nudge at his shoulder. He relents, sliding down onto his back on the floor. He narrows his eyes as you grasp your sword with one hand, but makes no comment. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you sigh, pointing the blade at him. “Sit still,” you demand, descending to your knees and moving to sit atop him, thighs grasping his middle. Will this be enough? What else to do but try? The sharp edge of your blade goes to his throat.

A low, guttural groan escapes his lips, but nothing else. His body stays cold and still beneath you except for each labored breath filling the silence.

“Now, slowly,” you say, baring your left arm and slashing at your wrist with the blade. There is pain, but the excitement from earlier must have made you less sensitive to it.

You lean over, your right hand again holding the sword fast at his throat. “Here,” you lower your bleeding wrist to his lips, closing your eyes.

Shaking fingers wrap around your forearm, holding it still. As warmth gently envelops the wound, you feel a familiar sensation, but no great discomfort.

You hiss as he feeds, his grip tightening as time passes. You feel more pressure—his free hand has settled heavily on your right thigh as though to keep you there.

 “S-stop… enough!” Your blade digs deeper into his throat before dizziness envelops your body completely.

The hold on you slackens as you open your eyes, rising to your feet as fast as you can—which, admittedly, is not very fast. You nearly trip over the other body. 

Did it work? You stare at him, but there seems to be no improvement, apart from his chest rising and falling in a faster tempo. You say nothing as he stares back—not at you, but at the sword in your hand.

The expression is as peculiar as that first night you met, tinged with forgetfulness and guilt. “Thank you…”

You choose not to respond. Sometimes, silence is best.

He lies there, unable or unwilling to rise. His own weapon is still abandoned on the floor some distance away. “You…” He says something else, but it’s difficult to grasp his words.

“What?”

“... need not clean… those remains… you will see.”

You can barely bring yourself to consider the scattered blood and flesh behind you. “What are you saying?”

His voice fades, barely audible. “When morning comes… let the daylight in.”

Part VIII

[angel-anachronism]

Virtuous Cycle (male! oc x gn! reader) (DARK) (I/III)

"I HOLD MYSELF IN CONTEMPT!"

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: obsessive behaviours, angsty (NO ROMANCE, THIS IS MEANT FOR HORROR/THRILLER PURPOSES), reader is only mentioned

3rd January, 1941,

??? point of view

The courtroom was suffocating to me, as the stale air hung heavy with judgement. The judge, a stern figure dressed in black robes, stared down at me from his elevated perch as if trying to peer through the deepest parts of my soul.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the cold, unforgiving wood beneath me serving as a reminder of the atrocities I've committed, the actions I've made only for them. My eyes darted around the room, seeking any form of escape, only for my hope to be shortly cut off by the dark atmosphere and judging eyes of people I didn't know and knew.

The prosecutor, a man with a cold and merciless gaze, rose from his seat like a vulture circling its prey. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," He acknowledged, the audience's gaze following him, no longer looking at me with those terrifying glares. "we stand here today to unveil the face of a killer. A man who, in cold blood, extinguished the light of innocence."

The words echoed in the room and through my head, amplifying the dreadfulness that clawed my conscience. I could feel the weight of the accusations pressing down on me, threatening to consume me whole. Desperation clawed at my throat as I tried to find the right words, the words that would make them understand.

"Viator Goodwin," the prosecutor sneered, emphasizing each syllable as if trying to etch my name into a stone wall. "A man who, by all accounts, appeared to be just ordinary. Truly a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The air in the room grew thicker with each passing moment, thick enough to cut it with a knife if possible. The eyes of the spectators bore into me like a thousand needles through my heart. I knew I had to speak, had to make them understand the torment that had driven me to commit the unspeakable. With a confident voice, I raised my right hand. "Your honour, I plead insanity."

Murmurs of disbelief swept through the room, the judge's eyes narrowing at my proclamation. "Insanity, Mr Goodwin? Do you truly believe that defence will pardon you of your sins?"

I looked into the judge's eyes, pleading for mercy that I knew wouldn't come if I didn't play my cards right. After all, I couldn't plead for my innocence, after everything I had done for that tempter, that liar that should've been my spouse by now. Oh, if only they could've accepted my love, none of this would've happened. Not one innocent's blood would've been spilt if only they could've been mine. "Your Honour, I...I was driven to madness. The darkness consumed me, and I lost control of my actions. I had a good heart, I was seldom insane until that demon possessed me!"

The judge leaned back, his gaze unwavering. "The court will hear your defence, Mr. Goodwin, but know this: the so-called "demon" that led you astray will not shield you from the consequences of your actions."

As I began recounting the torturous descent into the abyss that had become my life, the room seemed to close in around me. The echoes of my words full of despair bounced off the walls, creating a silent room of people whose families were the victims of the massacre I had created with my own two hands. In this cold, unforgiving courtroom, I stood alone, condemned by the very darkness created in my soul, that had whispered its malevolent promises into my fractured core.

As I spoke, the room fell silent, the gravity of my words hanging like a veil. "Your Honour," I began, my voice laced with desperation, "the actions I committed were caused by (Y/N) (L/N) who unravelled the fragile threads of my sanity. They wove their influence into the very fabric of my judgement, and I became their puppet, dancing to the sick and twisted tune they created."

I could see their family in the distance, looking at me in disbelief, as if I uttered Satan's name. The murmurs rippled through the courtroom as the spectators gave me the same look (Y/N)'s parents gave me. It was true, (Y/N) was known as the sweetest person in town, always helping those in need, always being polite, and always being kind. Oh, how they couldn't see through their facade, that mask of beauty they have always worn, to hide the rotting soul they had underneath.. The judge's gaze remained stern.

"(Y/N) (L/N)," I continued, my words dripping with bitterness, "a siren in the disguise of innocence. They lured me into the abyss with their honeyed words and enticing smile. I was but a moth attracted to the flame, and in their presence, reason abandoned me."

I could feel the eyes of the jury on me, judging my every word the prosecutor's scepticism was evident, and I could sniff the mockery in the air, taste the shame I would have to endure if I didn't act adeptly. But I pressed on, unravelling the tale of that siren's seduction and the subsequent descent into madness that led me to commit heinous acts.

"They bewitched me, Your Honour, with promises of love. I was trapped in their web, a willing victim to the poison that dripped from their lips," I declared, my hands trembling with the weight of my confession.

The prosecutor rose, his voice cutting through the silence. "Your Honour, the defendant's attempt to shift the blame onto one of the massacre victims is nothing more than a desperate ploy. We must seek justice for the lives he has taken, not to entertain baseless accusations"

The judge nodded solemnly, signalling for me to continue with my defence. Oh how much I hate this prosecutor. If only I could cut his tongue. The room hung in suspense as I recounted the relationship I had with (Y/N) (L/N) before everything went downhill, that cursed name rolling on my tongue like a sickeningly sweet bon-bon, each word a damning testimony to the insanity that slowly took over me. The prosecutor's objections echoed, but I painted a vivid picture of their influence, leaving the courtroom flabbergasted.

As I finished my tale, the judge's expression hardened. "Mr. Goodwin," he declared, "your attempt to lay blame elsewhere does not absolve you of the crimes you committed. The courtroom will consider your plea of insanity, but rest assured, you shall be condemned to the electric chair, for you have committed the worst sin to have ever been bestowed in this courtroom: homicide. 8 people dead, 5 injured."

I could feel fury bubble up inside of me. How could they immediately sentence me to my death?! "But sir, can't you understand? I'm an insane man, driven to madness by that bitch! I should be sent to the infirmary! For the sake of humanity, they deserved to die of their blight! That seducer deserved everything that happened to them!"

The judge didn't seem too pleased with the way I acted. "One more word out of you, Mr Goodwin, and I'll hold you in contempt."

"I HOLD MYSELF IN CONTEMPT!"

Hello my lovelies, thank you for reading this short story I created in the middle of the night. Please remember to reblog if you enjoyed it, as I'm going to make a part II and III once I get 100 notes. Toodles! ~Luce

[dragonpigeons]

Hey guys, I wrote two accounts of my time in hospital and after for anyone interested. The first is posted here. The second I will post separately.

Update: Link to Part 2 is here.

---------------

Account I.

Hospital & After: The Physical & Medical Aspects of My Recovery

CW: bodily fluids, blood, needles, minor injuries.

》 Written with Twitter format in mind, edited for Tumblr.

i.

My family and I, we lived a normal existence. My mother was healthy. My father enjoyed a laid-back life but was otherwise healthy. My brother had lactose intolerance but was otherwise fit and healthy.

I had lived a normal life for the past three decades. I was regarded as fit and healthy. I liked to be active. I went for walks often. I ate a balanced diet. I got over illnesses normally. I had no allergies.

The symptoms began 2-3 years ago. More worries started to accumulate. There were more things to consider, more to do, and more to take responsibility for. And, damningly, what seemed like less time to have to deal with them all.

Everything was piling up in me physically. My body was hoarding all the things I wasn't facing and running away from. My body began to suffer under the weight of it all.

My body was slowly dying.

In May ‘24, my ankles started swelling. It built up quickly over the month and reached up my legs and hips. I finally went to my GP. She saw how serious it was via blood & urine tests. My results were off the charts. I was sent to the hospital right away.

At the hospital, they saw my blood count dropping. I had to have a blood transfusion. It helped my bloods somewhat, but I was still building up fluid and wasn't passing much urine. There was still something wrong with my body. I was still unwell.

They did more blood tests and found an antibody reading, which was also off the charts. The doctors told me I had SLE lupus nephritis. My own body was attacking my kidneys, which meant I couldn't pass urine and get rid of the fluid retention.

ii.

I was given a number of injections and IVs over the next few days. A boost to my low WBCs and neutrophils, prophylactic antibiotics, insulin to lower my potassium level, glucose to keep my blood sugars up, steroids to stabilise the lupus and stop the levels from rising higher.

Soon after, they put me on daily steroids in tablet form, along with a bunch of other pills - antibiotics, antifungal, antirheumatic, minerals, diuretics. They seemed to help keep my body stabilised. Though I did start getting side effects and symptoms.

I had insomnia and woke up often in the night. I also began having strange dreams. They felt like everything was submerged underwater. I couldn't understand what people were saying or doing. Also, my bowels were acting up, and I had to go to the toilet often.

All the while, my swelling continued to increase. I had to wait a few days to be transferred to another hospital. It became more difficult to stand and walk day by day. It was like moving with a bunch of clay wrapped around my feet and legs.

The only people I ended up talking to on a daily basis were my mother, who came to visit me every day with home cooked meals, and my brother via DMs. Everything just got too much, too fast. I had to make a lot of life-critical decisions in a short span of time.

Despite all that, I did find myself with time to think. I found myself thinking how crazy it was that my own body would choose to attack itself. I also found myself accepting that it did and what it meant.

Lupus was here to stay. Lupus would be my companion for life.

iii.

In the meantime, my kidney function dropped to 10%. I had a kidney biopsy done. The results were on the lighter side. There was no scarring but a lot of inflammation. The glomeruli were damaged quite severely, but they would be able to recover. My kidneys could heal.

Something interesting happened during all of this mayhem. I had small swollen lymph nodes for the past two years, which finally went away after the first antibiotic and steroid IVs. It was like the trash had been taken out. I felt I could think clearly for the first time in years.

One of the things I realised was that for nearly all my life, I had been caught up in the most trivial of things. Am I being ignored? Did I do something wrong? Do people even like my art? Does anyone actually like me?

I had used my energy on the wrong things. I came to realise, within the four white walls of my minimally-furnished ward room with a crappy plastic bed to sleep on, the more important things in life. Family. Friends. Community. Network.

The doctors proceeded to the next phase of my treatment. Though lupus had been stabilised by the steroids, my immune system needed to be suppressed in order to lower the levels.

Cyclophosphamide is a chemotherapy drug and, at standard doses, is the standard used to treat lupus patients. They explained the procedure and the risks. The first main risk was hemorrhagic cystitis. The second was infertility.

Since I didn't want children, it was a simpler decision for me to make. I had my first dose of the drug the next day. I didn't feel anything. The doctors told me it would kick in after 7-10 days.

Throughout the days, they continued to poke me like a pin cushion, checking my daily blood levels. My arms and hands were covered in bruises by the end. Some nurses were better than others. One had a shaky hand. I bled and bruised with them the most.

On my last day, the trend in my blood results showed improvement. My kidney function went from 10 to 14%. I was discharged that afternoon and waited for my meds. I chatted with an elderly man. I had chocolate biscuits. I was content.

iv.

My father picked me up and drove me back home. I took my first step out of the hospital after two weeks. Though it was summer, the weather greeted me with a cool, cloudy ambience. I opened my arms and welcomed it. I breathed in the fresh air. I smiled.

I was happy to be back in a comfortable bed and in the company of my family again. The environment was much better, more peaceful. I wasn't disturbed at odd hours of the night by nurses checking my vitals or giving me meds to eat.

My troubles weren't exactly over yet. I continued to have heart palpitations, and my swelling continued to increase over the next two days. I got worried that I would no longer be able to move. I feared I would have to be bed bound.

On the third day of being home, I finally felt myself getting lighter. I was passing more urine and going to the toilet more often. I gained 20kg+ since the start of the swelling. I went from 70+ down to 67 by day five.

On day six, things hit me like a truck. The chemotherapy drug had kicked in. My heart palpitations were hard and numerous. I grew exhausted. Even getting up to go to the toilet took so much out of me. I was down for the count for the following days.

I had to think about how to spend my energy each day. I prioritised eating, resting and going to the toilet. If I had an appointment, I'd try to prepare the day before. There were periods where I'd have more energy, and I'd make use of those.

Eventually, it did get easier as I learned how to manage my symptoms. Eat well, but don't overeat to reduce my palpitations. Eat fibre to keep the bowels moving. Drink fluids to keep hydrated. Rest often to conserve my energy.

v.

Since then, I've been getting better as the days go. It's been a rough and bumpy ride throughout. My symptoms and needs seem to change by the day. I have to adjust through trial and error.

Sometimes I get it wrong. Sometimes I get it right. Often, there's conflicting info on the Web. I have to take it all with a grain of salt (which is almost literally all I can have with my kidney injury) and find what works for me. I've learnt a lot. There's still more to learn.

Every day brings something new. I still get scared when something unwanted or unexpected happens. I still panic and rush to resolve the problem as if a meteor is about to hit the planet. I'm learning to just stop and do nothing. Calm myself. Observe.

I'm a high-strung person who tends to jump to the worst conclusions. I believe that with enough discipline and focus, I can change this for the better. It will take patience. It will take time. Something I thought I didn't have enough of. Now I know that I do.

There is time for everything. I just have to make it by cutting out the unnecessary and focusing on what truly matters.

Before, I squandered my time and energy. Now, I will spend them wisely as I recover and return to a new normality.

---

[anundyingfidelity]

RED LEDGER — Soldier Boy/Ben (Chapter II)

Summary: As a former FBSA analyst, you find yourself fighting against supes in a morally gray manner. Knowing there’s not much to do thanks to Hughie’s revelations about your current director and your hidden feelings for him, you agree to help his team despite your lack of special abilities. Just like Butcher and his boys, your family has been hurted badly by Vought and its superhuman puppets. But the one you hate the most is perhaps the worst nightmare you could ever ask to face every damn day: Soldier Boy in the flesh.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 3.6k.

Genre: slow burn, angst, some hurt/comfort and romance in the end.

Warnings: Soldier Boy hurting reader intentionally and unintentionally, some misogyny, suggestive and sexual themes, mentions of a dead older brother, mentions of drugs and alcohol usage, usual language, canon violence, wounds, blood, some OOC!Soldier Boy, reader is a badass, unrequited love (Hughie x reader).

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III

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Hughie put up a smile as you entered his room, lunch in your hands as you set up the tray on the nightstand by his bed.

“You okay?” you asked softly, sitting down by the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah, yeah. I couldn’t be better,” he said, zapping the channels on the small TV. “Without you or Annie I’d be lost right now.”

Hughie laughed it off, shifting against the pillows on his back. But there was a tight knot on your throat, despite the chuckle you let out because that’s how Hughie was and you liked him for it. Some months ago, you realized it wasn’t just a simple way of liking him. It was much more, but you were used to hiding it. And it was getting harder. You knew he loved Annie, and you were just a friend, but you couldn’t let your feelings step out when he almost died before your eyes.

“How you doing by the way?” he asked, waking you up from your thoughts.

You started to place the tray on his lap, adjusting it so he shouldn’t hurt himself until it was a made-up table on the mattress.

“Uhm, I’m better now. I just have to bear that stupid motherfucker, but besides that I think my wound is doing fine,” you stated.

His eyes shifted from the tray to you, noticing how you seemed different in just some seconds.

“Hey, I’m fine,” Hughie assured you, and your eyes connected with his own for the first time in the past few days. “Really, I am better now.”

You let out something between a sigh and a scoff. “I just hate to see you like this. It wasn’t your fault, it was all because of… You know.”

“Y/N, I’m healing, okay? Slowly, but I’m here. You’ve been a great help for me all this time. He’s a gross idiot, I get it, but don’t let this hurt you more. I’m doing fine,” Hughie said with that soft look in his eyes that reminded you that he wasn’t yours. He took one of your hands softly and you went cold for a second. “You’re my best friend, so thank you.”

You nodded and smiled, partially because of the words he used and then because you knew it was the best your relationship could get. It was time to get over it, you thought.

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Oh great, Y/N,” Butcher called you once you were out of Hughie’s room. You approached the team sitting on the living and the dining table, everyone but Annie and Kimiko was there since they were in charge of doing grocery shopping for the next few days. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Butcher announced to you. “Get ready.”

Taken aback, you furrowed your brows standing by Butcher’s side. “What?”

“The next lab. We’re ready to attack.”

“I know it, isn’t it too soon? Hughie’s not even okay to walk by himself,” you tried to reason with the stubborn leader you had.

“He’s not coming, darling” he explained, holding your gaze and dragging the last word much to your annoyance and you were ready to argue.

You scoffed, looking away and directing your eyes to the one’s sitting down before going back to Butcher.

“You’re not gonna let Annie stay here for a whole night to take care of her boyfriend, are you? We need her too, she’s been cutting off the power of most labs we’ve taken,” you snapped, crossing your arms on your chest.

Butcher barely opened his mouth when the unpleasant voice of Soldier Boy interrupted with a stern voice and a straight gaze toward you. “You’re the one who should stay.”

“No.”

“Think about it, she’s the weakest of all of us,” Ben’s eyes were now on Butcher before turning back to you. “Besides, you’re still healing.”

“That’s still your fault, jerk!”

“Y/N, stop,”  MM spoke firmly for the first time you joined. “I don’t like him better than you do, but if someone else must stay, then you should. Just rest.”

A silence fell upon everyone. You looked for Frenchie’s support with your eyes, but he turned away; you knew he had no opinion on this, even if you found the new lab together. Your work was done, or half done already. But you had the need to do something for the team because that’s why Hughie brought you in. And again, Soldier Boy was screwing your plans. You desperately searched for some back up words on Butcher with your gaze to keep you on the mission, but the only thing you got was a shrug gesture coming from him and that sly half-smile on his face.

“Sorry, you’re staying then.”

It couldn’t fucking be.

The rest of the afternoon was no better. Under the constant disapprobation of your own mind, you found yourself not in the mood of speaking or participating in the recap of the plan. Either way, you were left out and probably it was the best. Annie kept thanking you during dinner for taking care of Hughie when she couldn’t. And you should be happy to help, but inside you felt guilty for thinking he would ever reciprocate the same feelings to you when it was clear that was not possible in any way.

You offered to wash the plates and clean the kitchen instead so Annie could check on her boyfriend, and because you didn’t want to be near anyone. Some of them were already locked down inside their rooms, Butcher had to go out before going to bed, and you just found some peace and alone time cleaning the countertop. It was easier to keep your own thoughts and personal suffering to yourself like this.

Soldier Boy didn’t make it any less complicated. His mere presence and the way he had called you weak in front of everybody had you on your nerves. The worst thing was - you couldn’t really confront him again. For the sake of the stupid team. And while you finished drying the last plate, you just wished the day where he’d be sleeping again would be near.

“Still here?” Ben asked, strolling in the kitchen while looking for a glass of water.

His voice made you jump lightly, but you managed to keep yourself relatively calm after giving a long sigh. With a quick glance, you noticed he was wearing more comfy clothes.

“Go to sleep, grandpa.”

He chuckled against the glass, the distance between him and you now being too short for your own taste. “I’ve been sleeping enough. What about you? You should be seeing the boy.”

You rolled your eyes with exasperation, dropping the cloth you were using by the sink. “Are you done with me?”

Ben raised a hand in surrender. You knew better he was just making fun of you, and you had to swallow all your temper building up inside while locking his eyes with yours.

“Just saying, doll,” he said with a big smile and you looked away, rolling your eyes exhaustively. “You spend your whole day inside that room with that pussy, does Starlight know you’re fucking? Or maybe you should look for a real man to please you,” he mocked. “I’ll be here when you make up your mind.”

His last words hit you hard for some reason and you could even picture the filthy smirk on his face. First, because you were trying to restrain your own feelings towards Hughie. And second, you wouldn’t be able to hurt him, Annie or, most important, yourself. The way you cared about him certainly didn’t slip past anyone, and you cursed in your mind that Soldier Boy, looking like the clueless and stupid asshole he was, even noticed your close relationship with Hughie. Until now, you couldn’t comprehend how he would talk to you as if nothing happened and still hint that you had something to do with him, right under Annie’s nose and try to get you to his bed at the same time. The worst part of it all was that he obviously knew he was stupidly attractive, but you were too arrogant to admit it.

Tired, you were ready to leave for the evening to end the stupid game he’d put you in if you gave in to his advances.

“Good night, Soldier Boy.”

“Wait. I have a question for you,” he said before you could turn around and walk away. You stood there, raising your eyebrows and waiting for him to say something that probably would not be worth hearing. “Why do you hate me so damn much? I mean, besides that.”

You let out an incredulous laugh under your breath. “How can you ask me that kind of stuff? You really don’t care about anything, do you?” He was about to reply but you quickly talked first. “Don’t answer that. Let’s say I’m so fucking disappointed.”

“Well, I’d like to fucking know either way,” Ben stated, leaving the empty glass on the sink. “I ain’t reading your mind, I don’t have that power.”

“Shall we make a recount? I mean, besides almost killing me and Hughie during our last mission, then treating me like I’m nothing, and adding the way you hint that I’m into a guy who clearly has a girlfriend that could fry my bones just because, according to you, I need to get laid… Yeah, I don’t see any other good reason to hate you,” you said, with a stern look and sarcasm all over your voice.

There was a small moment of quietness. Ben held your gaze, narrowing his green eyes and looking at you without a flinch before he talked again with the same rigid tone you had used on him.

“But there’s something else,” he pointed at you with curious eyes.

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips. “You really wanna know? For what? It’s over, you can’t do anything! But yes, if that makes you feel any better, there’s more!”

“And that is…”

“You, piece of shit,” you hissed through your teeth before starting. “1984. Do you remember any fucking major disasters you and your dumbass team caused? Because my brother did, and because of that my whole family didn’t live to tell the whole story. There was a small town in the countryside, East Philly. Payback was there under your supervision, and you all burned everything to the ground because of some minor robberies around. My brother was so damn lucky, getting me out of the flames that our home was just because you were looking for some fireworks to play with. I was just a baby when my brother and I ended up in an orphanage, but I got to read my own file years later. And it fucking hurted me, and I won’t ever forgive you or Payback for it.”

When you finished, he said nothing. As if you were expecting anything coming from him. Ben had an unreadable expression on his face, and you couldn’t feel any better after throwing up what you had been hiding since Butcher took him as part of the team. The news was only that to Soldier Boy. Butcher knew it from the beginning, as well as MM, and they also shared a similar story of losing people they loved dearly to supes.

Sometimes you wished you had the same control inside you, but it was too much even having him there, standing right in front of you, when you knew the kind of damage he’d caused. The sadness and the tears you saved after years of mourning were now turning into rage and hatred. Your brother had died years ago when you turned eighteen, and every single night you wondered if there was any chance for him if your parents had been alive. Life wasn’t any better for you after the orphanage and your foster family, whom you left behind too. At least you had made it out and moved on, making that promise true to your older brother.

You waited for a moment for him to say something, but still nothing came out of his mouth. His eyes were lost behind you, and you got to thinking maybe he was ashamed for being so reckless. However, it couldn’t be. Soldier Boy was always a selfish idiot, and he would stay that way; you were pretty sure nothing could change him abruptly like that. You scoffed and gave a half, hurted smile at his silence.

“I thought so,” you mumbled. “Good luck with your stupid mission.”

With a last hard stare, you walked away. He stayed behind, alone in the kitchen.

Stretching your arms over your body, you slowly opened your eyes at the sound of people strolling inside the place. Some of them giving loud grunts and dropping their things on the ground, and their doors closing up with no delicacy at all. At this point it shouldn’t surprise you, but you’ve been sleeping better than ever by the warm body of your dear friend, and waking up meant you were going back to your shitty nightmare of life again.

And suddenly, it clicked. Hughie squirmed softly by your side on the bed and you rolled on the mattress until you hit the ground. You groaned a little, getting on your feet and checked the clock by the nightstand. It was past 4 a.m.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Hughie asked with a raspy voice, rubbing his eyes while still half asleep.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, I think they’re back,” you answered, trying to adjust your clothes and hair.

You knew it was just an innocent small nap you took while watching a bad movie on the TV, but still it felt wrong. Hearing Annie’s voice outside, you walked to the door and got out of the room without a word. You found her a few steps away from you, and you closed the door behind your back as she addressed you with a tired smile on her face.

“Hi, is he sleeping?” she asked, before turning the knob.

You nodded, blinking a couple of times as your eyes adjusted to the dim lights in the living room. “Yes, he’s sleeping now. He’s doing better.”

“Awesome. Uhm, thank you. I know they left you out on purpose tonight, but I feel such a relief when you’re the one taking care of Hughie,” Annie said, placing a hand on your shoulder kindly. “You’ve been friends for the past year, and I appreciate you being there for him and for me as well. You’re one of the few people here I can count on, if not the only one.”

Her words hit your heart heavily. And it was like an overwhelming guilt falling on your back, although you felt bad because denying your feelings for him was not enough. And how it couldn’t be? You’ve been caging them for months on your heart, and seeing him hurting was the cherry on top. Deep inside, you knew you were more than willing to give your life for him, wishing you were the one saving him from the blast.

“You’re welcome, Annie,” you replied, finding your voice again and smiling back. “He’s my friend, so are you. And if you need anything just tell me.”

“I’ll do. Thanks, Y/N. Go to sleep, I’m sure you’re tired,” she beamed at you once again and finally entered the bedroom. You were able to hear Hughie’s laugh for a second before the door went closed again.

Standing outside, you noticed Butcher, MM and Frenchie were checking the V tubes they took out from the lab on, along with new things that were stolen. Soldier Boy was stripping from his vest as he approached you, with his shield in one hand. He smirked, sensing what had happened.

“So, you had a good time there?” he teased.

For the first time you decided to play along with him.

“Jealous it wasn’t you?”

“See, now that’s why I still need my cock, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the stupid grin on his face. “It’s fucking 4 a.m. Stop thinking with your dick for once.”

“Calm down, doll, nothing is happening,” Soldier Boy whispered, taking a step closer to you. “Unless you want to.”

The short distance between you and his hot body, literally radiating and smelling off sweat, blood, cologne and weed made you gasp softly. Even with all the dirt and the red stains on his face, you couldn’t deny he was good looking. It was such a waste he was an asshole. But you were a little sleepy after all, and you knew you wouldn’t see past his shitty attitude in your normal mood.

“I’m done with you, take a nap.”

You tried to walk away to your room but he stopped you with his free hand around your wrist. The grip came more soft than you expected.

“Hey,” he said, the look on his face shifted immediately to what he really should resemble; a soldier, serious and stern. He was a totally different man, not like the asshole who just mocked you seconds ago. “There’s another lab. The british fucker ordered to take it down in a couple of days. You should be better by then.”

Your brows furrowed, thinking why he should be telling this to you after he was the one putting you out in the first place. But you nodded anyway.

“Sure. I’ll wait for Butcher’s orders.”

He gave you a simple nod and put his hand away, making his way to the bathroom. Now, you stood in the aisle with a confused mind and longing for three weeks of sleep.

Hearing the fight outside, you remained in a room with the computers, taking all the information you could into a memory device. Frenchie had given you a com to use in your ear so you could know if there was anyone nearby, and you felt so much better knowing Hughie was there too in his van, checking the cameras and talking through the com just in case and to avoid another accident like the previous one. Starlight had taken down most of the power that shouldn’t be useful to the team, so you just had to complete this and then wait for the V to be taken by Butcher and MM.

“Almost there,” you announced through the com, looking at the screen going seventy percent of the download.

“Good,” Frenchie answered.

“Uhm, Y/N. There’s something getting close,” Hughie warned.

“What—”

In a second, the concrete wall was destroyed. The tall man with the green suit and a shield you knew too well flew through the mess, laying on his back just a few feet away from you. Soldier Boy got up swiftly as if nothing happened, and he realized you were there. Giving you a quick hard glance, Soldier Boy returned his attention to the supe stepping inside the place through the hole on the wall. You were lucky the debris didn’t hit you, but still you were too invested in getting the information needed from that stinky lab. Each time, that was your mission and you always finished it.

The foreign supe switched his eyes between Soldier Boy and you before he attacked again, coming at Ben with fists and a string of curses out of his mouth. Soldier Boy kept him away from you, and you just waited for the bar to be completed. Just five percent more and it should be done, you thought with a racing heart and blood pumping in your veins.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Hughie asked worriedly. “I can’t see you, the camera isn’t working there.”

“Yeah, I'm almost done.”

You try to ignore Soldier Boy and the other supe but it is hard once Ben is thrown away again, hitting the wall by your side. You flinched, and turned around just in time to meet the terrorist approaching you with a menacing glance. The computer produced a weird sound, and you looked from the corner of your eye to confirm the data was safe in your device now. But you still had to get out of there, and before the man could attack you with his fists slowly glowing and charging, Soldier Boy shoved him to the ground. Both got into a fist fight, until Ben was able to stand up, knocking him to the ground with the shield, but the supe attacked with laser eyes. Ben resisted him, hiding behind the shield. You quickly looked up to unplug the device from the computer.

“Are you done?” he shouted as the supe got on his feet, increasing the strength of his laser and using the energy coming out of his hands to attack him back.

“Yes!”

“Then fucking run!”

You sneaked behind Soldier Boy quickly, running through the debris and finding the empty meeting point you had agreed with the team before. You headed near the back doors of the facility to wait for the rest.

“Where’s Butcher?” you asked through the com, panting for breath.

“Going there now,” Hughie answered. “V is taken. Info gathered. You did great.”

“Well, thanks for your help too,” you remarked back.

“Y/N,” Soldier Boy called behind your back. You turned on your heels and studied the blood staining his suit and shield. He clearly had killed the supe in the computer room. “You okay?”

You nodded, a mix of distrust and relief took over you. Maybe Soldier Boy found the usage to your skills, just like the rest of the team. “Thanks.”

Soldier Boy taglist: @delaynew @k-slla

@thesilmarillionblog

@onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester

@daisy-the-quake

@jackles010378

@mostlymarvelgirl

@deans-spinster-witch

@stoneyggirl2

@sapnaplove

[an-abyss-of-stars]

He Saw Her At Daybreak - Part 4

Summary: Even perfect weddings have their bitter endings…

Warnings: SMUTTTT SMUTTY SMUT! Also violence and blood near the end!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3.1 | Part 3.2 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Ao3

Tag list: @minim236 , @bohemiandreams99 , @neocil , @nettysnest , @avidreader73 , @jordanjanellejoy , @azaleapotterblack , @yourlittlehoe , @partypoison00 , (feel free to tell me if you want to be on the taglist or not)

P.S. CRYINGGGG I'M BACKKKK!!

PLEASE I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN AGESSS!!

I don't what's been going on with me lately, like I have all these ideas ready to GO! But I just can't seem to really focus and work on them? Like the will and energy to WRITE them has been absent. SO it's got me delivering these chapters super slowly right now. I'm hoping my motivation picks up, because I'd really love to move this fic along a whole lot faster!

Anywaysss LONG AWAITED, here it is! I've been labouring over this one for like a month! I hope it's good! It's a WILD one!

-

When the golden hour finally fell upon Dragonstone, it broke through the whirling thick storm clouds that currently cascaded the skies. It burned deep orange rays down through the shattered cracks in the sky and here on the Dragon Mound the rays shone brightly. Off in the distance the spotty rays looked hazy and heavenly, as if the Gods were truly bearing witness to this union. For once more, two dragons would vow their lives to one another, bond themselves through fire and blood till the end of their days.

And that's how Aemond stood, dressed in the traditional pale ivory robes of his Valyrian ancestors, the tips of his sleeves and the ends of his robes looked to have been dipped in an intensely red dye, mimicking dried flame-like blood. His long pale hair was left undone, combed neatly, half held back by a golden dragon pin as his black velvet eyepatch stood in stark contrast to everything else. 

He'd heard of the robes beforehand, read in great detail as much as he could about the ceremony entirely, but to finally stand here...in the traditional garb...it all felt so fitting for House Targaryen.

Fire and Blood.

There was no real way to explain it, how right it felt to wear these robes. How utterly connected he felt to his roots...to his bloodline...his ancestors, it was like a wave...a surge of energy. For once everything felt right, surrounded by his family, his parents, his siblings as well as his nieces and nephews...he could even see all of their dragons grazing nearby further up the Mound on the grassy plain.  

Aemond was not one to be sentimental, but surely if he squinted enough, this was certainly what Old Valyria must have been like. Or maybe even simply just the era afterwards, in the days of Daenys and her bonded Balerion...before Aegon and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya thought to conquer and unite the realm. If he closed his eyes and really listened, listened to the  hollow whispers in the evening breeze, The Fourteen Flames all here now, waiting, listening, watching as so many gathered together.

For this ceremony, apparently the whole of their family was required...well everyone of Valyrian heritage...of course with the exception of his mother who had none. Even the little ones were all present, Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Joffrey, Aegon III, Viserys II and Aethan all donning small simple black hoods. While Rhaenyra and his mother had changed into darker toned versions of their gowns they'd worn previously, Lucerys and Jacaerys had both worn similarly deep red doublets and black breeches, while Helaena wore a pale silver shimmering gown as Baela wore a deep rich navy gown. Daeron and Aegon had both worn simple black doublets and breeches. While Rhaenys wore a vibrant sea blue gown that complimented Corlys dark ocean blue doublet.

Although as Aemond suspected, Otto Hightower had not been invited to this ceremony, thankfully so. He couldn't say who made the decision, certainly his mother may not wish to have her father present, but Aemond would wager the final decision had probably rested with Rhaenyra and or Daemon. 

And if they knew of Otto's possible plots, then they'd probably both agreed it was best to keep him away. 

The waiting was probably the most agitating factor with this ceremony. The Faith's wedding was mostly for show and for the realm’s stamp of legitimacy ; they'd been surrounded by mostly insignificant witnesses who were there just to witness the spectacle of a royal wedding. 

But this was the ceremony Aemond had been waiting for. 

This was the ceremony that mattered most to him, to their family...to their ancestors. Aemond had already observed the golden talismans for all Fourteen Flames; he'd noticed how vastly different this altar was compared to the altar of The Seven. How several multi-coloured melted candles were scattered upon it, along with other blessed objects and alike. Finally he noticed the elegantly sculpted black chalice and the ornate dragon glass blade. 

He recognized most of these objects from his readings, based on either their descriptions or the rough sketched illustrations.

Aemond made sure to keep his shoulders and posture straight as he waited for his wife to join him, with his hands clasped behind his back, the longer he waited, the further up his hands went. Now more or less holding onto his forearms if not his elbows. 

The sun was beginning to lower slightly beyond the horizon, when a slight breeze brought the chittering rumble of a dragon that could not be mistaken. 

His uncle's legendary mount, the Blood Wyrm, Caraxes.

Shimmering a glorious blood red as he crept and crawled along the grassy plain, he didn't plan on ever telling his uncle...but from the stories he'd heard as a young boy, he'd always thought Caraxes a most magnificent beast. Especially since he lost his eye, the fact that such a large creature who held his own impediments due to birth defects, could still become one of the most fearsome of dragons ever to be known. 

It was slightly inspirational. 

Feared and rejected by all other dragons... except his precious Syrax.

It seemed even now, Aemond could draw comparisons between himself and the dragon. 

But in this moment, it seemed clear that something else was happening here...if Caraxes' attention was drawn...then that meant Daemon was nearby.

And soon enough, just as Aemond thought, finally emerging up onto the mound, Rhaena stepped up the slight inslope with her father at her side, guiding her way with her hand safely tucked on his arm. 

Unlike The Faith's ceremony, Aemond couldn't say he knew exactly what to expect here. The history books and hidden ancestors' diaries only say so much, so he planned on keeping a keen eye. Watching as Daemon delivered his daughter to the point of the mound, giving his slightly reluctant nod of approval towards Aemond, and this time, acknowledging the priest with a nod of recognition as well. 

Once he had, Daemon made his way over to stand by his wife and children. For his part, he was dressed in a similar set of clothing as he had for the wedding ceremony earlier in the day. Caraxes' settled as soon as his bonded had, allowing Aemond to focus on his betrothed before him.

Dressed in the same robes he was, only...her hair, she'd had her hair cut. Her lovely long silver locs were no more, as now she sported her pale thick ringlet curls at a bob-like length. Stylishly falling over her forehead and framing her face, he found himself staring in awe of her. He knew her natural curls would suit her well...he just was not expecting this…to see her with them only. It seemed like she was glowing and shimmering. Her pale hair was illuminated by the setting sun, as was the golden headdress she wore. 

It was plated much like a classic crown of old, with beaded strands that weaved around in Valyrian symbols before looping down the sides of her face.

Once again he felt as if he stood before a living Goddess, illuminescent and glistening. 

As if they were standing here,  hundreds of years ago back in Old Valyria, and somehow he'd managed to convince a Queen of Old to want him...to love him.

Her gem-like eyes flashed up at him with the smallest of playful smiles, he knew he'd been staring, but now he was certain he must've looked slack jawed and lost in her visage. 

Aemond softly cleared his throat, and blinked away from her for just a moment as his cheeks burned and his jaw clenched. In that time the priest, a solemn man with greying hair combed neatly back and a grizzled beard to match, had stepped towards them, dressed in smokey grey robes, with a Valyrian holy symbol embroidered upon his deep tan tunic. He'd already lit the fire pyres with two other darkly robed servants of the faith. 

It was time. 

The priest stepped towards Rhaena first, with a light bow, he handed her the blade made of dragon glass, as he spoke ceremoniously, "hen lantoti ānogar. Va syndroti väedroma..." blood of two. Joined as one. His words were not projected for their family to hear, in fact the words didn't seem to be entirely directed towards Aemond or Rhaena either. The priest may have been looking upon them, but Aemond could feel that these vows were for the Gods to hear. It was easy to invoke the names of The Seven, but The Fourteen Flames needed true vows...an offering of blood need be made to truly have their blessings. 

In that time Rhaena had stepped closer to Aemond, with the blade in hand she raised it to his face. He felt completely at her mercy for while he knew they were to cut one another, he did not know where and how they were to do it. ‘ A cut on the face and hands’ were vague descriptions as far as Aemond was concerned. 

Slowly, she brought the blade to his lower lip, letting the cool sharp edge draw metallic blood from him. He did not flinch, he only eyed her intensely as she lowered the blade and pressed the soft pad of her thumb against the fresh wound. Her thumb softly tracing a symbol upon his forehead...the Valryian symbol for 'blood'. 

He hadn't realized he'd held his breath as she completed the act, until she was handing him the blade. With a deep breath, it was his turn to return the action. And he did so, taking the blade from her he tentatively drew a cut down the center of her lower lip, before pressing his thumb against the dripping slice and drawing the Valyrian symbol for ‘fire' on the center of her forehead, the one spot her curls weren't covering. 

They were allowed a moment, it seemed, to let it all sink in, let the sting of these fresh wounds burn in the evening breeze and the priest continued the spoken vows, "mēro perzot gihoti. Elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzi. Prūmī lanti sēteksi..." ghostly flame. And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers. Forged in fourteen fires .

Maybe it was just his imagination, but the pires seemed to be burning brighter, the sun now halfway set over the horizon burned a deep saturated blood red. 

Handing the blade back to Rhaena, he watched as she cut a curving line down the center of her right palm, he then did the same when he took the blade. The priest had initially stepped back as they performed their actions, but soon enough he stepped forward again to receive the blade and place it back upon the altar with great respect and reverence. 

He returned with the sculpted black chalice, it looked to be carved from the Dragon Mount itself, the darkest of blacks, shimmering with deeply embedded shards of Obsidian. With a slight nod, Rhaena lifted her wounded hand to meet his, and together they clasped them over the chalice. 

Aemond's eye never left hers, her pale amethyst eyes peered into his with an intensity he rarely saw outside of their private more intimate moments. As their blood burned together, mixing and truly bonding...his heart began thumping harshly within his chest. 

They kept their hands clasped together as the priest stepped around them, and held the chalice with their shared blood up to the burning pyres, then to the golden talismans of The Fourteen Flames. All while speaking the final verses of their vows, "hen jený māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozundesi. Syndroro ōño jedo. Rý kīvia mazvestraksi..." a future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time. Of darkness and light.

When he returned before them, he offered the chalice to Aemond first. With only slight hesitance, he reached for it, and brought the edge to his lips, letting the warm stannic flavour cascade over his tongue and down his throat. He felt his body surge, now fully truly bonded to his dragoness. Once he handed her the chalice, she smoothly did the same, finishing the other half before returning the chalice for the priest. 

This time he did not wait for the priest to bid whether it was time or not, he knew it was. He'd felt it long before now, how everything around them burned and soared. With his free hand, he reached down for her cheek and claimed her lips fiercely, tasting their savory shared blood on her tongue. The instant contact alone had his whole body surging with pure ecstasy, sparkling and tingling with what felt like sacred energy. 

He could hear Vhagar keen happily in the distance as well as Syrax and Caraxes pleasant chittering. Tesarrion was vocal, as well Sunfrye and Dreamfyre, Tyraxes and Vermax. So many dragons...all accepting of this union. 

The Fourteen Flames had certainly blessed them.

When they finally separated, he let out a shuddering breath as he gazed into her eyes. Her soft hand caressing his cheek then chin, her lips pulling into a small smile just as his faintly did the same.  

Finally his Valyrian bride...was truly his Valyrian wife. Bonded to each other for the rest of their lives, seen and blessed by all Gods, Old and New. 

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se syt mirre,” One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.

☾

Now, Aemond had meant what he said earlier in the day. The moment their wedding ceremony had concluded, and they'd changed out of their traditional robes, he stole his wife away and snuck her through to the secret tunnels, letting her lead them back to the Dragon Mound. 

Dressed now in just a simple black cotton silk shirt and black leather breeches, while his wife had borrowed one of his grey cotton shirts and a long black cloak…per his request. The shirt itself already reached just below her knees, but with the cloak she was entirely covered, not that many would see them slip into the tunnels. But more importantly Aemond was thinking ahead, his grandfather's meddling or potential to meddle, was wearing on him. Surely the old man had missed his chance, but nothing was certain. 

The Fourteen Flames had blessed them, of that, he was certain. The flames had burned so bright, so unnaturally hot, it had to be a sign, the way their family's dragons all roared and sung for them…a sound he'd never heard done in such unison. 

This was fate, he'd decided it had to be. 

All those years of suffering at court surrounded by cruel plain looking Ladies, useless lower born daughters who'd never meant anything to him. 

He always knew he deserved better, deep down, he knew. A Valyrian Prince like himself deserved no less than a true Valryian Princess. 

And now he had her. 

Body and soul, recognized by all. His dragoness, the one woman who was somehow his total opposite…yet he'd found so much comfort and similarity in her all the same. She was his other half, every single moment in her presence proved that. Even when she hated him, she loved him. 

And now he could take solace in their shared matching scars, their vows physically engraved on their skin, his true mate. 

It was uncertain before her, his future, he'd never cared to think that far ahead since it was always clear to him that his mother and grandfather sought to plan it out for him. 

But now it was his…his and his wife's. 

And he'd do everything in his power to protect her…protect their union…protect their future. So he had a plan for tonight, well, less of a plan and more of a promise. Wedding nights were usually reserved for claiming maidenheads, rituals and all. But seeing how he'd claimed Rhaena's over a moon ago, tonight would have to be made special another way. 

Vhagar would play her part in that. 

Aemond had never taken a woman atop Vhagar before, he’d never had any true mistresses and he certainly would have never granted a whore such a luxury. But this was different now, he’d flown with Rhaena before and as he planned to take Rhaena to a small island for the rest of their night, he was certain pleasuring his newly wed Princess upon the beast would be quite memorable. And with her only dressed in one of his shirts…well, in that sense he'd given himself easy access to her. 

He had only one goal for their honeymoon, which as far as he was concerned started now. Otto could try and reenact his plan at any moment, and while Aemond knew the rest of his family was vehemently against his grandfather, it would help to have an assurance. And he figured the sooner his Lady could just give him a sign that she was indeed carrying his child…the sooner that assurance would be had. Not that it would stop Otto entirely, if the old man could care less about Aemond as his grandson rather than just a pawn to use, he knew he wouldn’t treat his great-grandchild any differently. But Daemon most certainly would, as much as Aemond wanted Rhaena heavy with his child for personal reasons, the fact itself would add an extra incentive for Daemon to protect both his daughter and grandchild. That applied to Rhaenyra as well, it applied to the rest of his family in various ways to be fair. 

As they rounded the last corner, Rhaena’s hand held tightly in his, they stepped outside and began climbing the steep hill up and onto the grassy plains beyond the Dragon Mound. The sky had grown darker, the puffy smokey clouds looking more and more like an oncoming storm was soon to arrive. But those beautiful cracks in the sky still shone through, deeply inked oranges and reds as it cooled in a slight purple-ish tone on the eastern side of the sky.

"You know my grandparents really are coming around on you. I think I even saw my grandmother with tears in her eyes during the ceremony," Rhaena remarked, she'd been a step behind him, so he was made to glance back at her as her soft voice broke their silence. 

"Tears of joy or painful heartbreak?" He grinned, a slight vindictive edge to his tone, "I don't recall her being very fond of me to begin with," 

"Well that is what happens when you wound all of one woman's grandchildren on the night of her precious daughter's funeral," she eyed playfully, but her tone was still biting. They may have moved past this, but it still stung at times. He didn't regret the entire night, he couldn't bring himself to do that. But he did regret hurting her specifically that night, that much he could manage. 

"Even though I left that fight as the most wounded party…but fair enough. I already apologized to her when I asked for her blessing," he found himself too dazed by his dragoness to be bitter now. Her lovely silver curls, blowing against her cheeks with the evening  breeze. He needed to look away if he wished to have any hope of focusing on anything else. He zeroed his gaze on all the dragons in the distance, "if anything I was even more courteous with your grandparents than your father."

"That is true," his Princess hummed, “though seeing as my father held a sword to your throat, it is understandable,” her tone lightened as she moved her pace up, trying to match the long strides he was taking though her shorter legs would not allow her to. Aemond found himself glancing over at her as she naturally leaned into him, smirking knowingly up at him, "stay focused, my Prince. We are surrounded ," 

She was being playful, but she was right. In either case, he was not bothered by it, guiding her with a casual confidence, narrowly slipping through the lazily sleepy and grazing dragons of their family. These dragons knew their scents, could easily sense their blood to be of no threat to them, they were safe enough.

"But she does like you," she whispered a moment later, as if she hoped not to wake the dragons, "my grandmother I mean, I think she especially loves how you remind her of my father, she enjoys how you irritate and provoke him with ease. She's called it divine karma ." 

The idea of the cold regal austere Princess Rhaenys Targaryen having any sort of fondness for him certainly felt odd. But the reason behind it seemed humorous enough. 

"Is that so," Aemond's voice trailed as he kept his eye out for his mountainous mount, "well at least she no longer lusts for my head on a spike." 

That seemed to have made his Princess giggle, the bright airy sound made his blood sing, "Aemond! She hasn’t wished for that…for at least some time now. And it matters not. You're certainly in her good books now. All she cares for is my happiness, and since you very much make me happy…she's grown fonder of you.”

“I’ll take your word for it, sweet girl,” a genuine smile ghosted over his lips as he spotted Vhagar was just up ahead. Further on the hill she kept to herself away from all the other dragons. A lone creature…much like Aemond himself…or at least how he once was. 

“Good,” Rhaena smiled over at him, “in either case, she always knew it wasn't my wish to be so far away from my family…or to truly be the future Lady of Driftmark . I think she’s glad our marriage will keep us close, here at Dragonstone, the distance isn’t too far from Driftmark or King’s Landing."

He stopped to face his wife, catching her eye when she realized he was no longer walking. In that moment, the way the fading daylight seemed to glitter over her as she stood in his loose fitting cotton shirt. The way the black cloak hung off her shoulders, contrasting greatly with her illuminating silver curls and her bright violet eyes. It was a wonder he hadn't lost control of himself already, the tantalizing idea of forgoing everything and just taking her in this field surrounded by the ancient beasts of their family. 

"What is it," she breathed, eyes beginning to shine with a twinkle of concern. She'd never know what she did to him, just how affected he was sometimes by his Princess. 

Aemond swallowed tightly, forgetting the conversation they were having as his eye trailed down to the still fresh cut down the center of her lower lip. A cut he gave her, a permanent mark along with the now wrapped cut on the hand he held. Without thinking he'd reached for her cheek, still not answering her question, as nothing was wrong. He just wanted to stop…for just a moment and let it all sink in. As he caressed her incredibly soft cheek, bringing his thumb to trail along her lip and down to clutch onto her chin. 

All the while she'd simply gazed up at him, never flinching away from him, only ever leaning into him, close as ever. 

With a small smile, her tongue darted out to the corner of her mouth, "you're wasting daylight, my love," she teased. 

"Is that so," he nearly gritted, his jaw hardening as he tilted her chin up. Words repeating in his mind like a mantra: don't take her here in this field, wait at least until you're up in the skies. Patience was key and he could muster just a little bit more. 

With a deep sigh, he leaned his forehead down against hers, breathing her in, feeling her warmth, "I've dreamt of this. You, here with me, as my wife officially, entirely mine…" his voice remained low, smooth as silk. To be fair, in his dreams he imagined standing here with her and their child in his arms…but that would come soon enough. For now, he’d closed his eye, just content to live in this moment. 

She hummed as her small hands had found their way around his waist, pulling him closer, "it is real now, I am your wife and you are my husband. I am yours and you are mine ." 

Her affirmation set him alight, enough to lean himself down and take her soft lips. Feeling the sting of her lips pressing against his sliced lip, her saliva burning him as he tasted sweet wine on her tongue. It took everything in him to pull himself back from her, breathing heavily, willing himself to simply take her hand and guide her towards Vhagar. 

Even though the little smile she'd flashed him had sent electricity straight through his body, sparking in his lower abdomen, making his cock stiffen. 

A feeling he did his best to ignore for now.

Once they reached Vhagar, his enormous she-beast, a true ancient relic from the old world. She seemed to be napping soundly, loud snores rumbling through her nostrils. 

Aemond kept a tight hold on Rhaena's hand, she tended to step away from Vhagar instinctively, even though by now she knew the old dragon was comfortable with her (she always had been) and there was no real danger for her here. He could already feel her tense as they'd weeded their way through the other dragons. And now here standing before Vhagar, she’d all but shielded herself behind him. He knew her relationship with his mount was a complicated one, but he sought to mend things between the two over time. She was slowly beginning to grow more comfortable around the ancient dragon in either case. From his own observation, and as he'd told Rhaena before their first flight. Vhagar could smell her true mother's blood within her, Lady Laena was a respected and beloved mount to Vhagar, of course she remembered and would be fond of any offspring of hers. 

Vhagar certainly seemed to always enjoy Rhaena's compliments over his anyhow. 

Aemond pulled his little wife in front of him, pressing his hand against the heated neck of his bonded dragon, "Vhagar, ñuha pendagon, nyke gīmigon iksā raqagon aōha ēdrugon..." my wonder, I know you are enjoying your sleep...  

He received a rustling grumble as a response, that at least told him she'd awoken. Moving closer, he snaked his arm around his wife's small waist, guiding one of her hands to place against Vhagar, "Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys lēda nyke, nyke gīmigon skorkydoso olvie ao hae zirȳla," I brought my wife with me, I know how much you like her . At that Vhagar turned to sniff them, letting out a warm jovial rumble as a sign her approval. 

He could feel when Rhaena let out the deep breath she was holding in, as she untangled herself from him and cautiously made her way over to stand in Vhagar's line of sight. 

She slid her hood down then held her hands behind her back, softly smiling up at Vhagar as she spoke, "rytsa gevie riña, Skorkydoso glaesā?" hi beautiful girl, how are you? , Vhagar keened and cooed low rumbling purs that seemed very much like an avid response. Ruffling her body, as she shook herself in preparation. 

If Aemond found himself fondly watching his little wife speak to his dragon, he didn't draw any attention to it. Leaning casually against the massive side of his mount, he watched with great amusement as his Princess patted and hugged Vhagar's snout.

"Aemond se nyke sia dīnilūks tubī,” Aemond and I were married today , she beamed and swayed, “Iksan sure bona aderī konīr kessa sagon byka ‘zaldrīzoti’ syt ao naejot rhaenagon," I am sure that soon there will be little ‘dragons’ for you to meet , Vhagar nuzzled her snout against his Princess. Although once Rhaena locked eyes with Aemond it seemed she remembered what they came here to do, "oh kessa, kessa īlon sōvegon pār?" oh yes, shall we fly then? 

With an agreed rumble, Vhagar lowered herself to be mounted. As Rhaena made her way back over to Aemond, she bit her lip trying to hide her excitement, "I think she was quite happy to see me today," 

"I always tell you she's happy to see you, I'm certain she regards us as her own little hatchlings," he smirked, crossing his arms as she stepped in front of him. 

She was certainly a sight, her cloak kept blowing open in the evening breeze and he found she looked far too attractive dressed in his shirt, nearly drowning it yet fitting in it all the same. The way the smooth tawny skin of her calves were all exposed until the tops of her dark leather boots covered the rest of her ankles. He was glad all the other visiting Lords had left earlier in the day...that this sight was all his. 

Once she was close enough, he pulled her to him, unable to resist the urge to taste her soft lips again. Letting his fingers slip through her incredibly soft curls as his tongue roved over hers, breaking from her lips long enough to grin, "I think I also just heard you promise to introduce our future children to her,"

"Well...I think it's fair to assume you plan to take our children on many flights upon her," Rhaena panted softly, "if she thinks of us as her hatchlings...she'd want to see her grandchildren ..." 

It was the way she said things like that, that made Aemond's body burn, made his heart soar with what he dared to recognize as pure happiness. Every time they'd spoken of children before, it was more about how he'd claimed her, the ultimate form of possession to have her carry his child. 

She'd often spur him on with the promise of 'fucking a child into her' . 

But this was real...this was an unprompted admission that she truly wanted this with him. A future, a family...she wanted to carry his children...to be the mother of his children. It shouldn't have dawned such a new sense of realization for him, for the past moon all she'd ever done was choose him. 

She'd chosen him over everyone and everything else. 

Sometimes it was just hard to believe that this was real, cemented as reality, he needn't fantasize anymore.

As his eye flicked over her, drawn back to her hypnotic eyes, he took her lips again. Feeling as her hands caressed his lower back, gripping onto his shirt as she gently pulled herself back with a smile, "I'm not entirely certain what you have planned, but the sun will certainly be gone entirely if we don't leave now." 

What she didn't know was that Aemond didn't necessarily need the sun for his plans to succeed, he already had a vague idea of where he'd like to fly her. But he supposed having her witness a true sunset from atop Vhagar was a part of his goal to romance her. 

With a reluctant groan, he shifted her hips towards the netted rope that cascaded down Vhagar's side, lifting her a few rows up so she could start climbing from a higher starting point.

He watched her carefully, making sure she had her footing as well as being prepared in case she slipped. When he was sure she was fine, he made his way up behind her. 

As Rhaena seated herself atop Vhagar's saddle, Aemond closed the distance, in one smooth motion he'd practiced dozens of times before on his own, he managed to settle himself perfectly behind her. Pressing himself against her soft body, letting his legs cradle around hers as his arms reached around her waist to grasp onto the reins. He could feel as she pressed her back against him, her shoulders resting back against his chest  as she placed her hands on his knees. Aemond felt somewhat emboldened in the moment, sitting atop his legendary mount with his Valyrian Princess, his wife, the woman he'd get to spend the rest of his life with.

In an effort to break his longing gaze from her, he moved even closer to her, leaning just slightly so he could press a soft kiss to the side of her exposed neck, "hold on tight to me," he'd whispered against her skin. 

Rhaena leaned into him, doing as he bade and gripping into his thighs. Once he felt that they were sufficiently secured, he finally uttered the command, "Sōvēs, Vhagar," fly, Vhagar . 

At that, Vhagar's enormous form ruffled and shifted, she took a few heavy earth shaking steps working her momentum enough to spread her wings and lift them into the air. The force of her flight was always intense in the take off, Aemond tightened his grip on the reins with his right hand, as his left hand wrapped around Rhaena's waist, his hand holding her firmly against him. 

And with that they were off.

☾

There was always an instant sense of adrenaline that pumped through his veins whenever he took to the skies, flying was a pleasure that seeped through his veins and set his entire being on fire. Having his Princess in his arms only amplified the feeling, burning entirely as the feel of her soft body pressing against him sent sparks trailing up his spine. Aemond tried to will his breaths to remain calm, even as his grip around her waist tightened. His erection was growing by the second, but he did his best to focus his mind on flying for the moment, his voice growing rough with need, "naejot, Vhagar," forward, Vhagar . Pulling on the reins, he guided her up further into the sky. 

The chilling wind whipped against them as they soared higher, the air grew thinner but there was a specific sight he wanted to show her. 

"Just how high must we fly!" Rhaena tried to speak above the rushing wind, turning slightly as her curls ruffled. 

"I'm romancing you, remember. Now close your eyes." he grinned, he leaned into her as Vhagar's wings flapped harder, forcing more power and speed enough to finally break through the surface of the thick storm clouds. 

It dampened them just a bit, but with a deep breath, they'd finally reached it. The true sky, bleeding vibrant swirling pinks, oranges and reds, cascading purples to deep indigo... harmonious in its beauty as the last part of the burning crimson sun tipped over the horizon. 

A pure sense of calm washed over Aemond as Vhagar evened out her own weight, now soaring peacefully. 

"Open your eyes," he whispered huskily by her ear, and once he had, he heard her gasp. Her shoulders rose as her body tensed against him, her grip on his thighs slowly loosening as she looked all around the sky. 

"Aemond," her voice was all soft and breathy, full of wonder, completely awestruck. He didn't have to see her face to know that she'd loved this, but hearing her voice as it was certainly made his pride soar. Soon enough he felt her shifting herself, turning in her seat until she could view him truly. That was when he noticed the faint tear streaks on her flushed cheeks, causing his heart to stutter. 

Surely these must be good tears.  

Like when he gifted her the Valyrian necklace she prized so much. 

"It's beautiful. I think this is most lovely... wonderous... perfect... I- I've never seen such beauty," she breathed, reaching for his cheek. Maybe she hadn't, but he was certain everyday he was afforded the pleasure of looking upon her...any time she'd deign to look upon him with the amount of light and love that she had in her eyes at this very moment. 

The view of this sky was nice, but his view of her was so much more.

When his Princess pulled him down to her lips with ease, for he would surely not resist her, she'd kissed him so lovingly. Her arm fell over his shoulder as her hand sunk into his loose untied hair. He was already burning for her, his heart crashing within chest all because of her. 

Gods, this had to be the moment, the perfect time to pull her onto his lap and take her atop Vhagar. 

As his wife moaned against him, he sought her tongue out skillfully, simultaneously distracting her as he loosened his grip on the reins enough to secure her right thigh against his. He let his left hand trail down the curves of her waist, grabbing ahold of her left thigh and draping it over his own, spreading her widely for him. She'd turned enough for her back to rest against the sturdy guard that was his right arm. Through it all, she hadn't stopped to question him, only gripping onto his shoulder with her left hand as he slid his own down her center, smoothly sliding his hand up and underneath her shirt then beneath the waistband of her underclothes. 

"Aemond!" she'd finally gasped against his lips, her pale eyes finally locking with his indigo eye, "surely we cannot…not on Vhagar's back..." 

Now the whining uncertainty may have been what her lips were saying, but her eyes had shone with something else all together. Undeterred, his fingers ventured on sliding down until he found her core wet and wanting for him. His dragoness, he didn't know why she bothered to attempt denial when her body always told a different story. 

She was biting her lip, whimpering and his index finger circled around her sensitive little bud, "mmm, little wife. I promise you Vhagar will not mind it."

He wasn't entirely sure of that, it wasn't as if he'd ever attempted to touch her intimately the last time they flew together on Vhagar. But Aemond was certain that Vhagar, being as old as she was, must have witnessed or known things of this nature to occur. In either case, all of Rhaena’s little whines and whimpers only spurred him on further, her sounds had hardened his cock within his breeches.And watching his dragoness buck against his hand with just the slightest of touches was not helping him keep composure. With her arm slung over his shoulder, now reaching to grasp his silk shirt as her other hand gripped into his thigh. 

Surely she wanted more, it was obvious that she did.

"You still wish for me to stop?" he grinned rather cruelly, knowing full well that her answer would be anything but stop . Aemond still wanted so much from her tonight, from the amount of times he expected to make her scream for him…by this night's end, he'd have his little wife begging for him. 

"I never said I wanted you to stop," she groaned, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as he purposely ghosted his fingertips over her drenched folds. Playing with her entrance really, as he eyed their surroundings, making sure they were still on track as they flew through the sky. 

"Oh? What do you want then?" He resisted the urge to smirk, “use your words, sweet girl,” he eyed her intensely as her own shot to his with the use of sweet girl . Many moons ago he'd used those words strictly to annoy her, now he only meant them in the fondest way possible. It was a shame he didn't have a free hand to caress her cheek, the slightly stunned look on her face, the way her hips had rocked up against his hand, whatever tone he'd spoken in must've surely affected her. 

Now he couldn't stop smirking, leaning for her lips just as she breathed heavily, "I want your fingers..."

"Do you?" he goaded, finally teasing his index finger, slipping beyond her dripping folds and into her heated core, her sweet whimper was caught against his lips. Gods, the way her hips tried to move against his hand. 

All he could do was think of how he could maneuver her around to have her ride him. 

"Aemond…" she whined, gripping into his hair as her hips urged him, "I want more, fuck me with your fingers...please…" 

"Such crass words from my pristine Princess," he smiled, sinking two more digits into her all at once, drawing a heavenly sob from his beautiful wife, “your manners seem to be slipping the more time you spend in my presence.”

“Mmm, I said please ,” she gasped and tightened her grip on him as his fingers stroked and stretched her, twisting and curling within her, he could feel how her body shivered against him. It was at this point, he figured she’d be ready to take him here and now. Maybe it was his own indulgence to want her to cum on his cock rather than his hand, especially since earlier in the tunnels he’d been quite gentle with her. Her body should be able to take him.

At a glance, the clouds had begun to shift, swirling angrily below them, a storm was certainly coming. With a skilled hand, Aemond had already begun aiming Vhagar to descend below the clouds' surface with the slightest pull of the reins. They'd reach the small deserted island in just a little bit, he could see it off in the distance. But he could make her cum before then, he was sure the pure adrenaline of dropping down in the sky and soaring altogether, had to have already been heightening her pleasure, especially now that his fingers had properly begun to stroke her. Aemond was sure in his skills, he could make this happen. 

Daylight had already faded from them above the clouds, but now below them, the dark grey clouds cast them into further darkness. Eerie tones as the dying daylight illuminated the thick swells of the storm clouds with pale light from the otherside.

Rhaena's hips were rocking up rapidly, colliding with the palm of his hand, adding friction to her sensitive clit. She seemed to be looking for purchase, her right hand trying to clutch onto the edge of the saddle as her body began to tense and spasm. With the final curl of his fingers, he slipped his fingers from her, pulling a most disappointed groan from her lips. 

“Skoro syt ēdruta ao jemagon nyke va hae bisa,” why must you lead me on like this , her frustrated grumble was accompanied by her attempting to squirm her way out of his hold. As if she had anywhere else to go, the whole display was certainly comical, especially her pouty Valyrian.  

“Ñuha vaoreznuni, ñuha dōna. Yn kesan kostilus ao,” my apologies, my sweet. But I will please you , he laughed, licking her slick off his fingers, he managed to undo the laces of his breeches while directing her to, “gūrogon ziry hen,” take it off , motioning to her underclothes. His Princess eyed him cautiously for only a moment, her chest heaving with each breath she took, her eyes trailing down as he pulled his throbbing member free. The moment her pale eyes widened, she seemed to understand the order, and quickly did as she was told. Now Aemond might’ve watched as his wife frantically look for a place to put her underclothes, not truly reaching the packs on the side of Vhagar’s saddle. In his eagerness he might’ve snatched the cloth garment and tossed it over his shoulder swiftly. 

Her eyes shot wide as she gasped, “Aemond!” 

“Do you wish to complain about your garment, or would you rather I help you forget about it entirely,” he burned his gaze through her, watching as she breathed deeply, her jaw tightening as she began to turn her body in order to face him properly. Cautiously pulling her legs up, Aemond made sure to guard either side of her so she could safely slip her legs up and around his waist. One of her arms securely draped over his shoulder as she took his hard length in her other hand and stroked it nicely, before slowly working to guide his tip to her entrance. His cock twitched at her touch, with a wince he gripped tightly onto reins, hoping to keep Vhagar steady and soaring  as the Island slowly drew closer.

Aemond’s back tensed as his cock finally entered her soaked warmth, a shuddering moan left his Princess as his thick size stretched her sweet little cunt the further he went. He’d groaned from the moment he’d entered her, working one of his hands around her waist, he pulled her up and onto his lap. Sinking into her further, his cock throbbing within her heat, snuggly fitting as she pulled herself even closer. Wrapping both of her arms around his neck, her chest now properly pressed against his as she began to rock against him. 

Gods, this is what he wanted. 

The pure unbridled pleasure of flying and fucking, he knew it would feel extraordinary. The fire piercing through him as his Princess took his cock in full all mixed with the soaring power of flying with one’s bonded mount, it was phenomenal.

All encompassing, sparking and burning him, it felt almost mythical.

Every thrust coursed flames throughout his body, the feeling matched by Vhagar swerving and winding through the air. He found himself letting his head fall back, closing his eye, soaking in the friction of Rhaena’s writhing hips, her hands gripping onto the back of his shirt, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she gasped and sobbed for him. She was chasing her previous pleasure, the peak she was so close to riding over just moments, he could feel just how vigorous her movements were. His beautiful Goddess was moaning desperately by his ear, the sweetest of sounds, all while she used his cock to reach her own end. And he wanted her to, as the island drew near, he was determined to make her cum before they touched the ground. 

Tightening his grip on her waist, he aimed his up hips against hers as best as he could in his seat, her hips rolling fiercely against him as her core started clenching around his cock. With one last aimed thrust, he finally felt her flutter around him, a shrieking moan that carried his name accompanied it all as she clung against him. The beauty of it all was that no effort need be made to muffle her cries, in fact he wanted the way she screamed his name aloud to be enough to carry on the winds that rushed by them. 

Let the whole realm hear. 

As his Princess came down from her high, breathing heavily as she melted into him, his hand leaving her waist to gently stroke her back as she purred faintly. "It's just not fair," she sighed dreamily, nuzzling her nose against his neck as her hands caressed his upper back, "your fingers always feel far too good...and then your cock…I didn’t know it could all feel so good on dragonback." 

Aemond chuckled, in all honesty, he hadn’t known either, he just assumed that it would…he was glad to be right. He could imagine just how magnificent it would feel to cum on that high, though this time he prioritized her climax over his, the next time he ventured to take her like this on dragonback, he would experience it in full. For now he planned on saving his own pleasure for once they’d landed. Finally grasping the reins properly in both hands now, he could see that the small deserted cliff island was just below them, Vhagar was already descending as he guided the reins to follow through on landing here. Aemond let his wife simply stay as she was, safely wrapped around him as Vhagar touched down on the shores of the island.    

☾

Once they'd separated from each other, dismounting safely, Vhagar settled herself down near the shore of the island while Aemond guided Rhaena up the slight incline. He'd made sure to have Vhagar set a torch alight before they started walking away from her, as the sky had embraced the darkness of nightfall now. Vhagar turned to hunt fish from the sea while they walked up beyond where the sand faded into a grassy plain area. Once Aemond selected a spot, Rhaena spread the blanket they'd packed as he used their torch to create a stationary fire for them. 

By the time he turned back, his dragoness was already laying invitingly on the blanket, completely bare for him as her eyes followed his movements. It was an easy decision to waste no time undressing himself, he did it in a flurry, pulling off his eyepatch last before he joined her. Settling himself between her spread legs, he caressed her plush thighs, drinking her in as the fire light danced along her smooth skin. 

"Byka ābrazȳrys, ñuha byka ābrazȳrys," little wife, my little wife , he finally breathed, “ziry iksos issare iā bōsa tubis,” it's been a long day , he was dragging himself down her body, spreading her legs further. 

If he was being honest with himself, he'd spent so long wanting Rhaena to be his...it was only in these quiet moments alone with her where he could really let the fact sink in. He’d let it play on repeat if necessary. He'd married her today, his dragoness...his bonded mate...his goddess...his Princess. Until she was his, as much as he wanted her, dreamed of her, hoped for her…he never thought he'd have her. 

But he did now. 

They'd binded their blood and vowed themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. 

He could look upon her, feel her, touch her, kiss her...love her. 

'We are nobility, we marry for advantage, for political strategical gain, we do not have the luxury of marrying for love,'

'love is not a necessity, it is a luxury ,'

The upsetting part about his grandfather's words, the thing that truly made them stick and haunt him all the same. Was if he'd heard these words some moons ago, when he still believed his marriage would only be one of duty and political alliances. He might have agreed with his grandfather then...he might have believed him to be right. Living that life, the life his grandfather would have carved out for him...let the infighting between his family implode and destroy itself as they all wounded one another just cause . Killing to hurt each side, for petty revenge, for decades long feuds. 

He would've stayed lonely, angry and self sabotaging. Turning inward into something he was not... letting his rage truly consume him, turn him into something wicked and cruel. Becoming the monster the realm already believed him to be.

All to fulfill his role as the family sword . 

“Mmm, ziry iksos iēdrosa bē qopsa naejot pāsagon,” it's still almost hard to believe , she hummed, gently carding her fingers through his hair, “olvie Vesteros dīnilūks mōris isse prūmia pryjagon iā lēda iā morghon,” most Westeros weddings end in heartbreak or with a death . 

A fact to be sure, but Aemond hoped they’d managed to break that curse. Both of their weddings had succeeded without violence or heartbreak. And even though the night was still young, he hoped to keep it that way. 

"Mirre ñuhoso.  Ñuha dōna valzȳrys, kessa ao stare rȳ nyke mirre bantis bōsa iā kessa ao mazverdagon jorrāelagon naejot nyke," any way. My sweet husband, will you stare at me all night long or shall you make love to me , his dragoness' eyes pale eyes peered through him as her lips pulled into a playful smirk. 

It was her way of teasing him, but he would take her taunt seriously enough, wasting no time as he lowered himself between her legs, licking his lips as happily he eyed just how soaking wet he'd made her sweet cunt. The sight of her slick oozing from her now stretched cavernous quivering core had made him feel quite ravenous. Aemond wouldn't wait any longer, his self control disintegrated instantly as he hungrily dragged his tongue along her opening. The sultriest of moans was torn from her throat as he devoured her, his hands gripping into the soft flesh of her thighs even as her legs threatened to squeeze around him. 

He found himself grinning against her as her fingers slipped deeper into his hair, nails scratching his scalp deliciously as he suckled the apex of her sex, her breathy whimpers were followed by her hips slowly rocking up to meet him. 

"Oh, Aemond," she moaned, her voice all soft and wispy, "avy jorrāelan…avy jorrāelan sīr olvie," I love you…I love you so much . 

His eye snapped up to hers.

Her loving gaze paired with the added inflection of when she'd said 'so much' caused him to pause and swallow thickly. Letting her fingers gently comb his hair for a moment, everything in his mind fading and melting all at once. The sea that surrounded them made the wind on this island far more potent, rustling through the grass around them. 

It gusted through her curls and his own hair, time felt suspended as he gazed up at her.

Surely he'd never meant so much to one person.

How was it that she could continue to unmask him with such ease, even when he was certain he knew their relationship clearly…understood it fully. Sometimes he just could not prepare himself for the level of affection she sought to bestow upon him.

Aemond blinked himself back to reality, he’d kept his thumb on her clit, as he slowly moved himself upwards, kissing a heated trail up the curve of stomach. Rhaena's hands slid onto his shoulders as he licked a streak between the swell of her breasts before pressing warm kisses along her neck. Her legs lifted and wrapped around his waist, forcing his already aching tip to drag along her burning wet center. 

It was a testament to his own strength that he hadn’t spilled himself with the feel of her alone, he’d edged himself on during their time on Vhagar, it was going to be a nightmare keeping his stamina up. Aemond bit back his groan, his tip certainly weeping precum at this very moment, he instead focused on cradling her face and claiming her lips. Letting his Princess taste herself on his tongue as she explored his mouth with an eager need for him. Pulling him closer as her hand dipped back into his hair, she was making him feel feral, his lips edging down her jaw and neck again as his teeth nicked, nibbled and bit at her soft skin. 

Just as a wave of her intoxicating lavender scent washed over him, he heard her moan, "Aemond…I want something from you," 

Gods there it was again, that silky way she’d say his name whenever she wanted him.

As his tongue soothed the mark he'd left on her neck, he nuzzled his nose along her throat, "...anything," his voice rasped. Her soft body had slightly stiffened after he’d responded, he could feel her throat throb as she swallowed, her soft hands reaching down to lift and cradle his face above hers. There was a look in her pale eyes, something pained or extremely vulnerable. 

What could she ask of him now that would cause such a reaction…such an expression? 

"Aemond, I…" her voice was all soft and melodic, her eyes zeroing in on his left eye, "I wish to see you…without your sapphire." Her soft hand moved in a slow caress along his scarred cheek, her thumb softly tracing the length of his old scar.  

Aemond felt his cheeks burning, his jaw tensing as he exhaled evenly through his nose. 

His eye lingered on her lips for a moment, he captured them needily, breaking away with a breathy, "...very well," he had promised his dragoness anything after all. With a lasting kiss to the corner of her jaw, he pulled himself back onto his knees, keeping her spread legs draped around him for the added warmth. Or maybe more so for the added comfort it brought him, her eyes shone with deepest affection for him while her facial expression remained gentle. 

There was a conflicting heat in the pit of his stomach, cooling ice that threatened to melt with the heat that surrounded it. It was not what his dragoness asked of him that bothered him, for while very few people ever saw him in this way…at his most vulnerable. 

His dragoness was free to every part of him…he trusted her with everything he had. 

It was just the action itself that held so many weighted memories. 

As he straightened his shoulders, he lowered his head to remove the sapphire. The loss of his eye had made his left eye socket rather physically sensitive to the touch, it was occasionally still a rather painful part of his body. While his sapphire was custom made and smoothed down to fit comfortably, removing it could sometimes still be an intense and excruciatingly painful ordeal. 

Thankfully it hadn't felt so extreme tonight. 

Just mildly uncomfortable, with a skilled twist and a pull, a motion he knew by heart, he managed to get his grip on the jewel and captured it in his hand.  

He need only look up at her now…deep in his heart he knew he'd only be met by her beautiful loving eyes. But he could not help but think of the last time he dared show a woman his empty socket, it wasn’t on purpose, he’d taken out his sapphire earlier in the night. But during his rough handling of the whore he was with, his leather patch had fallen off, a whore she may have been, but the pure unbridled terror that emanated throughout her entire being had not been something he’d managed to forget. Even with his sapphire…the sapphire was meant to placate the maidens of court, he once hoped the jewel would soften the dark hopeless vacancy of his lost eye…at least superficially so. But it had only ever done the opposite. And covering it with his leather patch had done no better. 

Of course, his Princess had been different. 

She always had been. 

Rhaena, like the most elegant of flowers, melded with the ferocity of a true dragoness. Supposed beauties of the land could never bear to look at him…and yet the one true Valyrian beauty he knew to exist could. How was she the only woman to ever face him so boldly…so fearlessly. At every turn she'd surprised him, thrown him off guard, his set path, she unmasked him continuously. And now as his wife, she wanted to see more of him…how or why she found his sapphire attractive was still a mystery to him. But the idea of his beautiful Princess still feeling the same way after seeing him without it…the sunken dark missing piece of himself. 

He didn't wish to linger on these thoughts any longer. In the time he'd taken to release his jewel, his Lady patiently waited for him. His long pale hair had fallen around him like a protective curtain, but he'd soon remedy that, using his other hand, he combed through his hair and lifted it out of his face. 

Gods, he'd let his guard down around her almost always…this was the last barrier he had. The only thing that could make his heart beat so irregularly, each pounding thump felt large and life-threatening, his chest was aching, his lungs failing to inhale properly. 

With a somewhat shaky exhale, he lifted his gaze to hers, tightly closing his hand around the sapphire as his free hand released his hair in favour of holding her thigh against him. 

He was bracing himself…that unease of not knowing exactly how'd she'd react to this. 

As Rhaena's hands began to softly glide along his forearms, he felt her slowly pull him down to her, her bright eyes gazing up into his with only warmth and love. There was something else in her eyes, he couldn't decide if it was pain or regret. But the thought cleared as he lowered himself willingly over her, allowing her hands to cup his cheeks, her thumb caressing his scar gently once again, then she pressed a warm kiss upon it. 

Gods, her warmth always made his heart burn, so much so he had to work to unlock his jaw just to manage speaking, his throat felt dry and achy, "...you're not…disgusted or frightened?" 

Truthfully the look in her eyes and her gestures told him the answer, but part of him needed to hear it from her lips regardless. 

"It's only a wound, my love," she breathed softly, her hand slipping down his jaw and further, careful not to graze the stitches on his neck, "I could not love you any less for having it and I did play my part in you receiving it…I have regretted it ever since," 

"I've told you before I do not blame you. I just…why did you wish for this, Rhaena? For me to remove the sapphire," his lips twisted, as a low growl grew in his throat, this wasn't a topic he wished to revisit now, this was their wedding night. He just wanted to take his wife, he brought her here to spend the night lavishing her not revisiting old scars. 

Aemond scanned her face critically, watching any minute expression, slightly annoyed when nothing discernable showed, "why would you want this sight? Here, tonight of all nights." 

"Because," she sighed softly, running her fingers through his hair, reaching up to press a kiss to his chin, "it is our wedding night and I want you completely. You are my husband now, and I want to know every bit of you. And here on this island where it is just the two of us…I want to see you as you truly are. My dragon. My Prince. Would you not like to make love to me as such, as you are,"

He couldn't deny her, not when she'd made it all sound so perfect…so right. Not when she spoke of wanting him so badly…wanting all of him, even the broken missing pieces of himself. 

Aemond's jaw loosened instantly at her touch, her thumb softly stroking his lower lip as her fingers tilted his chin and guided him down to her lips. He could feel her raising her hips up to his, purposely dragging her wet opening against his hard length. Stoking the flames that had already been burning within him as her tongue languidly roved over his. 

It was as if the world around them had begun to blur as her lips grew more wanting, ravenously taking ownership of him. It certainly seemed as if removing his sapphire had indeed unlocked something within his little wife. If that was the case, seeing how he'd given in to her wants, she'd seen him in a way few others had ever and ever would…now he'd take the rest.

At a quick glance, he eyed the eerily iridescent, piercing cool dark blue sapphire that still laid his hand, as if he was putting down a sliver of himself in that moment. He reached and laid it upon the pile of their clothing, instead grabbing ahold of his patch before finally devoting his full attention to the soft body that lay beneath him. 

She wouldn't have noticed, not until he managed to draw both her arms up above her head and bind them together with his leather patch. By then Rhaena's eyes slid open, "my love, the bindings were not necessary. I would've been good, I planned on behaving for you," a slow smirk formed on her lips as he pulled himself back, just out of her lip’s reach. 

"A risk I won't be taking," his eye burned into hers, "Nyke've issare olvie patient mirre skorkydoso, ñuha zaldrītsos.  Yn iksan ēdrugī hen umbagon," I've been most patient anyhow, my little dragon. But I am tired of waiting , he nearly snarled, grazing his teeth along the delicate slope of her neck as his free hand slid down the soft curves of her waist then her hips. Gods, he was itching to sink into her again. He might have rushed it earlier today, tangled in silks and cotton cloths. It was a lament of his that he couldn't simply tear her gown from her then and appreciate every inch of her, something he couldn't exactly do atop Vhagar either, but he meant to remedy that now. 

"Mmm skoros kessa gaomā lēda nyke pār, ñuha rōva zaldrīzes," what will you do with me then, my big dragon, her playful smile faded once his fingers slipped between her legs, causing a sweet little whimper to slip from her lips. What would he do with her , he had several ideas in mind. But he wanted her even wetter…he wanted her soaking. He allowed his long slender fingers to toy with her entrance, his thumb starting to torture her sensitive little pearl with the barest of touches. 

Only this time he did not miss the opportunity to truly appreciate her, focusing on the way her skin shone in the fading breaks of moonlight and the deep orange flickers of the firelight. All the sweet panting gasps that fell from her lips as he dragged his tongue up the swell of her breast and flicked her pebbling nipple. He repeated the action with her other tit, before capturing her nipple in the heat of his mouth, lavishing her with the swirl of his tongue. 

He fucking loved the way her legs tightened around him, the way her cunt quivered and moistened for him. His Princess was trying to fight her binds, but he kept his right hand securely around her wrists. Forcing her breasts to heave against his face with every shaky pleasurable breath she took. 

Such a heavenly feeling, he couldn't help but excite himself with the thought of how her breasts would feel when they were heavy and filled with milk for their babe. How it might be to suckle them then, the thought was cut through with the sound of his dragoness' moans. The way she was begging him, the way her hips were writhing, trying desperately to get herself off on his hand. 

The attempt itself was nearly admirable, but he couldn't allow it, every orgasm he gave her tonight needed to be caused by his cock. It was his goal, and he would make it so. Moving his hand swiftly and grasping onto her hip instead, he'd managed to slow her movements rather easily. 

His eager little wife would be free to move once he was inside of her.

"It looks as if you no longer have any restraint for me, hmm," he teased, grinning up at her. A droning groan and a swift head shake had been his response from her. The look on her face had been all the more satisfying, the way her brows furrowed as she bit her lip in frustration. So beautiful, so perfect…so wanton just for him. 

In an instant he covered her again, taking her lips needily as he slowly pressed his weeping tip against her dripping cunt, "mmm my little wife, so ready for me," he panted above her, breaking their kiss. 

She was quick to nod vigorously, her eyes gazing deeply into his as she lowered her legs from his waist only to spread them wider for him, clearly she was ever so eager. It was unbelievable really, to think his grandfather would have had him settle for mediocrity when he had perfection in his grasp. 

Finally sinking into her soft center felt beyond sublime, hot and burning like it should be with a true dragon. The arousing pleasure he felt stretching her nicely, his cock twitching as he sheathed himself inside her. 

Rhaena's head had fallen back as she let loose a piercing moan for him, the sound alone had Aemond growling lowly as he began to pump into her. Drawing back almost entirely before thrusting his entire length back inside her. Her whimpers were so loud, desperate sobbing sounds that only served to embolden him. Especially with the way her legs sought to wrap around him, her feet curling with every thrust. 

When he lowered himself back down over her, grazing his teeth along her neck, leaving a scattering of love bites in his wake, he'd only said the words, "my sweet little wife, taking me so well…barely any preparation at all, you're getting better," that alone made her made her little cunt even wetter for him. It was almost instantly, so much so Aemond marveled at the complete control and power he had over her body. Simple praise from him and on immediate impulse she melted for him. 

"Oh…Aemond," that sultry tone yet again, the way she moaned his name posed real danger for him, the sound alone made him want to cum, and that was including the way her eyes had glazed over. The genuine affection in her eyes, the dreamy gaze she'd given him…he couldn't risk spilling himself so soon. Maybe he'd been wrong, maybe he would be able to last his usual amount rounds with her…but he'd be fucking damned if he came now. 

He deserved to pull three orgasms from her at the very least. He'd taken one, he'd take two more. 

With a swiftness that was only present when he was so aroused and wanting, he managed to pull himself from her, release the hold he had on her wrists to grab ahold of her hips and flip her onto her stomach. 

Oh it was such a sight having her lay on her stomach for him, had this been earlier in the night he might have taken the time to press more kisses along her body, but now he could only think of fucking her. Sinking into her instantly, her gasping moan told him she loved the feeling as much as he did. 

Taking her from behind wasn't something he normally did, he enjoyed watching her face when he pleased her, but this was a tantalizing sight he'd been missing out on. Her bottom so full and rounded bent over as he rammed himself into her, gripping harshly into the soft skin of her hips. 

With her hands still binded, she managed to prop herself up on her elbows and forearms. 

Her silky voice vibrated with every slam of his hips against her plush bottom, "harder, ñuha zaldrīzes!" harder, My dragon!

If that was his permission then he'd take it gladly. Setting a far more punishing pace, he made his thrusts brutal and spearing, aiming for her favoured spot with perfect precision. 

Oh he could feel her peak coming, this was what he’d wanted. His ethereal Goddess crying his name aloud, desperately begging for his cock. He'd certainly blow his load if he didn't regain control of himself. But he knew how he could get it, he'd started by sinking his fingers into her curls, grabbing a hold of her and pulling, forcing her to scream as he fucked her. 

Gods, his goddess sounded magnificent, such a perfect little whore for him. 

She should've been his sooner…she should've been picked to be his bride all along. It was the biggest injustice that he nearly lost out on such a woman. 

His very own Princess. 

In that moment his mind had given him the idea for the perfect position, one so powerful all his love could possibly do is beg for him to let her reach her peak. 

With her head pulled back, her teary eyes gazing up at him, Aemond released her hair and lifted her up by her hips. Repositioning her once again, he pulled her back up against his chest. With a quick swipe, he undid the binding of her wrists and allowed her to drape an arm over his shoulder as he hooked her right leg up into the crook of his right arm. At glance down, between the heaving mounds of her breasts and down the flat slope of her stomach, he could nearly just sweetly see the way his cock fit within her. 

And then he ruined the silence once again, thrusting up into her to the sound of shrieking sob, his left hand stayed on her hip, until his attention was caught by the lovely sight of his member causing a bulge in her lower abdomen. 

It was instantaneous, his hand moving from her hip to press down on the bulge, adding a sweet pressure for her as he stroked her most favoured spot. 

And Gods, the sounds she made echoed throughout their little island here.

Her sob pierced through him like the most melodic cry he'd ever heard, and he was desperate to keep that sound. To think he'd had her in nearly every way he could ever desire, and yet it seemed he was still able to discover new sounds. 

The way her body shivered and writhed, limbs wriggling and twisting as if the pleasure she was feeling was overwhelming her, "oh valzȳrys…ñuha zaldrīzes…I can't…I can't take much more," husband…my dragon. There it was again, his favourite tell tale sign that his little wife was enjoying herself. That moaning mix of Valyrian and the common tongue. 

He couldn’t tell how long he’d been at this, but he was quite proud she’d managed to last as long as she had. 

"Ao've gaomagon sȳrje, māzigon syt nyke, eman ao," you've done very well, come for me, I have you , he spoke tenderly nuzzling against her cheek as kept his punishing pace just for her release. 

Little did she know, he was certain she was already cumming, he'd felt her slick, hot and wet coating his cock with each thrust, her core muscles threatening to squeeze his willpower away with ease. Aemond found himself groaning harshly against her shoulder, the exquisite pressure of her cunt closing around his throbbing member was almost too much to take. But he fought past it, watching as the ecstasy of her climax washed over her, the whimpering cry that fell from her lips made his heart thump warmly. Proudly even, especially once the rest of her body went limp against him, her nails digging into his shoulder as she still attempted to hold herself up with nonexistent energy. 

But Aemond was quick to hold her hips against him, his dragoness was overstimulated, sated and drunk off her own pleasure. Gently, he lowered her back down onto the blanketed ground, he didn’t wish to keep her in such an upright position. Once they were both on the blanket, he laid himself down beside her, both of them laying on their sides. And like that he found himself just gazing at his Princess, listening to the sound of her soft breathless exhales, her eyelids heavy and fluttering closed. Running his hand along her smooth thigh, he slid his caress up the curve of her hip and down the sweet curve of her waist, he felt her shiver beneath his touch, and watched the faint little smile that graced lips. In a matter of seconds, he’d pulled her against him, leaning over nuzzling his nose against hers, he simply whispered, “are you ready for one more,”

With a groan she shook her head, her hand reaching up to cup his scarred cheek as she ghosted her lips against his. Her voice was breathy and faint, “my love...I don’t think I can do it,”

Aemond smirked, pressing a warm kiss against her lips as he pulled her flush against him, for her to feel how much he still wanted and needed her, “you wouldn't leave your dragon so hard and wanting would you, little wife.”

Rhaena whined deeply, exhaling heavily through her nostrils as if she was fighting an internal battle, in the end, she’d simply lift her leg over up drape it over his hip, wrapping her arms around his neck as she readied herself. Her pale violet eyes gazed deeply into his with an intensity he was not prepared for, “gūrogon nyke, ñuha zaldrīzes. Dīnagon iā rūs isse nyke,” take me, my dragon. Put a babe in me. 

Mmm, oh he certainly would.

He wasted no time sliding his thick length into her welcoming cunt, still dripping from her recent orgasm, with one swift movement he was able to thrust into her with ease. A lovely scratchy whimper tore from her throat as he fucked her without mercy, he wasn’t holding back this time and look in her eyes told him she did not want him to. Her hands grappled onto him just as his hand dug into the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her writhing body against his as he felt her own pleasure rising up once again. 

She was magnificent, somehow in this moment he was beginning to feel that same overwhelming all-encompassing soaring pleasure he’d felt when he’d taken her upon Vhagar. It wasn’t the exact but it felt beyond what was coursing through him just moments ago, it was ravenous and needy, yes but this…the way his blood was burning, sizzling and sparking. Vhagar was calling to him, as he growled and groaned into the crook of Rhaena’s neck, he could feel his link to his bonded mount. His body and soul was in sync with his Princess’ while his bonded-spirit had clearly been feeling everything he was. 

“Aemond…jurnegon rȳ nyke…Nyke jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao skori ao māzigon,” Aemond...look at me...I wish to see you when you cum , he’d heard the begging whine from her so clearly. And it was then that he realized he’d somewhat been inadvertently avoiding keeping her gaze this evening, not that he’d avoided it entirely, he’d looked her in the eyes…he just hadn’t kept her gaze for very long.

Rhaena wouldn’t let him decide though, she rather immediately pulled and tugged his hair enough to pull his face in front of hers. Where her pale violet eyes, all illuminated by firelight, both stopped his heart and started it all at once. It was the surging force that had pushed him over the edge, the look in her fierce eyes, the want, the pure unadulterated love they held for him. She wanted to gaze at him as he was, vulnerable and missing, this was what pleased her most of all. 

His body was on fire, his heart primed to burst, and all the while her rocking hips kept their pace against his. Every thrust felt like it could be his last, the obscene squelching of their arousal had 

grown louder…she was close, so close…he just needed her release.   

And once he got it, her desperate cry paired with her nails scraping deliciously against his scalp and back, his fingers bruising her hips as his grip tightened and hardened. A final growl shredded its way out of him as he finally spilled himself within her, her cunt already clenching and pulling, milking the last of few drops of his seed from him. All the while he kept his gaze on her and her eyes, getting lost in the swirling lavender and lilac of her eyes, his body erupting in a heat that poured like molten lava all throughout. 

Wild yet quenching, fucking had never felt quite like that before.

By the time he’d managed to slip his cock from her clutches and lay on his back, it seemed as if the world was spinning. Dizzy and hazy, he was breathing so heavily, oxygen barely reaching his lungs. This position was far less exerting and yet he felt even more exhausted than had previously. But even so, Aemond didn’t wait to catch his breath entirely before pulling his Princess up against him. Wrapping his arms around her as she rested her head and chest against his chest. Her soft breaths ghosted over his skin as her curls spilled over his chest, she felt so soft and warm against him. So safely snuggled in his arms as she hugged herself closer, nuzzling her cheek against him. 

“Are you satisfied now, my love,” Rhaena hummed as her fingers rubbed his chest softly, her bright eyes happily flicking up to gauge his reaction. 

His sweet Princess…his sweet wife…he’d get to do this as often as they wished now. She was his to hold and love and protect, all his. He no longer needed to count the days, she was his in every way that mattered…every way possible. 

A dream come true made real by his own determination to have her…possess her like no other.

With a small nod, he quietly smirked, “entirely.” 

Instinctively, he caressed her smooth back in soothing circles, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the sweet creamy scent that floated from her hair. Calming himself instantly before he laid back as he gazed up at the night sky. Those storm clouds from earlier had swarmed closer, floated down from the heavens and in all honesty they looked primed to burst. In all likelihood, they’d get rained on, they’d certainly be drenched if they stayed here. Quite literally dampening his plans to stay the night here, but he supposed it mattered not. They had their romantic getaway , away from everyone and anyone who might disturb them, he’d had his Princess all to himself in the most beautiful ways possible. 

If they had to leave now, the only portion of the night that was left was to truly fall asleep…and that, they could do inside the castle if need be. 

Aemond wasn’t keen on moving from this comfortable position just yet though, even though he knew they needed to. Rhaena, he was certain, would whine about having to move now. But maybe she’d hate being rained on more. 

With a soft budge, he whispered against her hair, “the storm will be upon us soon, I think we’ll have to continue this in our chambers,” 

There was a tell-tale groan that accompanied her sigh, “what if it’s only a drizzle?”

“It’s certainly not a drizzle ,” he responded crisply as his eye caught a flash of lightning, and as he thought to mention it, there rang a clashing roar of thunder in the distance. It was enough to startle her against him, enough to make him chuckle. 

She hadn’t needed much more convincing after that. 

Quickly they pulled themselves up and dressed, Aemond refitted his Sapphire, as he didn’t wish to carry it in his pocket and possibly lose it…or worse yet really, he didn’t wish to stumble upon any occupants who were still awake when they returned to the castle, without it in. 

Once everything was gathered, Aemond nearly considered the thought of putting out their fire…something he quickly decided would be unnecessary as the rain began to splutter down. It was light for only a moment…and then it poured with pressure. 

“Get to Vhagar, I’m right behind you!” he yelled over the sound of crashing thunder and the splashing torrential rainstorm. He watched as she nodded, squinting in the darkness as the moon was now covered, their firelight gone, in the pale strikes of lightning they could just barely make out Vhagar’s enormous mass of a shadow below the bank. It seemed his mount was keen to help them, rumbling a deep roar into the sky with a burst of bright hot flames. 

The rain wouldn’t bother Aemond, sure it was uncomfortable to remain drenched in one’s own clothes, hair stuck and slicked against his face and back. But storms had never scared him, he always enjoyed the brutal beauty nature presented in its chaos. Especially on dragonback, flying in a storm was exhilarating. Incredibly dangerous and risky, but the adrenaline boost alone was enough to fuel any Targaryen. 

They’d managed to climb Vhagar rather quickly all things considered, Rhaena had only slipped a couple of times, but he’d managed to catched her easily and guide her the rest of the way. When they were settled securely, his wife tucked between his legs as he held onto her tightly…then and only then did Aemond utter the command, "Sōvēs, Vhagar," fly, Vhagar .

☾

If Aemond spent the entire flight back to the castle cackling and flying with slight reckless abandon all while his wife clutched onto him and screamed during every dive and surge that Vhagar performed…well…he’d just have to hope for her forgiveness. In King’s Landing storms were a sparse occurrence, and when they did roll around they certainly were not of this caliber. Each thunderclap sounded so incredibly close, each lightning strike struck from above in perfectly timed strikes that surrounded them, causing Aemond and Vhagar to weave around and anticipate where they’d next appear. 

It was all so thrilling!

Though, once they’d landed on the Dragon Mound’s field, both running for the cover of the secret tunnel entrance, Aemond took Rhaena’s hand to pull her in as quickly as possible. 

By then, Aemond realized just how much his beloved had not enjoyed that flight. 

“That was horrifying! The most frightening flight I’ve ever been on,” Rhaena was ranting and raving at this point, “and you! You were enjoying it…that…that deadly murderous storm…well…of course you did, I don’t know I expected anything else…”

He didn’t bother to inject, instead he leaned himself against the stone wall of the cave and let her talk herself out. Either way it was rather amusing, the way she animatedly shook at pointed at him, and then the slight shivers her body gave off as the storm’s wet breeze blew, snapping him back into action. 

They’d forgotten her cloak back on the island, not that it would have been of any use now, it would have been just as soaked as everything they had on now. 

But her teeth were faintly chattering and her voice had begun to vibrate with it, so with a sigh, he quickly gathered her into his embrace despite her minor protests, “would you rather stand here complaining and screaming at me, or would rather dry off and warm yourself by a fire, getting into our cozy bed together.”

The answer was obvious, he’d all but handed her the clear decision. 

“Well…I can still complain and scream at you once we're in bed you know,” she grinned, pressing herself against him. 

A genuine smile befell his lips then as he caressed a few of her damp curls away from her forehead and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “fair enough, I’d still rather you do it there than here. You’re clearly freezing, and I’d rather not lose my wife so quickly.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she giggled, pushing off of him as she stepped around him. She’d stop only a few steps ahead, turning back towards him with an outstretched hand for him to take. 

One he took happily. 

Letting her lead them as they rounded the many twists and turns that Rhaena knew by heart, the tunnels were pitch black, with neither a candle between them, Aemond relied on his dragoness’ memory of these tunnels to not lead them astray. He hadn’t doubted her, she’d grown up in this castle afterall, he knew she knew these tunnels like the back of her hand and soon enough they’d arrived back into a corridor on the lower levels. One that was far more familiar and recognizable, one that thankfully had several torches still lit to maneuver around with. From there they slipped into another tunnel, this one had a narrow staircase that wound its way around to Dragon’s nest . 

A stronghold, the area of the castle where their chambers, along with the rest of their royal family’s, barring Otto and Alicent Hightower of course, resided. They could reach that main hall and then walk the rest of the way past the Gold Cloaks who guarded the main entrance. 

As usual, the hallway was lit with a row of torches, the bright orange flames had spilled flickering light into the tunnel as they neared the exit, lighting their way as they finally stepped out into the hallway.

*clank*

It was faint, but Aemond had heard it. 

In an instant, he grabbed Rhaena and pulled back against his chest, halting her quickly as he slid her around him so she could stand behind him. His eye scanned their surroundings carefully, they were standing in the middle of a vacant hallway, there were only two ways to look…and both sides seemed to be clear.

“What-” she’d started but stopped-

*clank*

*clank*

There it was again, from the right…in the distance…there was a shadow. 

Something quick…but it was there. 

And Rhaena had seen it too, now clutching onto the back of his damp shirt as she eyed the corner in the distance just as he was. Aemond had brought his sword earlier, and was quite glad he had now. He couldn’t be certain, whoever lurked down the hall…down in the direction opposite of Dragon Nest. Down towards the servants staircase…the torches were not lit in that corner…very specifically extinguished, Aemond might’ve added.

This was an ambush .   

Of that he was certain, it was as clear as day.

*clank*

*clank* 

*clank*

The shadow was advancing…no… shadows . 

Fuck, there were several of them. This smelled of his grandfather, Otto Hightower never accepted defeat if he could help it. Even now at the hour of the wolf, with a rainstorm still raging just outside…Aemond’s grandfather sought to ruin his wedding day.

It’d almost been the perfect day. 

He should have expected as much.

“Aemond,” his wife whispered behind him, “their figures…they look like knights… King’s Guards not Gold Cloaks.”

He felt his jaw tighten as fucking Criston Cole emerged from the shadows with Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne closely behind. Along with three other unrecognizable servants…hired brutes, who were all various shapes. Bulky and well-formed, slim, lanky and tall, stout and rotund. But they mattered very little to him, no the smug look upon Cole’s face was enough to make Aemond’s blood boil on its own, the mere fact that this lowly knight thought himself so noble and righteous, so correct in his view of the world. 

The five men only halted themselves once Cole stood front and center, toe to toe with Aemond. 

Aemond had his hand hovering over the handle of his blade ever since he’d seen them off in the distance, but now he was ready to draw it. 

They were still not close enough to the stronghold to be seen by any Gold Cloaks, that was surely why Cole had planned to intercept here…a blindspot.

“Do you have any idea what you are doing, Cole,” Aemond gritted darkly, a fire raging just beneath the surface of his eye, “you’re acting on the wishes of a bitter foolish old man. He wishes to stoke the flames of a war no one of true power or importance wants. Be smart for once in your life, let this go. Leave now, and I will not speak of it.”

It was a fair offer, in fact, it was far more than any of these men deserved. 

And maybe Aemond felt merciful enough to make the offer at least as his wife was presently with him. And though she knew of bloodshed and violence, he also knew his Princess well. She was no sword fighter, she did not lust for blood or violence or to cause pain and wreckage. If this fight were to begin, this would be far more gruesome than a simple singular execution like her father had done to her great-uncle Vaemond. If he could help it, he’d rather she not see this, all jests aside she was indeed still a prim and proper Princess. 

But if Cole sought to push this…then Aemond would do what was necessary.

“My Prince, your grandfather is the only one seeing clearly,” Criston spoke smugly, as if he were explaining the obvious to a petulant child, “Aegon is the rightful heir, the first born son, how could you stand behind anyone else but your own brother…your own blood.”

“Fuck off, Cole! You realize I am a Targaryen, or are you blind and stupid. The entire royal family that currently rests in this castle right now, counts as my blood. Rhaenyra is my blood, she is the heir,” Aemond spat, how many times would he have to reaffirm this, he wasn’t entirely fond of the options but he’d be damned if he ever backed Aegon as King, “you want Aegon on the throne so badly, he’s a fucking drunk who can barely lift his sword. But that’s your King, the man who stumbles out of bed at half-day passed, hungover, tripping and forever exhausted, he can barely remember which Lords hail from where. But he will lead you in this war to come, will he? You’re all so fucking disgusting.”

Cole’s nostrils were flaring, his jaw grinding furiously as his hand flexed over his sword. Ser Fell looked just as determined, clearly he really believed in this cause, though the same could not be said for Ser Thorne. He’d be their weak link, the fool who let himself get roped up and dragged along to commit an act of treason, for a cause he clearly did not fully believe in. The servants… peasants who were enticed by some coin to be sure. 

There were only six of them in total, sizing them all up, Aemond knew he could take them. The three servants would be easily slayed, as most likely they would have little if any formal training. Ser Thorne as well, with how nervous and distracted he seemed to be, eyeing exits as if he wished to escape this horrid plan just like Aemond had offered all of them to. 

“Prince Aemond you must step away from the Princess, no harm will come to her, but you must come with us,” Ser Fell gruffly spoke, as if he deigned to be the diplomat of the group. 

At the mention of his Princess , Aemond’s protective arm moved to block her further from the men in front of them, “no harm would come to her anyhow because you’d lose your arm if not your life the moment you tried.”

“Enough of this,” Cole moved to step forward but Aemond immediately matched the movement, causing the knight to simply stand his ground, “you are to let us escort you to Vhagar, you are to fly to Storm’s End-”

Oh fucking hell. 

Their ridiculous little plan hadn’t even been altered considering the circumstances. Aemond found himself letting loose a rather manical mirthless cackle, “you’re right about one thing, Cole. I have had enough of this,” within a millisecond Aemond had drawn his sword. A move that made Cole and Fell draw their own, the servants pulled daggers…and Thorne…he remained still. His hands by his side, he did not even attempt to reach for his blade. 

Coward…mmm…but his cowardice could be useful now. 

Behind him he felt Rhaena pat herself vigorously, searching for her own dagger assumably…something she did not bring with her, which lead to her rather quietly cursing to herself in a huff, “fuck, I knew I should have brought it.” 

He might’ve smirked, once again he should have expected as much, of course his dragoness would wish to protect herself just as equally. 

“I’m not going with you, Cole, Fell…any of you,” Aemond sighed, now resigned to the fact that he would have to run each man threw, “the plan is foolish, beyond fucking asinine.The most ill-conceived plot I’ve ever heard. Besides the fact that it’s violently storming outside, what makes you think I won’t simply command Vhagar to devour you once you escort me to her. What would your puny blades do to my dragon, hmm?”

Both Cole and Fell shared a look as if they somehow just realized they’d overlooked the most obvious hole in their plot. 

They truly were morons.

“Ser Rickard Thorne,” Rhaena’s sweet courtly voice echoed out from behind Aemond, “you clearly do not wish to be apart of this. Should you stay, Aemond will either kill you himself or you’ll be found guilty of treason and executed all the same. But you can escape with a lighter sentence if you leave now, warn my parents, warn the Queen…do your actual duty.”

Where Aemond’s earlier offer had failed to yield results, it seemed his wife’s clear voice had rang true with the unsteady Knight. With a nod and a bow, Ser Thorne swiftly slipped away from his comrades before they could stop him and hurried past Aemond and Rhaena, down the hall in search of Daemon and Rhaenyra... Aemond supposed he'd head to the Queen’s separate quarters afterwards. 

In the short lull, Cole and Fell sent the servants to attack. 

Those three were a sorry excuse for warriors … mercenaries …no they were simply servants with weapons, and they fought as such. Aemond had pushed Rhaena back, as he quickly circled around the three and one by one dispatched of them all. A simple side step as he slashed across the belly of the first servants, with an added spin, Aemond swiftly slit the man's throat and basked in the blood that splattered across his face. 

That minor thrill for violence had been awakened and he craved for more. Watching as the other two servants began to hesitate, their grip on their blade loosening as they looked at one another and stepped back slightly. Second guessing their choices, but it meant nothing to Aemond. Their lives ended the moment they chose to stand against him, the moment they chose to pull blades on a Crown Prince such as himself. He had no room for mercy, not anymore. But he'd done them the service of making it quick, stabbing one clean through his gut before lopping off his head and then simply beheading the last man as he all but begged for mercy.

With a flourish, Aemond flipped and skillfully twirled his sword in his hand, flicking the unworthy blood from his blade as he cracked his neck and took a real stance, “you dishonour me, Cole. The fact you bothered to hire such lowly trash to face me, you should have known better. I’ve bested you enough times for you to have brought me an actual challenge.”

That had been the final straw, Cole finally lunged at Aemond, bringing his sword down with force and great strength. Aemond quickly instinctively blocked it with his own blade, a regretful decision he soon realized as Cole may have been slashing wildly with real rage and fury, but it was meant to be a distraction.

“Aemond!” Rhaena’s piercing scream had caught him just in time.

He’d barely dodged the swinging slash Fell had aimed at his head. They sought to kill him, it seemed, if they couldn’t bring him willingly, it seemed they’d rather not bring him at all…which was just as foolish on their part. 

Grandfather wanted Aemond to wield Vhagar as Otto’s own personal weapon. 

And that's when it dawned on him.

This wasn’t his grandfather’s plan.

No no, the plan itself was originally his, but this…this sloppy slapdash execution. Otto would never have selected Ser Thorne for a plot like this, he would have made sure everything was airtight. He would have had failsafes, alternatives and reserves in place…this was not his doing. Aemond would not believe Otto Hightower had given up entirely, but he was not behind this attack at the very least.

It was Cole…acting on his own accord. His own desperate need to place Aegon on the throne and stay in the company of Aemond’s mother as her sworn lapdog .  

Fighting off two opponents at once had forced Aemond to think more impulsively, he couldn’t plan too many steps ahead like he did in his usual one on one sparring matches.

But in this case, he would not need to. He knew Cole well enough, he knew how he moved, how he fought, what he favoured.

When Cole swung high, Aemond took care to duck and swivel as Fell’s blade thrusted and aimed for Aemond's stomach. Both knights worked to exhaust him, attacking from his flanks, aiming where the other was not, Aemond was indeed at a disadvantage. 

But he had his own advantages as well, they were bulkier, slower, their armour weighed them down. A damp silk shirt and simple breeches did not provide much protection for Aemond and everyone present knew it. 

So he’d have to utilize his speed, hopping over one of the dead servants, Aemond slipped under a wide wild slash Fell made from his right side, before twirling away from Cole’s blade and catching Fell’s unguarded left side. The knight expected Aemond to slice upwards where his protective armour would have saved him, but instead Aemond sliced down, the gap between his lower abdomen and his leg plates was the perfect place to strike. Slashing down and across the knight's lower abdomen, relishing the added spray of blood that already coated him from his previous kills. Fell screamed as he dropped to his knees, clutching his wound, it was severe, but it would not kill him…not yet at least. Finally Aemond pointed his blade at the knight’s throat, forcing a surrender out of the man.

“Drop your sword, Prince Aemond,” Cole panted…but he was nowhere near Aemond. 

Suddenly a cold shiver ran down Aemond's spine, slowly he stood up straight, turning to follow the sound.

His jaw clenched instantly, his eye only seeing red, the fucking cunt, he had Rhaena pinned against the wall, his own sword pointing straight at her throat. Aemond would never make it in time even if he tried to run to her.

FUCK. 

He should have told her to run, he should have covered her while she snuck back into tunnels and she could’ve retrieved her parents and stayed away from all this…she could have been safe and out of harm's way. 

It was his duty to protect her, it was…a necessity to keep her safe. He needed her safe, he could not fathom a world where she was not here with him. 

“You promised no harm would come to my wife,” Aemond seethed, Gods it sounded pathetic, but he needed to buy more time. Whether Thorne truly went to retrieve Daemon and Rhaenyra was unknown, and either way Aemond didn't wish to rely on that. 

He'd save his wife all on his own, because he had to…because he needed to. 

“NO!,” Cole sounded erratic, his shrill voice cutting through the silence like jagged edges of glass, blood was seeping through his weighted under cover, it seemed Aemond had nicked him in their little back and forth, “fucking Fell said that, I did not. I could care less what happens to any spawn of Daemon’s . Besides, if I kill her…you’d be free to fulfill your duty to your true family. With no distractions, no impediments, nothing and no one holding you here. Why you want this girl so badly is beyond me, surely she is a pretty girl, but are looks all you care for my Prince?”

Fucking cunt. 

Aemond’s heart was racing, he was brimming with adrenaline and pure dragon’s fire. He wanted to run Criston Cole through and be done with him, he wanted him dead, he wanted him tortured and skewered for even daring to touch Rhaena. He didn’t care about Fell or Thorne, if his sister and mother wished to pardon them, fuck it, who cares…but Cole, no. Cole needed the pain, he needed to die, he wouldn’t let his mother absolve the unhinged man this time. 

Aemond’s eye was scanning for every possible way he could save his Princess, the dead servants bodies scattered the floor, but he could race up along the edge and reach Cole fast enough…but would it be fast enough. 

No, he would be fast enough, he needed to be fast enough, he could not lose her. Not here, not now and especially not to fucking Criston Cole. 

Just an hour ago…he’d thought today might have been the best day of his life, he held it quite close to the morning his dragoness told him that she loved him…to the first time he could see just how much she wanted him…just in her eyes. Rhaena was more than just his wife now, she symbolized everything to him. Everything he could ever want in one person, she was his happiness, she was his future…he could not separate any of that from her.

He’d never recover if anything were to happen to her.

He’d unleash hell on earth for her…and even then he would not be satisfied.  He never wished to experience that level of darkness…hollow heartbreak. He could not turn into the hollow man his father had become after the loss of his first wife…his true love.

No, there’d be no world in which he allowed it to happen.

In a glance, he saw his Princess eyeing him, Aemond almost moved but he held fast. Watching as she motioned with her eyes towards Cole and then back to Aemond, she was going to do something…a distraction? Even in a moment like this, his plotting little Princess did not cow. 

It could work, Cole had made the order for Aemond to ‘drop his sword’ , but he only glanced back at Aemond periodically, the knight’s main focus remained on Rhaena. With that in mind, Aemond waited for Cole to glance back at him, “I mean it, my Prince. Drop the blade!”

“So you can kill my wife? You really are an imbecile if you think I’ll simply oblige,” Aemond snarled, glancing down at Fell who lay on the floor now quietly bleeding out. His own sword still in hand, Aemond knew what he’d do. 

He gave a nod to his dragoness.

Aemond kicked Fell’s blade out of his hand, the loud clatter giving the illusion that Aemond himself had finally done what Cole wanted. Surrendered.

In that moment of slight confusion, quick as ever, Rhaena spat in Cole’s face while simultaneously curling her hand into a fist, punching his left cheek, forcing the knight to step back. Taken off guard, Cole wiped his face before he began growling, moving to thrust his blade, “say goodbye to your whore of a wife-”

Aemond was quick, bolting along the edge of the hall’s wall, finally making it in reach of the knight. He should have simply speared his sword through the man's throat, decapitated him like he truly wished to.

…but like he thought previously, he wanted this man to suffer. Even more so now for calling his wife a fucking whore while he held a blade to her throat. 

All of his rage coursing in him, Aemond tossed his sword from his right hand to his left and let his right hand curl into a fist, throwing a biting punch. Hitting Cole square in the jaw, knocking the older man back several steps. Aemond had been proud to see his Lady hit the knight as well, but Aemond would prefer to truly wound him. In that spare moment, he could only spare his wife a quick overlook, just to see if she was well. There he noticed the tip of Cole’s blade had indeed nicked her throat just barely, a faint trickle of blood had dripped and dried down the center of her throat, gathering in the dip of her collarbone. Small as the wound was, it only enraged him more, as he turned to face Criston Cole, he dodged an incoming slash from the man. 

He dares to still swing at me , Aemond thought, very well . 

The dragon within him had certainly wide awake now, fire made flesh he moved in what felt like a blur. Dodging Cole’s thrust from the left, swirling around and slashing down with every bit of force he possessed. It happened in an instant, Aemond had severed the fingers that held Cole’s sword. 

The guttural scream that tore from the knight as he clutched his wrist, dark blood spewing and gushing from his hand as his sword rattled and it hit the floor in a clatter. 

That scream, Cole’s deep and feral howls all sounded so delicious, the terror…the pain. It fueled Aemond, fed the dragon that lived within him, the one that called for violence and chaos, for fire and blood. In the knight’s moment of weakness, Aemond reached and grabbed him by the neck, eye to eye at the same height and level, he forced the older man down to his knees as Aemond pointed his blade down at Cole's throat. 

For once that man was finally where he belonged, on his knees in the presence of royalty, in the presence of dragons. 

Aemond twirled his sword, away from Criston Cole’s neck, foolishly the knight seemed to think Aemond would grant him leniency of some sort, as if he deserved it…as if he was owed it. He watched gleefully as the sworn sword gritted and groaned, deep crimson blood bubbling and pouring from his fingerless hand and onto the stone floor. Cole seemed to be working his mouth to move, as if he wished to speak, but before Cole could bother to spew anymore bile, Aemond quickly grabbed him roughly, a vice grip around his throat, leaning down over him, “you will die for this and I will make it agonizing. Your title means nothing to me, you will suffer. It was a fucking mistake ever allowing you to live all those years ago. Low level scum that you are, you really thought to pull a blade on me , on my wife! You dared to cut her…her precious royal skin…you dared to lay your filthy fucking hands upon her. No, I want you to feel every bit of this,” he sneered.

“You will doom us all,” Criston choked, “you cannot choose this…you cannot choose her-” Cole’s spiel was cut short as Aemond’s sword tipped cooly lengthwise underneath the knight's chin. 

“ Aemond! …” it was his beloved this time, he could hear her so faintly, so muffled and muddled as if he’d been submerged under ice cold water and everything and everyone else that surrounded him existed in some far away place…a different existence. 

She sounded miles away even though he knew she was only a few steps behind him. 

That wasn’t what annoyed him though. 

No, he’d entered a mode he could not and would not leave willingly. She had to know what Cole had done here tonight could not stand…she had to understand just how terrified he’d been at the thought of losing her just moments ago. 

She did not have to watch this, but Cole had to pay.

But, fuck…it was in her tone, that soft pleading she did whenever she wanted him to listen to her…whenever she wanted him to stop . 

Not now…he didn’t wish to listen to that soft voice now. She deserved justice….maybe it was him who needed justice, he needed savagery…pain and brutality. 

“Aemond, please,” she tried again, now she was stepping towards him, towards the unravelled beast he’d unleashed for her…for the mayhem…for the pleasure he took in fighting and killing, “you cannot kill him...not like this. He’s a sworn knight. Your parents’ sworn knight. Your parents…and mine…they must make the final decision of what happens to him and Ser Fell. This is not a simple situation.”

"Rhaena…" Aemond breathed heavily, his chest still heaved with his shoulders as he took haggard breaths. He could not turn to meet her gaze, his glare remained pinned to the kneeling knight before him.

It was infuriating, of course he knew her words to be true, but he didn’t care at that moment. It wouldn’t have mattered, if he slayed Cole here and now, he’d face a verbal lashing at most. By the end, his actions would be seen as just given the circumstances and Cole being only a fucking knight, would not matter. 

They’d simply replace him, Aemond was a Prince of the realm he’d face no real consequence. 

“What the fuck is going on!” a voice called from the deserted hallway.

It was Daemon…unmistakably so.

It seemed Aemond would not get his answer or be allowed to dole out his preferred punishment just yet, by his guess, it sounded as if his uncle had just rounded the corner and was making his way over to them at his usual casual yet fearsome pace. 

Daemon looked particularly menacing as he stalked his way down the hall, now in sight beneath the flickering torches that lined the hall, Dark Sister was clearly already drawn and dragging, scrapping and screeching the stone floors for what seemed like added effect. His long pale Targaryen blonde hair flowed unbound, his grey silken shirt untied…he looked as if his slumber had been disturbed, beyond irritated and soon to be furious when he properly arrived on the scene. 

A dragon of Old ready to spit fire and tear his victims apart, he looked rageful, he truly looked like what his moniker had always implied…The Rogue Prince. Stalking the halls for prey to satiate his bloodlust.

Behind him but at a bit of a distance, both Rhaenyra and Alicent also made their way over in a rush. Rhaenyra with a hand on her swollen belly as she ambled over as quick as she was able, while Aemond's mother had kept her pace with Rhaenyra as she certainly wasn’t able to catch up to Daemon just yet.

Aemond could see it all, their parents all convening here, taking in this sight of blood and gore. Two sworn members of the King’s Guards lay bleeding…well one was whimpering like a child now. The three servants' bodies, sliced and severed…and surrounded by it all…there stood Aemond Targaryen at the center of it. His sword still pointed and aimed towards Criston Cole’s throat as the man sniveled and whined over his severed hand. 

When Daemon finally took in the sight, he followed the blood, followed the bodies all the way to Aemond and Rhaena. Scrutinizing for only a moment before his gaze softened, in four long strides he’d managed to reach them. His first priority was to check after his daughter, sheathing his sword, he placed his hands on her shoulders and scanned her for any bruises or wounds. Tilting her chin when he noticed the miniscule slit on her throat, she was quick to place a comforting hand over her father’s, reassuring him, “Iksan sȳz, kepa. Nyke kivio iksan unharmed” I am fine, father . I promise I am unharmed. Her words were soft and she knew speaking them in Valyrian would let them sink in truly for her father.

For a while there, Aemond kept waiting for Rhaena to step away from him. When her father came, he was sure she would fall into his embrace and step away from the monstrous man who’d simply murdered three, possibly five men without any remorse. In fact he’d enjoyed a great deal of it, relished in it, drank it in as life’s blood and felt his lust for it all nearly quenched. But even still, here she stood. Yes she clearly took comfort in her father’s presence, but when he was done, she leaned herself against Aemond. Looping her arm around his as she rested her cheek on his bicep just below his shoulder. 

His dragoness.

What had also surprised him was the weighted feel of a hand on his other shoulder, it was Daemon’s. At a glance, he realized a mix of emotions had flashed in his uncle’s eyes. From slight concern…for Aemond’s well being…that was odd, there was a flash of casual relief, and finally something that Aemond dared to think looked like pride.

Whether he was proud of him as a nephew or as a Good-son protecting the older man’s precious daughter…well Aemond couldn’t distinguish it and he wouldn’t attempt to. He’d just take it for what it was. He'd seen the look once before now, the day he'd won the tourney…it may have been safe to assume that the look was certainly a look of pride. 

“You can sheath your sword, nephew,” Daemon finally spoke, “I shall handle this from here." 

It was a bit of a bitter pill to swallow, but as his sanity began to slowly reconnect within himself, Aemond knew the smarter choice would be to heed his uncle in this moment. To try and claim Cole's life as his own to take now, he'd most likely have to fight Daemon to be granted it…and that wasn't a fight Aemond felt up to at the moment. 

 There was the added fact that Aemond already knew of the rivalry between his uncle and Criston Cole…it was less of a rivalry and more of just pure mutual hatred. If anyone would understand the need for Cole's demise it would be Daemon. To say there was a clear hint of joy in his uncle’s voice when he’d said the words, his face smirking with an equally sinister sense of gratification as he unsheathed Dark Sister yet again and slid the point underneath Cole’s chin. A cold shiver had coursed throughout the knight’s body at the clear sight of Daemon standing over him now. 

Once both mothers arrived and checked after their children, the question he’d long since expected had finally been asked by his mother, “what in The Father’s name…what has happened?”

Rhaenyra only echoed the sentiment, “Ser Rickard Thorne came running to us in the middle of the night, he said you both were in danger, that Ser Cole was the cause.”

For what felt like the first time in ages, Aemond finally tore his eye away from Cole completely, meeting his mother and sister’s gaze properly instead just glancing at them from the corner of his eye. With his jaw still clenching and grinding, he pulled himself straight just as Rhaena tightened the loop she had around his arm. She cleared her throat as she eyed their mothers, “it was Ser Cole. And Ser Fell and initially Ser Thorne as well. But Ser Thorne was persuaded to act according to his duty and he fled to inform you all before anything truly happened.”

At a glance, Rhaena had glared down at the broken bleeding whimpering mess that was now Ser Cole, Ser Fell at very least had managed to keep his groaning to a minimum like a true knight of the realm who still carried some sense of dignity. 

“But I do believe Ser Cole orchestrated this, he led the attack, he bribed these servants,” Rhaena continued, her body clung closer to Aemond’s when she mentioned the deceased servants but her voice remained leveled, “he deserves to face the full punishment for his actions.”

Diplomatic as always, his little wife.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, stretching out a hand for Rhaena to take. Rhaena would, but she managed to pull Aemond along with her. The murderous trance he’d fallen under finally eased and faded clear as his elder sister gently cupped his cheek with a warm hand. The soft gesture had been paired with a warm motherly expression, one that startled him back just slightly. Then his own mother moved in closer then, softly holding his available wrist, her face riddled with deep concern and worry as her furrowed brows prodded him non-verbally. She wanted to hear his words on the matter…he wanted to finish Cole off. 

“It is true,” Aemond finally bit back, his eye returning to Cole’s kneeling form on the floor, he hadn’t realized just how heavily he’d been breathing until he felt Rhaena’s hand comfortably rub and squeeze his forearm, allowing him to continue speaking, “I believe Cole orchestrated this on his own, it was unorganized and easily dispatched. He was irate, and he tried to wound if not kill my wife. He deserves to be executed.”

“No!” Cole yelled, but immediately gritted then cried as Daemon stepped closer. 

“You fucking dared to touch my daughter! That cut on her neck, that was you!” Daemon boomed, "I think my daughter and nephew are right, what you've done calls for an execution, no one need worry, I’ll be quick,” Daemon was a beacon of fury, Dark Sister was placed beside Cole’s Adam's apple and that was when the threat suddenly slid into reality. 

Daemon's sword moved swiftly…

And then it was done.

Like a moment suspended in time, Aemond heard his sister and his mother scream.

“Daemon, no!” Rhaenyra had spoken firmly.

“Daemon!” Alicent shrieked. 

But the slice came swiftly, clean and smooth, Criston Cole's head was easily severed from his body. 

In the moment, Aemond had felt the moment Rhaena hid her face against his arm, a small gasp escaped her as she squeezed her eyes shut for just a few minutes. Reflexively, his arms surrounded her, but Aemond had his eye on Cole's lifeless body slumping over as it crumpled down onto the stone floor…down with the others…laid in a pool of his own blood. 

And with that…Aemond's chest felt slightly lighter. He supposed it would be a bittersweet victory, he'd wanted to hear the knight cry in agony as he finally realized the error of his decisions. He wanted Cole to suffer…to bleed out slowly and die from the exhaustion and the pain. 

Daemon had made it quick. Much like he had with Vaemond Velaryon, Dark Sister sliced with precision and their lives were cut short immediately.

But at least the cunt was dead.

"Fucking hell," Rhaenyra sighed, her fingers squeezing the bridge of her nose.

"Daemon…" Alicent gasped, shock and horror clearly evident in her wide eyes, "what…what have you done, he was a member of the King's Guard! He deserved a trial at least."

“This was his trial ," Daemon cooly responded, cleaning the fresh blood from his blade with a swift flick and wipe against his pants leg before he slickly sheathed his sword.  

Rhaenyra only made a quick glance towards her former sworn sword, pursing her lips as her face settled into one of resolution, "it matters not, it is done now. Criston Cole had threatened royalty, he threatened a Crown Prince and Princess. Trial or no, the sentence would have been execution anyhow."

It was true, a fact everyone present here clearly knew and understood…though it seemed Aemond’s own mother was determined to remain blind to it. 

"Rhaenyra-"  Alicent had started.

“Alicent," Rhaenyra was quick to interject, she did not sound particularly harsh but her voice certainly lacked any sense of sympathy, “he attacked our children, acted on treasonous plots, attempted to harm my daughter and your son…I do believe he faced the correct punishment. He’s escaped it before, but thankfully…not this time.”

Daemon came around to place a gentle hand on Rhaena's back, drawing her attention away from Aemond's chest long enough for him to press a fatherly kiss to her forehead. In a low voice, he simply said "go, we'll handle things from here," Daemon gave a simple nod to Aemond, and so he followed the command. 

As they began to move, Rhaenyra also motioned for them to return to their chambers, her brows had furrowed with deep concern as she watched them leave. Aemond would guess that was due to their current condition. Aemond himself had a good amount of blood splattered on himself, and now some of it had been pressed on to Rhaena's shirt as well. 

As they walked down the corridor, a troop of Gold Cloak knights quickly shuffled by them in uniformed lines on either side of them. In the distance, Aemond was sure he'd heard his uncle laugh, "let it go Alicent, the Dornish swine deserved more than the simple removal of his white cloak. Even though he clearly has never earned the right to truly wear it."

In the end, Criston Cole and the three servants' bodies were cleared and lifted away, servants and maids would be called to clean the blood from the walls and the floor.

Ser Fell was pulled to his feet by two Gold Cloaks and marched down to the dungeons with Ser Thorne in tow as well.  

And to think, earlier this morning Aemond might have thought he could have avoided such bloodshed. 

He'd been wrong.

Every Westerosi wedding was doomed to end in bloodshed.

☾

By the time they’d returned to their chambers, a scalding hot bath had been drawn for them. On the walk over Rhaena hadn’t said much, though neither had Aemond. Not until they’d both shed their clothes and stepped into the tub. He was not entirely sure what he was meant to say, it wasn’t as if he needed to explain himself or his actions. 

Aemond had done his duty by protecting her, his lawful wife, he stopped a clear plot of rebellion from progressing any further than it had. 

She could not possibly be upset with him…and he knew she was not frightened of him.

He just could not decipher what she was feeling now. 

The bath water was calming though, and just as he sunk himself beneath the surface, he felt her hand on his knee. As per usual, they were sitting at opposite ends of the large tub, his long legs encircled around her body. At her soft touch, he pulled him up above the surface, combing his fingers through his hair as he wiped the water from his eye. Watching his Princess as her mouth opened and closed, words failing her in a rather unusual fashion.

Finally Aemond simply sighed, “just say it, Rhaena.”

She was nibbling on her lower lip now, swallowing thickly before her voice softly spoke his name,

“Aemond…”

“Yes?” he quirked a brow, feeling slightly impatient.

Her pale violet eyes gazed at him carefully before the look softened as she scooted herself closer to him. Then she paused, looked as if she might finally speak and then…nothing once again. Aemond didn’t bother to push again, instead he just gritted as he watched her brows begin to furrow, as she’d began to move even closer to him. The soft sound of her sighing as she all but slid herself up onto his lap and simply curled herself in against him, her chin nuzzling in the crook of his neck as her arms wrapped around his neck. He wouldn’t waste any time folding his arms around her, pressing her soft warmth against him, breathing her in and calming his own nerves. 

He hadn’t even noticed the way his heart had been pounding, but it subsided almost immediately once his dragoness was in his arms again. 

“Do you remember, yesterday…the tourney,” her voice warmly flowed against him, “I was so upset and angry with you, because I thought you’d been reckless. It was dangerous and I was frightened…so frightened over what could have happened. But that was a tourney…and tonight…”

Rhaena’s voice had cracked then, and for the first time since the ambush, he was sure he understood her truly. He’d been wondering why or how he’d managed not to frighten her after what she’d seen, but it was far more obvious when she compared it to yesterday's tourney. His doubts always plaguing him, if he could ever just view the obvious facts. 

His wife loved him, so much so that she was far more scared for his well being than she was of his actions. 

“Rhaena…” his low voice spoke lowly, but she only cut him off.

Pulling herself back enough to look into his eye and his Sapphire, holding his face in her hands, she smoothed the damp tendrils of his hair away from his face. It was there in the low candle light where he noticed the tears in her eyes, a sight that forced him to swallow a harsh lump. 

“No, Aemond, tonight felt far more…” she sniffled as the tears tumbled down her cheeks, her voice was all wobbly and shaky, “at least in the tourney, it was about sportsmanship. Tonight Criston Cole truly wished to harm you…he wished to hurt me. And I know you mentioned his plots…your grandfather's plots…but hearing Criston tonight. He sounded so adamant…so wild. You could've been hurt."

Why was she so concerned with his well being when she was the one who had a blade to her throat…

Aemond quickly pulled her closer, gently wiping her tears with his thumb. The pained sounds she was making were drawing fracture line cracks all along his heart, “Rhaena, I'm fine…I am unharmed. Fuck him, I’m glad he’s dead…honestly I wish I’d been the one to do it. I had the chance… he had a fucking sword to your throat." 

That venomous rage he’d felt earlier was building up again, even as he let his thumb glide over her throat. Just seeing the small cut incensed him.

It never should have happened.

Cole should've never made it over to her.

Fuck.

Every scar on his Princess' body was meant to be his to claim. Now she had this mark that would forever remind him of Criston fucking Cole. 

"I can't decide how to feel," she groaned, resting her forehead on his shoulder, "I was not frightened for myself. Not really. The worst part really…I've never seen so much blood…severed limbs…heads. All of that…death . I know those men earned it, deserved it… they attacked you first. They attacked us…royalty. Ugh, I just feel wretched, and this ridiculous cut from that disgusting knight's sword." 

Well there it was, just about everything he figured was weighing on her. 

Though he never expected his sweet little Princess to say the words 'those men earned it' he most definitely was rubbing off on her. 

"Fetch me your dagger," had been his only response, he couldn’t exactly quell all of her worries tonight, but he could do one thing. The one element of tonight that truly burned and bothered him. And it seemed it had bothered her just as much. 

That fucking cut.  

He regretted tasking her with leaving his embrace for just a moment, but he relished in the complete trust she had in him to simply retrieve her weapon and return to him. The idea was simple and it honestly felt like the only solution to the incessant nagging in his mind that he couldn't seem to ignore.  

Criston Cole had left his mark on this world…and he left it on Rhaena Targaryen.

No.

Rhaena belonged to Aemond and he could not have a mark left by such an insignificant man gracing her skin. 

It would seem she agreed. 

So when she returned, handing him her prized Valyrian steel dagger, he casually motioned for her to re-enter the tub and resume her previous position. 

"Aemond, what are you going to do," Rhaena eyed him with slight skepticism even as she did as he bade. Once he had her where he wanted her, he tilted her chin up high enough to expose her throat to him. 

The slit itself was a shallow one, and he aimed to keep it that way, but he also aimed to make it his , "do you trust me," at her nod, he pressed a warm kiss to the corner of her jaw. Then he proceeded to quickly draw that dagger's blade over her cut, reopening the small slit before quickly drawing a line diagonally across it. She'd only winced at the pricking of her skin, bright bubbling blood forming from the new wound. 

The wound he now made his. 

Now everytime he looked at this little X at the base of her throat, he wouldn't have to think of Cole's blade. No he could just think of this moment, quietly sitting in a tub with his beloved dragoness…claiming her always. 

Once he was done, he placed the dagger down on a nearby chair before holding his wife closely to him. Pressing his lips against the new wound as if he was christening it. 

And there he saw the faintest of smiles grace her lips, he'd blame Cole for the rest of his life, solely for ruining the very end of his wedding night. 

"I love you," she sighed softly, claiming his lips sweetly, her fingers running through his hair as he smiled against her lips. He knew that also counted as a thank you for claiming her wound, for protecting her, for loving her just as much. 

As his hands roamed along her back, he could feel her heart begin to calm against him, no longer battering emotionally within her chest. 

This night could still be salvaged yet. 

When he broke their kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, their breath mingling as they caught their breath, "well now we both have neck wounds"

"I think yours was a lot worse," she smirked down at him, "but if you’d like, I could claim it as well." 

His breath had caught at the thought, he hadn’t even considered it when it occurred. But if this was her offer, he’d gladly take it. 

Aemond grinded his jaw at the thought before exposing the injured side of his neck to her. It was still very sore, but he hadn’t paid much attention to it this evening. His mind had been quite occupied, “make it yours then, I’d rather see it and think of you than the bloody Northern hound." 

"Maester Gerardys will not be happy with me, ruining his perfect stitches," his Princess bit back an oncoming set of giggles, but either way he was glad that she was smiling now, bright and beautiful. Even with her eyes still red puffy, her nose and cheeks slightly rosy all due to her recently shed tears…she still looked positively perfect to him. 

"Are you stalling now, sweet girl," he grinned slowly, nipping at the curve of her neck as he drew small little giggles from her, “claim it, I’ll deal with the Maester.”

With the most satisfied exhale he'd ever heard from her, she caressed his hair and nodded, "very well, hold still, my dragon." He watched from the corner of his eye as she reached for her dagger, but he closed it once he felt the cool steel of her blade drag across his stitches, cutting them slowly, hesitantly, as the blade burned the wounded line. He didn’t flinch or wince, clenching his jaw only slightly, as she added a shallow slice across it, the flicker that truly made it hers. 

All the while his blood sang at the intimacy of the action, his heart soaring as she’d finished. The final touch, just as he’d done with her, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his bleeding wound, christening it.

"I think I should send for a Maester now," she smiled down at him, but before she could leave him, he gently grasped her chin, pulling her lips to his for another soft kiss. Drowning in the taste of her, the blood on their lips mixing and mingling between them, he savoured the feeling. Savoured the present moment entirely really, he'd saved his Rhaena…kept her safe and unharmed.

And thankfully now, she was all his…to have and to hold. 

For the rest of his life.

-

P.S. EEEEEEK! If you saw my tumblr updates, these last two scenes (Criston's ambush/death/aftermath) were the scenes that had me stuck for like a whole month! I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill him, but I knew there would be some blood and gore here. I just couldn't decide what direction I was going to go in, originally he was going to live, but Aemond was going to torture him a bit…which seemed a bit darker to me LOL. Either way Otto's "plots and plans" had to be dealt with now sooo yeahh GOODBYE CRISTON!!

- I had about 3 or 4 other scenes that were originally going to be apart of this chapter, but either I severely underestimated the length of the scenes I was writing or I overestimated my ability to get those done for this chapter…either way, I've decided to just start CH.5 with those scenes instead. And have the time jump moved to the middle of CH.5 or over to Ch.6. Either way, CH.5 is officially going to be a Rhaena POV chapter. The events of the "wedding night ambush" have absolutely affected her a bit.

Now I've started writing chapter 5 already! Fingers crossed I don't take another fucking month to drop that one!

[renee-ckstrong]

ok I got 2 1. favorite indie promotion active or dead 2. favorite lucha match (top 3 is fine if you can't pick one)

sorry it took me a minute I really took a moment decicing on the answer to the second question.

Have to say RevPro really. There has been at least one absolute banger on every RevPro show I have been to as well as some really engaging stories. But the biggest reason that my answer is RevPro and not DEFY or DPW or Sparks or something is that I can go to the shows. I can be in the crowd. And I enjoy being in the small tightknit RevPro crowds even a bit more than I enjoyed being at all in.

After much deliberation, it's Pentagon Jr Vs Villano iv

I'll admit it's not the best match. Villano iv is past his prime here and there's better matches out there. Eddie Guerrero Vs Rey Mysterio Jr is one of the greatest matches of all time....but I have talked about that the last time I got an ask so as good as it is, I won't get into it. Rey Fenix and El Hijo Del Vikingo had a bonkers good match at the same Triplemania as the Penta/Villano match. There's even batter apuestas matches like Villano iii Vs Atlantis for example. (I've met Atlantis at RevPro just gonna throw that out there because my family are bored of me bragging about meeting wresters they've never heard of.)

But that match doesn't have the same emotion. It's a simple story but it's one I love in wrestling. Similar to what Brian's doing right now. Villano iv is nearing the end of his career and before him is a man trying to end it. These younger wrestlers move faster than Villano, are more acrobatic than Villano and they do things in the ring he has never seen before. But he stands strong in the face of all this. Because he knows who the hell he is and he won't let it die here. This is his last stand.

Is my love of this match mainly from the visual of Penta, his mask ripped to the point where you would be able to see his face if not for the blood absolutely covering his face? Um....maybe...I don't know. But like it's pretty fucking cool so, does it matter?

But yeah. There are better Lucha matches but for the reasons given, Pentagon Jr Vs Villano iv is my favourite.

[koala711]

My Missing Constant | III

[Kaeya X GN!Reader]

You never realize how important someone is to you until you lose them.

Content Warning(s): Grammar mistakes, minor mentions of alcohol consumption, a n g s t, slight mentions of blood, and very minor mentions of violence

Word(s): 1,267

[Prologue / 1 / 2 / 4]

(A/N): I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to put in my CW's because idk what qualifies enough. Better safe than sorry ヽ(ヅ)ノ

-

“The Acting Grand Master?”

A table filled with off-duty soldiers peered over at the currently highest ranked knight- a.k.a. their boss. It was a little unnerving to see her there in the place they let loose, but they were still curious.

Just what was Jean Gunnhildr doing at a tavern in the middle of the week?

“Jean,” the red-headed bartender addressed, not seeming to be too surprised to see her here. It didn’t distract him too much, though as he continued to work up a nice drink for one of the knights that’d ordered moments earlier. “I didn’t think I’d find you here tonight.”

“Me neither, but,” she let out a sigh, sitting on one of the bar stools and sliding over an already opened letter. “Master Diluc, do you happen to know what caused Kaeya to take such an abrupt absence?”

The clear, yellow liquid slipped into the Boston shaker before it was covered by the shaker’s top.

Diluc glanced down at the letter. Every single letter was written in perfect cursive, and the small marks that made it Kaeya’s writing were littered throughout it. He knew why he had left. Of course he did, how could he not? When he was writing the letter with hesitance yesterday morning, he knew that it would cause him to react like this, but not this fast.

“Well, the other day he did come in to ask about (Y/n).” This was one of the few moments that made Diluc scoff in amusement, thinking about how guilty the Cavalry Captain felt to run right as he got the letter. “Although, I’m sure there’s no need to worry. Whether wanted or not, he’ll always come back.”

-

The Dawn Winery was filled with people of all status', mingling happily amongst friends and family on the first floor. Gatherings like these were never Kaeya's favorite, but if it was for his brother, he didn't mind too much.

He hummed, swirling the bit of wine in his glass happily. Two glasses is all he is allowed tonight, but not that he minds. He has other pressing matters, which may have to do with the meek friend watching the party from above.

"You can't enjoy the festivities by just watching," Kaeya mused, standing next to you as you looked at everyone from above on the railing.

It’s been awhile since the two of you have been to a party like this, nevertheless Diluc’s birthday party. He was never the kind to throw extravagant parties like this, but Master Crepus insisted since it was his 18th birthday. 

"I know..." You continued to play with your fork, piecing apart the chocolate cake in front of you. "You know how I am at these activities."

After about 10 years of getting to know you, it was easy to know the things you were and weren’t comfortable with. He himself has witnessed the kind of events that gave you the perfect reason as to why you were like this, and sometimes he wishes he could have stopped them all.

Kaeya cleared his throat with a smile, looking over at you with a happy glint in his eye.

“Just because you are a descendant of the Lawrence clan does not mean you’re not allowed to have fun,” he says, holding his hand out for you to hold.

He could see the hesitance in your eyes, the very eyes he could get lost in if he were given a second longer before you’d torn them away nervously.

“I... I suppose.”

Your shy smile and acceptance of his hand was all he needed to whisk you away to the world you felt so far from, and if you ever became uncomfortable, he’d gladly lead you back home to where it all felt safe. 

By his side you stood, barely ever apart because you felt safe as your arm was tucked into his, and because even if he didn’t admit it, he enjoyed his proximity. 

At times he thought he was selfish, indulging in these moments a bit more than he felt he deserved, but whenever he looked over at your comfortable nature, he remembered that maybe it was okay to indulge if you were happy as well. 

Kaeya smiled to himself, picking up a bowl filled with the grapes you always snuck to eat whenever you visited the winery. He’d left you for a moment because you needed to go to the bathroom, and seeing these across the room for the chance you’d continue to smile the night away made him rush over and back.

He didn’t know when things became like this. When he’d smile at the mere thought of you, or indulge in this world the both of you felt like outsiders in. He didn't really mind though.

“Kaeya?”

He turned around to your voice, and the small smirk he had as he presented you your grapes slowly faded away like the light around him.

There he stood just outside of the cobbled alleyway of Mondstadt’s city of wind, watching as you appeared from the abyss. Your clothes were covered in eggs and flour, all roughed up with bruises and a couple of shallow cuts showing under the moonlight.

It was an awful sight to see for anyone except those that did this to you. Those who took things to the extreme for sins you didn't commit.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and fell to the cobble as your body shook with every step closer to him.

“Why’d you leave me alone?”

~

Kaeya shot up from the ground, gasping for air as he clutched his chest in a panic.

It’s been a while since he was awoken this abruptly, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Despite the image he upheld in Mond, he had many things he’s always worried about, and you were just one of the many.

Perhaps the fact that this journey to Liyue Harbor was because of you that alongside his thoughts, his dreams and nightmares were also filled with you.

Kaeya let out a sigh, slowly picking himself up from the ground he slept on, and continued on his way to the harbor just a little down the road.

There used to be a time he felt as if he belonged in Mondstadt. It wasn't too long ago that that feeling weakened, but still he remained. He cared about some of the people there. There was no reason to leave.

To say he felt deserving of it all was another story. He didn't feel like he deserved many things, like the home Crepus gave him as a child, the family he had, to be Cavalry Captain after Diluc left for a while, and after the incident, he felt as if he was undeserving of you.

So why was he here at the gate of Liyue Harbor, chasing you down for hours and days for a meeting he felt as if he didn’t deserve? 

A person he didn’t deserve?

Kaeya didn’t know himself. He didn’t know what overcame him, too drunk on the desperate feeling he had in his heart and mind to not let you go like this.

He looked back to the mountain road he had just walked down. Perhaps he should go back? As he stared off to the road, Kaeya heard his brother’s words ringing in his head.

“Don’t mess up this time.”

...

He remembered his dream and how happy the beginning of it was. The party did happen in real life and the two of you did end up spending the night together. He could recall how the two of you eventually snuck out and sat on a small cliff along the water, staring up at the stars as crystal flies danced in the night sky. 

Kaeya’s mind was silent as he pictured that moment of simple bliss.

The least he could do was try. He was already here at Liyue Harbor, was he not? 

[fzzr]

The Eminence in Shadow is Premium Garbage

The Eminence in Shadow is the best anime of the Fall 2022 season. I enjoyed it more than Bocchi the Rock!, Mob Psycho 100 III, Chainsaw Man, Spy x Family Part 2, and all the rest, and it's not close. There's nothing else I looked forward to every week more.

We have to start with the protagonist. Cid "The Eminence in Shadow" Kagenou looks every power fantasy protagonist and attempted parody of the same dead in the eye and says, with the swagger of one who won before the battle began, "I am not here because I want your throne. It is already mine, and you sat upon it by my grace. Your time is past now, for I have come to reclaim what never belonged to you." Kirito hasn't finished grabbing a weapon before he is reduced to one inch cubes. Ainz Ooal Gown freezes in place, eyes empty, with no answer. Anos Voldigoad gives a knowing smile and steps aside. Rudeus Greyrat stands with tears in his eyes, grateful to be freed of his burden. Rimuru Tempest bows with grace. Maple doesn't know how she got here, but she's very happy for him. Kazuma and Subaru are nowhere to be found. A thousand other guys with messy hair and dark cloaks are silenced, with no time even to cry out.

The basic concept of Eminence is thus: Our protagonist has always wanted to be the ultimate badass. Realizing this is not possible in our mundane reality, he truck-kuns himself and is reborn in a fantasy world, intelligence and ambition intact. He does the usual isekai thing where he becomes stronger than anyone else with magic no one else uses mostly off screen - we're not here to see him struggle to earn his power. We do see him recruit Alpha, his first disciple in Shadow Garden, the underground antihero agency he made up to fight the Cult of Diablos, which he also made up. He decides for this scene that she will be descended from the hero to explain why those baddies wanted her blood.

Wait, "he decides?" That's right, Cid/Shadow is making it up as he goes along. He is playing a character, and the only way he knows how to do that is to actually become that character. While not being the magical Punisher, he plays a background character. He's not so good at that role - he keeps stumbling into relevancy. Eminence is improv, and Cid is very good at making things up and getting everyone to play along.

When Cid goes to the obligatory high school for aspiring magic knights (where he plans to be a C student), it turns out the princess in his class is the next target of the Cult of Diablos! Not one to leave a prompt like that unfulfilled, he yes-ands that encounter into one of the greatest statements of badassery you will ever hear. When Alpha and the rest of Shadow Garden show back up, he's grateful that they still enjoy their little game and are so accommodating of his quirks. He can't say that out loud, of course - that would break character. He just makes whatever cryptic statement feels right to him at the moment.

The world really does seem to revolve around Cid, and like the thousand shadows of his glory, he has no idea. As Shadow, the leader of a secret agency/cult of personality, he obviously has a harem of badass bombshell beauties in tight magic spandex, and just as obviously he's completely oblivious to their worship. As Cid, aspiring nobody, he has a separate, ever growing harem of less badass bombshell beauties. He is fully aware of their attention, but having an increasing number of ladies lusting after him doesn't fit the background character vibe, so he does his utmost to avoid their ever-compounding thirst. You heard me right - Cid/Shadow has two separate harems, so he gets to parody two different types of oblivious harem protagonist. There's even a power fantasy within that power fantasy, as the Shadow Garden harem regularly shows off how much better they are than Cid's collection of extremely eligible bachelorettes.

The 11/10 strength of Eminence is undoubtedly in its dialogue. In multiple places Cid/Shadow delivers lines with more impact as comedy than some of the most powerful statements in serious dramas deliver even once. I honestly struggle to find a comparison here. Monogatari is another shining example of dialogue, but even it never quite reaches that height.

Eminence does not have a deep emotional thread binding it together. It has no subtle themes woven into an intricate plot. The point of this exercise is unadulterated fun, and Eminence has that in spades. As for the rest of the factors that go into making a good anime great: The music is good all the time. The simple animation is consistent, and the expensive scenes really flex that budget. There's a bit of background CGI, but seriously who cares.

Conclusion

Score: The Eminence in Shadow is 9/10. Hammy, scenery gobbling dialogue can be found anywhere. Eminence manages to implement some of the best bad dialogue ever and it makes no apology, while also being gripping in its own way.

Recommendation: The power level requirement here is quite high. Eminence is only of interest to those already familiar with (and maybe a bit tired of) power fantasy/isekai anime. Additionally, it indulges in occasional fanservice you wouldn't want someone to see over your shoulder. However, if you do fall in the target audience you really should feel obligated to watch it.

Comparisons

I already said it's better than every isekai ever made. As a parody of power fantasies in general, it is perhaps best compared to The Misfit of Demon King Academy. That protagonist, Anos Voldigoad, is reborn with all the knowledge and powers of a nigh-omnipotent Demon King. He can literally reduce someone to a puddle of blood with the beat of his heart, and resurrect them with a snap of his fingers. Unlike Eminence, Demon King Academy has no winks at the audience - its position as parody is derived entirely from being presented as a straight implementation of the premise turned up to 20. As such, I think Eminence allows itself more room to play in that space. If you end up liking Eminence, Demon King Academy is a good pick for a follow-up watch.

How to Raise a Boring Girlfriend is the universal solvent of anime comparisons. It has many secret weapons, but the hook is in the title. Megumi stubbornly avoids classification under any well-established romcom stereotype. She's a nobody, a background character, a storytelling blank slate. In short, she is naturally what Cid tries his hardest to be. So, let's compare what these two anime think a background character actually is. Megumi defies tropes. Whenever someone tries to paint preconceived characterization onto her, it slides right off. You have to actually get to know her to understand her. Cid's view of a background character is instead someone you don't get a chance to get to know in the first place. He wants to be the guy who gets rejected to show that the love interest is picky. He wants to be the first guy to die in an action sequence to show the stakes are real. He wants to be disposable. So, to Saekano, a background character is someone you just haven't gotten to know. To Eminence, it's someone you never will. A subtle difference, but since Saekano is taking a look instead of taking the piss, it's the more interesting way to look at it.

Final Words

I will indulge myself in stealing borrowing from Susan Sontag's Notes On Camp. "Not only is Camp not necessarily bad art, but some art which can be approached as Camp... merits the most serious admiration and study." Eminence is not necessarily Camp, but it swims in those waters. I recommend you watch Eminence for the sheer audacity that it was made in the first place, but if you have a particularly open-minded professor and are desperate for a topic for a term paper, well... you might as well have fun with it, right?