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skyrigel · 3 months

Note

Can you write an image in which Benedict is obsessed with Y/N and is always looking for reasons to touch her. However, Y/N knows that when it comes to women, Benedict quickly gets what he wants... sex. She keeps him waiting and doesn’t sleep with him until the wedding day.

Obsessed with you | I

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x afab!reader

Synopsis: Ton's most eligible bachelor is obsessed with the mystery lady in silver, and would do anything to have her

Warning: Reader's mother has issues, scandalous family, last name Rose for convience, Benedict being a smug bastard, some regency class differences, cute Polin, cute kathony, minor non-con touching, smoking cigar, lots of teasing and ofcourse obsessive and possession behaviour. Might be toxic! Benedict but please he's a cutie.

Dearest gentle readers,

While for sure we have seen former Rake now Kate's beloved whipped husband, and Colin bridgerton who is so smitten with his dearest wife that it will not come forward a surprise if he hasn't set foot out in all these days, but Benedict bridgerton is neither whipped nor smitten, he is, as the poets would whisper, obsessed. It will be amusing to know who this mystery lady is, with her dazzling silver gown and piercing eyes, sharp enough as she carved the gentleman's heart out.

Benedict was a man for art and muse so forgive him if he got so obsessed with you, the real question was, how could he not ? You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, clad in your most dazzling blue dress that he wanted nothing but to take off.

" She exaggerates." Anthony pouted, he shouldn't know that he had but he's been pouting a lot lately, it's called 'kateffect'

" No, you've been domesticated brother, just admit it, Kate has tamed you." Colin peppered, sprawling down next to Anthony who greeted him with the most glaring glare.

" Like you're any better." Anthony smirked, setting his gaze on Benedict who read the index again.

" Penelope doesn't know her name ? " Benedict worried his jaw, looking between his brothers.

" I take that back, Penelope didn't exaggerate, you're really very much obsessed." Anthony remarked, Colin nodded.

" Oi, she would've known your mystery lady's full name and history but—"

" Don't complete that, I'll duel you."

" In the middle of a ball ? " Benedict laughed, eyes amused, Colin turned a crimson red.

" Rather tempting—"

" Oi! " Anthony raised his brow, his mouth curving in disdain, as Colin staggered away, leaving Anthony praying to lord behind like he was any better.

" Oh dear." Benedict smiled when once alone, thumb caressing the index, as if it was the mystery lady in silver blue gown, accused of taking away the gentleman's heart.

" Who are you ? " He whispered.

" Ma'am, would you like something else ? " Mrs. Turner asked once you were seated on your dressing, playing with several glassy bottles with colourful scenty substances.

" In yesterday's masquerade ball, I was dancing with a Bridgerton—" Mrs. Turner tutted softly," He's Benedict bridgerton, i assume."

" Yes, indeed, the only bachelor bridgerton boy of age." Mrs. Turner pulled the corset strings and you gasped, feeling your internals squeeze in the process.

You smiled, thinking about the way Benedict looked at you, all stars in his eyes.

" I..it is not my place miss but as your well wisher, i would say.." she worried her jaw.

" It's okay Mrs. Turner, you should speak your mind." You assured her, feeling her fingers stop at your back as she looked at your reflection in the mirror.

" Benedict bridgerton's a rake, unlike any other gentleman... he's known to engage women with class and wits...artists, musicians, and other dimplomacy that are odd amongst our sex."

" Oh." You nodded, feeling stupid enough to think those were meant for you, like they were of real affection.

" I wouldn't want you any harm, after your father's death and your inheritance affairs, you couldn't afford another scandal, for a good match—"

" My virtue should stay intact ? " You raised your chin, examining the stain of rose on your lips.

" Your sister was a good girl madam, so are you." Mrs. Turner smiled, her eyes crinkling with deepest concerns.

Benedict's eyes were searching for you everywhere, he has been waiting for you since so long. Despite anxious mamas forcing introductions and dances, he was looking only for you.

" Miss Rose." Benedict turned to see his sister in law, smiling a smirk, followed by her husband in tow.

" You wound me Pen, it's Benedict bridgerton! " He laughed, much to Colin's dismay.

" Oh well your mystery lady is Miss Rose, daughter of late Duke of Blair field and lady bloom." Colin was one step away from clapping.

" Wow." Benedict's mouth curved in a delightful 'o'.

" Oh well they are rather scandalous, her sister was rumoured to be not a virgin which deceased all of her prospects of marriages, her mother is rather protective of her."

" Pen, did I tell you how you're my favourite sister ? " Benedict perked his gaze towards the entrance, hoping for you to bless him.

" Don't let Eloise hear that." Colin said, outstretching his arm that Penelope held as they swirled between the crowd, laughing.

" You shall not be unchaperoned." Your mother had a faraway look in her eyes, her hand was trembling and you surged the desire to just hold it.

" I understand, mama." You bowed your head once, trying to forget the trembling of her hands.

" Don't engage in gossips dearest, better keep to yourself and..." She forgot what she was saying, her lips trembling along, you looked at Mrs. Turner with a pleading gaze.

" Ma'am, we must make haste." She simply said, your mother spared a glance to you, her mouth tightening around the corners.

" You look beautiful child." She looked away, you pretended not to see the tear that glistented down her cheek.

After securing yourself in the carriage, with your dress squeezing the life out you, you finally breathed.

" I envy Gissele." You said softly, caressing the uneven glittering fake diamonds.

" She would say the same." Mary mumbled, she was Mrs. Turner's daughter who rather got scolded every often for being too blunt. You liked her alot.

" Oh wouldn't it be so wonderful to just lay in bed, reading a book and wearing simple soft dresses." You perked up at the idea of a life like that, a simple homely cottage, filled with warmth and sweetness and books.

" But the society has it's own fun, look at you, pretty dresses, pretty shoes, and all those prince charming lords." Mary took your fan and mimicked the motion, you smiled.

" Well you could always borrow a dress, have some fun." Your eyes glinted, Mary shaked her head.

" C'mon." You grabbed her wrist, shaking them, up and down profusely.

" No, mama will kill me ! "

" But the fun ?! No one would know, they haven't seen me, they don't know me."

" Well i can't pretend to be you, what would happen if somebody caught us."

" Don't then, be yourself ! Mary Turner."

" Sounds like a bad idea." Mary said, her smile deceived her.

" Lord Turner of Riverdales, be their relative, no one hardly pays attention."

" Whistledown does." Mary narrowed her eyes, you looked out to make sure you haven't yet reached.

" Well she called me a mystery woman who apparantly took a gentleman's heart."

" Oh Mr. Bridgerton's a known gentleman." You scoffed at that, Mary's brow knitted together as she studied you.

" What ? He's a rake." You brushed the tingling away, feeling the way Benedict's gaze lingered on you, the way he twirled you around like you were the only real thing, the way he flushed and stumbled through his words, attempting to know absolutely anything about you.

" I highly doubt that, never heard anything about him."

" Presumably he has a longing for accomplised women." You finger quoted it with a scowl that was too unladylike, Mary bursted into fits of giggles.

" What ? " You poked her, she shaked with her guffaw, chortling in her way.

" You fancy him." She said, chuckling the ' him' away, you frowned deeply, heart leaping at the ton that was gathered outside lady Danbury's exquisite ball.

" Utter rubbish. Do you still want to have fun ? " You asked, Mary smiled.

Benedict gaze perked up when you and Mary stumbled through the ball, Mary was almost shaking and you were sure her clothes didn't fit much to you, you felt your back prickling with burning gaze and you turned.

" Told you he's a rake. Don't be friendly to him." You whispered to Mary who was about to run when Benedict dropped his conversation with lord White, swaggering towards you.

" What if he recognises you ? " She mumbled and your lower lip trembled, but that's not possible, your mask obscured your whole face except your lips and eyes and certainly he hadn't painted you in his mind, afterall he shouldn't be that obsessed.

" My lady." He bowed, his gaze locking in yours as he kissed the hand Mary very reluctantly gave him, he was amused when Mary mumbled a hasty greeting, her manners mimicked.

" You look exquisite, more than the ball itself." He was clearly flattered when Mary blinked hard, looking at you for help.

You rolled your eyes when Benedict too, looked at you with a similar pleading as Mary.

" Forgive me my lord, my lady is tired—"

" We haven't been introduced i remember, Benedict bridgerton." He grinned, he actually freaking grinned as Mary glanced at you with the corner of her eye.

" Lady Mariam Turner." She blurted it quickly, looking at you for approval, " A pleasure." Mary smiled, you nodded.

" Forgive me Mr. Bridgerton." You cleared your throat, Benedict's gaze penetrated through you, he was setting you on fire and you couldn't do anything but to burn.

" My lady is tired, you must excuse us." You felt your throat dry, your whole body withering when Benedict narrowed his eyes, lingering specifically on your lips and treading down slowly.

" Indeed, I must not keep you." He cocked his head to Mary, humming along as you strode past him. You were sure he only whispered the ' not ' out of curtsy.

" That was bloody brilliant ! " You giggled while Mary shaked her head, clutching her bossom. Your footsteps echoing in the abandoned corridor, stiffling back your giggles.

" That was bloody scary and I can't breathe." Mary heaved, her breath easing when you patted her back.

" Lady Mariam Turner." You teased, bumping your hip as Mary looked at you, gasping scandalously.

" Shut up. I almost died." Mary pulled her dress that sticked to her skin, trying to fan in some air.

" Do you think he recognised me ? " Your cheeks blazed at the heat of the memory of him, his teasing glances and amused smiles.

" I...I think it was rather amusing that we were messing up, did you see how I trembled? " Mary shaked her hand, as you laughed at the display.

" No, my lady." You said, once your giggles subsided, " You were exquisite."

Mary wacked your arm, her smile unable to hide through the twitch of her lips.

" So, shall we go home ? "

" Would you mind waiting in the carriage ? "

" Don't tell me—" Mary glared, you pouted with puppy eyes.

" Please, you know it's my only way."

" Smoking is bad." Mary declared, " and for men." She added grimly, you nodded along, grabbing her wrist.

" Please, please, please."

" Only if you give back my clothes, i miss them." She touched the soft cotton of her clothes that you were wearing, you perked up eagerly.

You took joy at the puffs of smoke that ridiculed the air, the night chill freezing it into clouds of silvery mist.

Mary was dozing off in the carriage until it was time to go home, so early arrival doesn't raise any questions and your mother fast asleep, her trembling lipped questions saved for the next day.

" I thought your lady was tired." You almost dropped your cigar, jumping up the swing as it creaked at sudden outburst.

" Don't drop it, i don't have any with me." His smile was too big and smug for his face, his nonchalance dripped as he took the swing opposite of you. You stared, for some reason cigar still burning in intricate yellow blazing circles, dropping to ashes.

" Forgive me my lord—" you just remembered you were no longer in Mary's clothes.

" That's the only line you grasped so far ? " Benedict leaned on his swing, catching your wrist as he dragged you to sit.

You sat down with a thud, swing jiggling with your weight as you processed his smile.

" I..." You stammered, flushing in heat as he inhaled you in, you were back in your clothes, the one you were supposed to wear. And Mary was right, you couldn't breathe.

" I would say you look beautiful, in everything, in anything..or—" in nothing.

" I should leave." You throat itched.

" Stay." He was soft, almost a whine, a plead.

" Please don't tell anyone." You tried your best persuading smile, it worked on Gissele all the time, your lips pouting and eyes shining with stars.

Benedict's mouth curved in a smile, he clicked his tongue as he attempted to speak but he found he couldn't. A pause, then—

" You love tormenting me, don't you ? " Benedict took the burning cigar from you, locking your eyes with his own as he brought it to his mouth, a sound escaped him as his lips curved around the warmness that belonged to you, he inhaled deeply.

" I don't know what you're talking about." You tore away you eyes from the erotic display of smoking, he hummed in a dry scoff.

" Ofcourse, you wouldn't." He offered the Cigar back, every word coated with sarcasm.

The breeze was so cold that you shivered, moon hanging low in the night sky and every star stared back, Sirius, Rigel, and all of them.

" I never meant to offend you." You took the cigar back, his fingers brushed, a electrifying wave rippling inside you, like the way he held your hand and danced with you in the masquerade ball.

You noticed his flexing but said nothing, heart beating too fast to be sane and alive.

" Miss Rose—" you gasped, how could he know your name, "—have you ever been kissed ? "

" I...Benedict..lord." you clamped your mouth shut, lips suddenly struck by a bolt as they buzzed.

He leaned as you felt your back touching the rope of swing, his face too close... would he kiss you ? Would it be as electrifying as the rest of his touches ? Would you survive it or simply burn like a pheonix ?

" It's okay, we would alot when we get married. " He took away the cigar and dropped it as it was so close to burn your skin, smiling all the while. Was that a proposal ?

" Go home, it's getting cold, Mrs-yet-to-be bridgerton." And he pressed his lips against your forehead, his smile caressing your heart.

Rigel's note 🪩: while I loved this idea especially the hilarious ' Benedict gets what he wants....sex ' but I needed to base it, so it doesn't come as pervy and non con as it might, to make it comfortable enough to write on my part, I have tried to break it into parts, this part is generally meet up and getting obsession with y/n ( no use in fic ) and other will be courting and marriage bliss. Gif not mine.

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ghoulsbounty · 5 months

Text

From a Previous Life

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bound and fearful, you seek answers from a mysterious stranger about the fate of those you love.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of death, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, swearing, judgement, flirting (if you squint)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: My first Cooper fic! I've had this idea going around my head for a hot while and I really could go on, and on with more (yearning, smut, etc) but I just wanted to get out an initial one-shot that could potentially turn into more if any one likes it (or I end up adding to it anyway!) I'd love to hear your thoughts 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Silently, you moved through the desolate wastelands, each step stirring clouds of dust and veiling the once lively towns now reduced to rubble. Somewhere in California, though the exact whereabouts blurred, you were leagues away from the sanctuary you once called home, apparently almost two centuries ago. Time, to you, was an elusive concept, for the stiffness in your joints and the lingering ache betrayed the recent thaw from cryo-sleep. Your mind remained ensnared by fog, a residue of the drugs coursing through your veins during preservation.

Yet, your senses, dulled by centuries of slumber, detected his presence long before he materialized. Heavy footfalls pierced the barren silence, prompting a cautious glance over your shoulder. There he stood, solitary amidst the wasteland, a gun slung lazily across his back and a weathered ten-gallon hat shadowing his features. Perhaps he had spotted you, perhaps not; regardless, neither of you quickened your pace, silently agreeing to maintain a wary distance.

Ever cautious, you abruptly veered into the next structurally sound building, bracing for a potential standoff. Praying it wouldn't come to that, for the meagre supply of bullets salvaged from a fallen vault security guard, coupled with his erratic pistol, offered scant reassurance. The art of marksmanship was foreign to you, a skill unbefitting a woman of virtue in the world before its descent into chaos. Your pride lay in nurturing the home, not in extinguishing life.

"What would your husband make of this sight?" you thought. Clad in the worn remnants of the blue and yellow jumpsuit issued upon vault entry, now stained with blood and grime from your desperate flight. Would he mock your dishevelled appearance, your unadorned face and frayed nerves? Would he marvel at the pistol clenched tightly in your grasp, its weight unfamiliar and your trembling fingers poised on the trigger? Could he shoulder this burden, like you wish he was here to do so? Such musings left you unsettled, your husband's whereabouts a lingering question mark, conspicuously absent from your side.

Peering cautiously from beneath the window sill, your gaze swept the scorched landscape beyond. The lone figure should have drawn near by now, should have approached the building where you lay in wait, yet his silhouette remained absent from the horizon. Instead, the frigid touch of a gun barrel against the back of your skull sent a shiver down your spine, your body tensing instinctively under the ominous threat. You suppressed the cry that clawed at your parched throat, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered your pistol to the ground beside you.

"That's it, nice and slow," he instructed, his voice gruff with a hint of amusement. "You might be my easiest catch yet."

Realization dawned upon you—he had been tracking you. You inwardly chided yourself for your naivety before complying, raising your arms slowly with palms outstretched. Encountering no one in these barren lands, you were uncertain of the customs among people so removed from your time. You were one of them now, but survival demanded adaptation.

"Please, I don't have any money," you offered, hearing his scoff. "I mean it. Take my gun, you can have it."

His movement rustled the air, his presence brushing against you as he leaned to retrieve your pistol. A low hum of amusement escaped him, and you felt the cold barrel of his gun pressing against your skull before it vanished altogether.

"I don't want your hunk of junk, sweetheart," he drawled, tossing it back to the ground beside you. "Doubt it can punch through a tin can. No, what I seek is your cooperation."

"O-okay, yes," you agreed, the words tumbling from your lips almost too hastily, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

A nudge at the side of your heel prompted you to turn and face him. You complied, shifting on your knees, arms growing weary as they remained raised above your head while you awkwardly pivoted to meet his gaze.

The scream tore from your throat as you beheld him, sending shivers down your spine. He loomed above you, his visage warped by decomposing, discoloured flesh that swathes his form. Cracked lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth in a perpetual grimace, his once vibrant eyes now a haunting shade of blue-green, still clinging to a trace of humanity amidst the decay. You recoiled at the absence of his nose, now a dark cavity amidst cartilage and bone.

"That's not polite," he admonished, his narrowed eyes betraying annoyance. Trembling under his scrutinizing gaze, you stammered out an apology, extending a trembling hand to ward him off as he took a step forward.

"Please, leave me alone. I-I don't have anything," you pleaded, but he showed no sign of relenting. Your fingers curled around the pistol on the ground, raising it shakily in his direction.

"Well now, what are you going to do with that?" His smirk deepened as you aimed the weapon at him.

His amusement infuriated and terrified you in equal measure. You were aware of your body shaking, aware that he saw it too. You hadn't formulated a plan, hadn't considered the consequences. But you'd never faced a situation like this, especially not with someone so grotesque yet strangely human. He spoke like a man but resembled a monster, reminiscent of the creatures from the old sci-fi holo tapes your husband used to rent on Friday nights, leaving you cowering behind embroidered cushions until the credits rolled. You weren't built for this, but just like only hours before, you must fight.

With a tight grip and clenched eyes, you pulled the trigger. The recoil sent you crashing against the wall, the impact jarring your head as the bullet ricocheted through the room, narrowly missing the man and striking a nearby doorway with a sharp ping.

"Well, that was disappointing," he remarked, his head cocked and lips drawn into a condescending smirk. "You finished, sweetheart?"

With a mixture of annoyance at your failure and frustration at his dismissive demeanour, you tossed the pistol at his feet. Your head throbbed, and as you tentatively touched the back of your skull with trembling fingers, you were unsurprised to find them stained with blood.

"Are you going to kill me?" you panted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He shook his head, kicking at the dirt with his pointed boot before crouching in front of you. "Not much use to me dead, not much use to me at all if you don't cooperate," he emphasized, his tone dripping with implication.

"Fine," you huffed. "What do you want?"

A triumphant hum escaped him as he straightened up, retrieving a long rope from his hip and tossing it into your lap. "Tie your hands together," he commanded.

You hesitated, eyeing the rope and then him with uncertainty. His tone shifted, imbued with a hint of authority as he spoke again. "The rope goes around your wrists or around your neck. Either way, you don't want me to be the one to do it."

With deft fingers, you hastily wound the rope around your wrists, striving to fashion a knot that would hold without chafing your skin too severely. He bent down, giving the tether a firm tug to test its security before nodding in approval. Seizing the other end lying in the dirt, he yanked it harshly, nearly causing you to stumble forward onto the unforgiving ground.

"Get up," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

You complied, awkwardly pushing yourself to your feet without the use of your bound hands. There was a pregnant pause as you gazed at him expectantly, awaiting further instruction. However, he simply tugged on the rope, turning to lead you out of the dilapidated building and back into the sprawling wasteland.

You followed him into the desert expanse, both of you shrouded in silence save for your intermittent attempts to coax answers from him. Questions about where he was taking you, what he planned to do with you, hung in the air, but he offered no response. Instead, he whistled a tune, leaving your inquiries to dissipate into the wind.

As frustration reached its boiling point, you dug your heels into the sand, exerting force against your restraints as the rope cut into your skin. A hidden thrill coursed through you as you witnessed his hulking frame falter against the resistance, a fleeting moment of satisfaction before he regained his footing. His narrowed gaze met yours from beneath the shadow of his hat.

"I'm cooperating," you asserted, your voice strained. "You can—should at least tell me where we are going. Why you're doing this to me."

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he gazed skyward before meeting your eyes once more. "You're sure dumb for a pretty thing," he muttered, retrieving a flask from the recesses of his torn duster and taking a long swig. "I guess that's how they like to keep you down there."

As he turned to face you fully, his eyes rolled at your bewilderment before he elaborated. "Not much up here untouched nowadays, so when you see a little rabbit wandering the lands fresh from her cage, a smart man doesn't think twice before he acts."

Anger surged through you at his mocking words. Barely escaping your 'cage' with your life, barely comprehending the aftermath of the bombs, and now captive again—this time by a man, no, a monster, likely more sinister than those who had ensnared you initially.

"You already said you're not going to kill me, so you're going to fuck me or sell me," you asserted, mustering more confidence than you truly felt, chin lifted defiantly as he scrutinized you, tucking his flask away.

"Now you're catching on," he replied cryptically, offering no further explanation as he tugged at the rope and resumed walking. Your mind whirled with apprehension at his ominous response. Which fate awaited you? Both? The thought churned your stomach, imagining the touch of his weathered, calloused hands, pondering the atrocities he may have committed before and the ones he might be willing to commit now. You resolved not to make it easy for him, determined to fight tooth and nail if necessary.

"I can hear you thinking from over here, vaultie," he called back. "I ain't gonna fuck you," he added with a smirk, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you before continuing. "Ain't my type."

You scoffed, your brows furrowed in disbelief at his audacity. Doubt crept in, questioning if someone like him truly had preferences, more inclined to prey on anything within reach rather than adhere to any type. He resembled a monster more than a man, and you suspected his instincts remained consistent regardless of his words. Out here, where the population had dwindled to ashen, skeletal remnants of unfortunate souls caught in the blast, it seemed unlikely anyone could afford to be picky.

"What happened to you?" you demanded, your voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

He visibly stiffened at your question, briefly halting his movements before resuming with a dismissive gesture. He heard you, yet chose not to respond.

"I said, what happened to—"

"I heard you," he snapped, cutting you off. "Doesn't mean I owe you an answer."

You huffed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on! Yesterday, I was in my kitchen baking a key lime pie and dancing to the radio, and then—"

"Miss your cage, vaultie?" he interjected, a cruel chuckle escaping his lips. "If you miss it so much, why are you out here?"

Straining against your restraints, you heard him sigh in annoyance as he came to a halt. Turning to face you, irritation etched on his ghoulish features, he regarded you with a jutted hip and clenched gloved fingers tightening around the rope. "I'm not talking about the vault," you said earnestly. "I was in my home yesterday, just a normal day. Then the sirens blared, so loud I couldn't think. My neighbour, she came to my door, told me we had to leave, find safety. I didn't want to go without Glenn, but everyone was running, scared. I was too."

"When we reached the vault, it was chaos," you continued, his attention now fully captured, eyes glazed. "So many people, struggling to get in. But we made it, and... my neighbour, Patti—she's my friend. She had just given birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy." You swallowed hard, suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat. "They were supposed to let us in, we were pre-selected. But when we arrived, they turned Patti away. Shot her husband when he fought back," you recounted, the horror of the memory still fresh. "Then chaos erupted. The first nuke fell, and I was pushed through to the vault door. I lost Patti."

He regarded you with a sombre understanding, silently urging you to continue.

"When I entered, it wasn't like the commercials," you spat bitterly, recalling the false promises of safety. He cleared his throat. "That actor, going on about how great the vaults were—'a vast and wonderful place,'" you mocked with disdain. "Mine wasn't like that. It was... They did unspeakable things to us, to unborn children, and there was no recourse. It wasn't right. I knew what they wanted, deep down, but my head told me not to be so naïve. Vault-Tec was supposed to be saving us."

Tears welled in your eyes as the memories flooded back, as vivid as if they had happened yesterday, because to you they did. "They threw us into pods, froze us until they needed us. Took us out for testing and... I was the last one. Everyone else had... died, from the testing," you choked out, the pain of loss still raw. "I fought to survive, because I couldn't let what happened to those women and their babies happen to me or mine."

He listened intently, his eyes widening as he took in your story. His gaze flicked to the small swell of your stomach below your tied wrists, realization dawning.

"So I need to know," you implored, your voice trembling with fear. "Is what happened to you also what happened to Patti and her baby? Will it happen to mine?"

He studied you, and you felt yourself shrink under his penetrating gaze. You hadn't intended to divulge so much, to reveal your condition that you had desperately tried to conceal until it could no longer be hidden, to relive the trauma that still haunted you, though in reality centuries had passed since its occurrence. Yet, you needed answers. You needed to know what lay ahead in this desolate wasteland, and if you possessed the strength to face it.

"Yes," he answered quietly, his voice laden with a heavy solemnity. "It will, in time."

Fresh tears traced their path down your cheeks, and you nodded in understanding, raising your bound hands to wipe at your wet nose. "Okay," you whispered, then smiled sadly in resignation as you rubbed your wrists gently over your stomach. "At least up here, we had a little freedom for a time."

You felt the rope that he had been keeping such a tight hold on slacken before being dropped to the ground. Stepping towards you, he gingerly took your wrists and began working on the knot, untying it with ease before meeting your gaze from beneath his lashes. "You just gained a little more."

"You're letting me go?" you asked, doubtful.

"I'm letting you choose," he corrected, his voice carrying a peculiar weight as he rubbed the tender, burned skin of your wrist where the rope had left its mark. His thick thumb felt rough against your flesh as it traced over you in a gentle, swiping motion. "There are things worse than me out here, sweetheart. Are you going to take your chances?"

His words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze defiantly. "I don't need your pity."

"Good, because I ain't giving you none," he replied, his tone firm.

You held his gaze, neither of you willing to be the first to look away. Moments ago, he had been intent on taking you to an undisclosed location to sell you for whatever passed as currency in this wasteland, but now he presented you with a choice—a grim ultimatum. Stay with him or fend for yourself in the harsh wastelands. Neither option was ideal, but you hadn't lasted a single day on your own before being apprehended by him. Perhaps it was better to stick with the devil you knew, especially if there truly were worse threats out there as he claimed.

"I'm going to get bigger, you know. I'll slow you down," you warned him. "And I can't fight."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gathered the discarded rope and secured it at his hip. "I've seen you shoot, but I've yet to see you fight. I think a few vault security guards could probably vouch for you, though," he teased, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You can't stay with me forever, nor would you want to. I'll take you to a safe haven for women in your condition. It's a few months' journey north from here. Until then, try to keep up."

You pondered his words, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of a safe haven and the promise of being escorted there, despite the long journey. "Why the change of heart? What's in this for you?" you asked, curious about his sudden shift in demeanour.

His expression tightened, his gaze drifting to the small swell of your stomach that you now cradled protectively. "Righting some wrongs from a previous life," he answered solemnly, not waiting for your response before turning and beginning to walk away. He paused momentarily, waiting for you to follow.

"I don't know your name. What do I call you?" you called out after him.

He pondered for a moment, gazing out into the vast desert before turning back to you, tipping his hat in acknowledgment.

"Ghoul, for now."

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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Hi lovely 🫶

Do you think Aaron and BAU!wife!reader would play matchmakers for the rest of the team. No one suspects Hotch of course but he’s just as invested as reader.

"She's at it again."

Lewis's voice breaks across the silence of the BAU, and Derek glances curiously at her. He follows the woman's gaze, landing on you peering around a corner, watching Reid walk down the hallway with one of the employees that works a level below the BAU, in counter-terrorism. She's been coming around suspiciously often, and you'd been caught conspiring over the state of their relationship more than once over the past month.

"The baby has left the cradle," You hiss excitedly into your phone, "I repeat: the baby has left the cradle!"

"Nosy," Derek laughs, but his eyes linger on Spencer's retreating form for a moment too long, "Man, she and Penelope are really having their fun with this."

"I'm having my fun with what?" Comes a sweet voice from behind them, and both agents turn in their chairs to find none other than Penelope Garcia, obviously not on the phone.

Lewis glances back to you, and you're still chattering into the receiver. She hears Derek begin to question Penelope and swivels back around, now further intrigued.

"You mean to tell me she's not gossiping with you over that phone?" Derek jerks a thumb towards you, and Penelope follows the direction until she sees you.

Her lips, perfectly pink and painted, pop into a prim pout as her shoulders sag, "No! I thought I had all the best gossip in the BAU."

"I guess not," Lewis muses, staring curiously back at you as you watch Spencer hold the elevator doors open for his mystery agent, "I wonder who she's talking to."

"-The baby has left the cradle!"

"Where are his hands?" Aaron asks, raising a handful of cashews to his mouth, "Are they in his pockets, or is he touching her with one of them?"

"His left hand is on her back," You squeal, "And the other is just at his side! He's- oh, he used it to open the door for her, and he guided her through with the one on her back."

"Good boy," Hotch muses thoughtfully, munching happily on his snack, "He's learning. Remember when he used to make her open the door for him?"

"He is wiping his hand with a wet wipe," You observe carefully, "But not the one he's got on her. Hopefully she doesn't think he thinks she's germy."

"Are they taking the elevator?" He asks, and at your confirmation, he stands, carrying his ziploc bag of cashews to the window.

"Okay, they wouldn't spend their entire lunch break at the little vending machine lobby on the fourth floor," He decides, peering out from between his blinds onto the street below, "So that means they're probably headed to the café across the street. I've got eyes on the door."

"I'll pull up the CCTV footage," You declare gleefully, grin so wide that it's making your cheeks ache, "If you'll excuse me, handsome, I have to make a visit to Miss Penelope Garcia."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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zephyrrr101 · 6 months

Text

Let me help you

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x sister reader

Warning: Targcest/incest (that's the hype about Hotd loves), fingering, consensual everything basically, dirty talking, all the ASOIAF warnings, slight Dom Daemon, MINORS DNI.

Lots of thanks to @officialaemondtargaryen for being my beta for this one. Love you lots hon.

The day had been very tiring. You had lesson with your Septa continuously. And the woman had seemed to swore that she would not leave you alone until you have finished sewing your house sigil into the tapestry you were supposed to do for your grandsire, King Jaehaeyrs', soon approaching name day.

Your feet felt frozen with the long sitting, so did your back. Your hands ached before but now everything felt numb. Shaking them, as you tried to remove the numb feeling that seemed to have spread up to your elbows. You couldn't help but curse her as you got into your chamber after asking your sworn sheild for your maids to be called.

"Tried?"

A shriek left your mouth and you turned around to see your older brother, Daemon lazily lying on your bed with an amused smile.

"Fuck you, Daemon!" You sighed, leaning over the now closed door with your hand over your chest that reached there out of fright. You loved your brothers, you did, but Daemon was just as much of little shit as much he was charmer.

"Well, if you insist..." He drawled and you grabbed the closest thing to you and threw it at him, very obviously not hitting the target as the very expensive brass vase had landed on your pillow a good one hand away from your brother's head. Did you care? No.

"I'm already tired, Dae. And annoyed. So if you're here to rile me up, I suggest get the fuck out," You moved around the room, making your way over to other side of bed and laying down on your stomach very ungracefully, pushing the vase down on floor.

You think Daemon understood that you were quite serious. Well, he better have or else you were going to hit him perfectly on his perfect annoying face.

You felt his hand caressing your hair, the hair of same color that you shared with him. It brought you comfort as his fingers moved from the crown of your head to base, his fingers, just the right pressure, oh your brother could also be just as sweet as infuriating he was when you needed him to be.

"What happened?" He whispered and he turned you over and laid beside you. Now you were facing him, you could see a frown on his beautiful face. Along with your hair, you shared your nose with him, longer than that of Viserys'. And your cheekbones too. The same cheekbones that he was now caressing.

"My Septa had me doing needlework all day." You told. Daemon snorted at it and he received a poke in ribs for that whe you continued your complaining. "Do not laugh. My hands are numb from working on that tapestry. My legs and back feel just as useless."

"Is my haedar so much in pain?" He mused, sporting a smirk, but his words were genuine. You knew. Always.

Daemon was a mystery to most. You had seen girls gush at him, your maids-in-waiting were just mad about him. When you looked at him you saw nothing but your brother. A brother you loved and hated? No. No. You didn't hate him. He was more of like... A leech? Yes, a leech you did everything to squeeze the life out of you. But he did you just as much. Maybe more than anyone did. Just you did.

Daemon sat up leading you to frown at his action. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," he smiled at you and shifted over to the end of the bed, taking your feet in his hands. "Let me help you." His slightly calloused hands pressed into your tender flesh, rubbing and squeezing and your eyes closed at the relief you felt as you let out pleased sighs. His hands moved up first to your ankles, rolling them as easily he could, then to calves, massaging your muscles tenderly, then around the knees and then above them with soft circular motions and then—

"Daemon," one of your eyes opened as your look at him sternly.

Daemon grinned, nothing just concern seemed to be there anymore. His fingers now made there way up to your inner thighs, his movements alternating between hard and soft and with each movement he seemed to move more closer to the apex of your legs.

"What are you doing, lekia?" You retorted, knowing where it was leading to.

"Being a good brother and helping my sister relax, of course," he leaned down, slowly coming up, and hovered over you, his face just above yours, you could easily smell Caraxes on him along with the leather vest that he wore most of the time and the sweet fragrance of Arbor Gold that was both of yours favourite.

"We can't, Daemon. Not now. I've called my maids." You tried to push him off you. As much as you loved Daemon doing all the other worldly things to you, getting caught was not something you could afford. Daemon did not budge. He simply dipped down, his lips meeting yours and you easily melted into him.

"Send them away. Who cares?" It wasn't that hard for you to be convinced when he was making such good effort.

One of your hands pulled at the hair, pulling him more into you as the other found it's way inside Daemon's tunic as you traced his skin. You loved the way his body felt on your skin. Each muscle strong, you could even trace some small scars that he received while training or in duels. Everything that made your brother beautiful.

His mouth left wet kisses down your jaw, his teeth nipping at soft skin of your neck and you gasp when he sucked on your skin. He was going to leave a mark. He was doing it deliberately. This bastard! You could feel your small cloth getting wet. Oh, he did it again. Biting that spot on your neck. You loved it when he did it.

Your hands moved down his chest, you caress every inch of his you could with the tunic that still was attached to him and moved down and down and down, reaching the lace of his breeches.

Daemon grabbed your hands, and pulled them up, keeping them prisoner above your head. "Daemon, what—"

"Hush, sweet sister," he spoke, and left a kiss on your lips. "Let me take care of you." He unlaced the top of your dress, the sleeves coming down swiftly and he suckled on the tits softly. His fingers found their way to your small cloth, unlacing the barrier that was between him and the sweet nether. "My, did I do that you, haedar?"

"Daemon," you gasp, his fingers moving through your lower lips, his thumb ghosting over you pearl, a shriek followed the gasp when you felt him flicking on it. "Fuck,"

His chuckle echoed in the otherwise silent room where just your breaths could be heard. He bent and you felt it, his tongue slowly moving along the rises and lows of your cunt. He nibbled at the skin around your clit, sucking it and you moan.

His fingers caresses you and he slowly entered one digit inside you making you gasp.

Daemon rose, his fingers still in you, you could see your arousal coating his lips, his pink lips that shined under the candle light around your room. "I haven't even started and you're clenching like that?"

You moan out his name as he moves his fingers inside you, going back to sucking your pearl, lapping on your arousal. "Hmm, haedar, you taste like nectar of gods." He spoke while licking your juices and he added another finger inside you. Grabbing the sheets around you bit your lip to not make too much of a louder noise. Your sworn shield stood outside. If he heard anything, you would be sent to silent sister's just like your aunt Saera and you were sure that you won't be able to run away like her.

You undid the laces in thr front of your dress, loosening it around your chest, your mounds slipping out and you caress the skin, circling your fingers on your pebbles, pulling them and a moan left your mouth at the pleasure flooding through you from them and Daemon's fingers in you.

Daemon looked up and scowled at the sight of your fingers on your nipples. He smacked your hand with his other one, his fingers in you pausing and tugged at your pink tit.

You squealed in pain and glared at Daemon as he pulled back his fingers before adding another one. "Don't touch yourself," He gave you a stern look. "Good princess don't do such things. They let their elder brother take care of them."

You moaned as he thrusted his fingers inside you deeper, you could feel his rings in you, he was so deep. The other hand now playing with your mounds pulling, pinching caressing. "That feels good? Hmm? You are clenching on my fingers, sweet girl."

"Please, Daemon," You moaned, your hands finding his shoulders and you grabbed it hard, Daemon felt your nails biting his skin, his breeches becoming tighter with each moment. "Need you, Daemon."

"Need me? How so?" He grinned and he curled his fingers inside you, before pulling them back and pushing in again this time deeper and then again more deeper as if trying to find how far he could go just with his hand.

"Your mouth." You suck in a deep breath, "on me,"

"On you? Where? There's a lot a of places on you."

You would have thrown something at him again if he hadn't pressed his thumb on your clit making you almost scream. "My cunt! My cunt, damn it Daemon! Just fucking—"

You covered your mouth as soon as you could. You hadn't even been able to see when Daemon hand went back to sucking your pearl and lips. Your abdomen clenched, you were near your peak. And Daemon apparently knew that too since he had increased his pace.

"Princess!" Your maid's voice sounded muffled through the closed door. Or maybe it was the haze you were in. "Princess, we've come with your bath water,"

You glanced at Daemon between your legs and found him looking up at you with a devilish look in his eyes while he sucked and lapped on you like a hound who hadn't been fed in days and you felt yourself clench. Oh that infuriating bastard was enjoying it.

"Princess?" You maid called out again, her voice now sounding concerned.

"A minute!" You yelled and gasped. You couldn't see what Daemon was doing, but it felt like a blessing from Gods.

Your head was thrown back in your pillow and you felt your eyes rolling back as you reached your peak, your hand on your mouth, muffling all the moans it could as you came down from your high.

Daemon rose, still sitting between your legs, both you panting heavily. His lips glistening with your juices, he was grinning. And so were you. Daemon moved, coming to hover over you, he dropped and your lips met his, you tasted yourself on him and after a moment he pulled away, a fond look in his lilac eyes.

"What about you?" You asked, pointing at his cock, straining inside his breeches. You were tempted to loosen the laces and take him, but you knew that time was not on your side.

"I'll handle it. Maybe I'll visit Silk Street," he shrugged.

You sat up on your bed as he got off the bed, you glanced between him and the door where your maids stood outside, "Where are you going to hide?"

Daemon gave you a confused look, "Why must I hide? I am going to my room." You were even more confused as he started to walk behind your bed.

"Daemon the maids outside—" Him pushing a part of wall behind you had you stop talking. Well, it actually moving had you shut up. "What in the seven hell? Daemon?"

Your brother smirked at you as he entered what you now understood were the secret tunnels Maegor had built in the Keep. He had known about them. That fucker!

"You little cunt! Fucking—"

"Good bye, sister. Enjoy your bath. Your maids' are waiting." And he quicked his way inside the tunnel, closing the part of wall leaving the room as he wasn't even here.

Damn, your brother. You loved him so much.

#house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #targ reader #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #sister reader #daemon targareyn smut

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delulustateofmind · 4 months

Text

Potions & Shadows (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: An old neighbor of Feyre's is revealed to be not who they seemed when Feyre was a child. Leadign to Feyre needing the once village apothecaries help. Inspired by Frieren: Beyond Journey's End.

A/n: I posted a preview a week or two ago. I enjoyed writing this one, I've been super busy at work and with a family wedding so probably won't have a part two anytime soon. Hope you enjoy! Thank you all for the support on my last few fics! :)

Word Count: 2.5k

Part two, Part Three, Part Four

Warmings: None? Let me know if there's any.

Feyre would often find herself lost in memories of their old neighbor, a mysterious figure from her childhood spent in the manor with her sisters. Little did she know, her encounter with the apothecary would soon unveil new mysteries. Years later, as Feyre bid farewell before their departure, she decided to revisit the familiar door, hoping to uncover the enigma of the past.

In the hustle of their impoverished days and the chaos of her transition to fae life, Feyre scarcely pondered the mystery. It wasn't until Nesta mentioned seeing the apothecary, unchanged from their childhood encounter, right before the human queen's arrival, that Feyre's curiosity stirred. She made a mental note to pay a quick visit to the apothecary's cottage down the road after their business with the queens concluded.

The meeting with the human queens did not end too well, though they did manage to secure the book. With Rhysand somewhat strict on their schedule, Feyre knew she couldn't risk being late. The crunch of the dirt path under her feet felt oddly familiar yet different in her new fae form. The smells of the pine trees now heightened, and the distant streams seemed closer than ever. Pulling her out of her trance, she arrived at the apothecary’s cottage.

The moss on the roof indicated the cottage had been there for centuries, perhaps even when the village was being built. Feyre walked up and knocked on the door, her heart pounding with anticipation. The shuffling of footsteps inside signaled someone approaching. When the door creaked open, Feyre was met with a familiar face.

A short woman stood before her, her scent unmistakably human, yet intertwined with a hint of something elusive. Her hazel green eyes, flecked with gold and blue hues, seemed to hold secrets as deep as the mountains' morning dew. The apothecary wiped her hands on her apron, stained with various herbs and powders, and greeted Feyre with a small sigh and a bright smile.

"It's you... but different?" she remarked, tilting her head curiously. Feyre released a breathy laugh. "Yeah, you could say I am a bit different... you're back," she whispered.

The apothecary moved aside, inviting Feyre into the familiar interior of the cottage. Bookshelves lined the walls, while towers of books stood around tables filled with bottles and concoctions. The atmosphere was comforting yet tinged with a sense of mystery. As the apothecary made tea, Feyre couldn't help but notice the intricate organization amidst the apparent chaos.

"No longer human, now a fae?" the apothecary mused as she prepared the tea. "Haven't seen that before." She smiled to herself, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "I always thought you were human, I mean you don't seem fae," Feyre whispered.

"That's because I'm not fae, though I am considered a fae creature," the apothecary explained with a soft smile. "Long story short, as I have a feeling your companions only gave you a few moments to visit. I am half human, half-elven... one of the last of my kind."

Feyre looked puzzled before asking, "How come you don't age? I mean the human counterpart should... make you age, right?" The apothecary poured the tea, the pink hue swirling in the cup, before joining Feyre at the table. "You're right, I should age, but there's this thing called the 'settling.' It's based on mana. The more mana you have, the more likely to reach immortality."

The apothecary glanced up at Feyre with a soft smile. "I stopped aging around... don't know, maybe 19 or 20 years old?" Feyre looked at her in astonishment, trying to reconcile the fragile appearance with the revelation of her age. "How old are you now?" she asked softly.

You smiled, reminiscing about your past travels as you glanced at your spellbooks and then back at Feyre while taking a sip of your tea. "I am roughly 300 years old this year, give or take a few," you admitted with a hint of nostalgia. "You tend to lose count on the road."

Brushing your long hair aside, you pulled up your sleeve, revealing the insignia of an adventurer guild—a small blossom marking. "This is from my guild," you explained. "I'm a mage, so I embark on journeys from time to time. It's how I honed my skills in concocting medicines and remedies."

Feyre looked taken aback, unable to sense any magic radiating from you despite your mage status and half-elven heritage. She was filled with questions, but time was fleeting, and there was much to be done.

As Feyre finished her tea, she felt a sense of urgency creeping in. "Listen... there's something that might be coming, would you watch my sisters?" The apothecary met her gaze with a reassuring smile. "I leave tonight for another quest, but the wards should be stable around their house. I'll reinforce them before I leave."

With a nod of gratitude, Feyre rose from her seat, her mind buzzing with newfound revelations. Little did she know, her visit to the apothecary would mark the beginning of a journey fraught with unforeseen challenges.

******

Certainly, unforeseen challenges indeed. In fact, the wards failed to hold as Hybern seized Feyre’s sisters while you were away on your travels seeking new spell books, a hobby of yours. Across the continent, whispers of war spread like wildfire. Perhaps this was what Feyre had alluded to—a war brewing on the horizon? After completing your quest, you returned home to find a letter from Feyre—a proposition of sorts.

“War is coming, we need healers like you to join us. Let me know your response when you see this.”

Magic paper? Intriguing, something you will inquire about later on. You write your response. Perhaps, a new adventure wouldn’t be bad. You’ve never visited Prythian before. Given that elves used to be seen as slaves there, that elves were seen to be just one step above humans, being a half-breed who know’s where that would place you. Feyre was kind though, you knew that from the moment you met her. A war would be brutal, if the fae were asking for help, that meant it would be serious enough to involve others.

“Sure, I’ll give my commitment for a few years,” you wrote. The paper vanished almost instantly, leaving behind a faint scent of smoke—a curious phenomenon indeed. Moments later, a message appeared, promising someone would visit you at the cottage within hours. With a shrug, you began to pack your belongings, including spell books, herbs, clothes, and trinkets. You were prepared.

That's when you met Mor, a lively fae whose energy belied her formidable power. She winnowed you to the healer’s cottage, where Madja, the head healer, resided. Mor apologized and hurriedly departed, leaving you to converse with Madja. The healer welcomed you warmly, showing you to a modest room furnished with essentials. The bed with white bedding and an old green quilt laid on top. Madja pointed out that the nights here might be too cold for creatures like yourself.

"Haven't seen a human in years," she remarked as she led you to the apothecary storage room. "But I sense something else about you," a twinkle in Madja’s eye hinted at her awareness of your half-elven heritage. You responded with a smile, "Most don’t catch on too quickly," you murmured.

Madja returned your smile, her expression warm yet knowing. "You're probably the last of your kind," she remarked casually, her tone tinged with humor. "Your kind was always more focused on mana and magic than finding love. Perhaps your human side will help you with that," she teased, reaching for a mortar and pestle.

"Now, kid," Madja continued, her demeanor shifting to business-like. "I want to see what you're capable of. Make a few hundred healing potions—some for minor cuts and bruises, and others for those foolish soldiers who find themselves impaled one too many times."

You immersed yourself in your work, with Madja checking in every few minutes to monitor your progress. Impressed by your efficiency, she peppered you with compliments, acknowledging your skill. Together, you labored until late afternoon, the sun casting long shadows across the cottage.

Feyre stopped by to offer a brief greeting before departing to attend to war preparations and assist her newly transformed sisters. Their transformation weighed heavily on your conscience—if only your wards had been stronger, perhaps you could have prevented their fate. Pushing aside the guilt, you ground a few more herbs, determined to focus on the task at hand. Or perhaps you were trying to push that guilt away by keeping yourself distracted.

The soothing scent of herbs filled the room, mingling with Madja’s quiet humming—a melody unfamiliar to you yet strangely comforting. You found solace in the routine of potion-making, a respite from the chaos of the outside world.

As you worked, memories of your travels surfaced—the thrill of discovering new spells, the camaraderie of fellow adventurers, and the satisfaction of aiding those in need. Though your main quest was to collect spells, you found fulfillment in helping others, a testament to your kind-hearted nature.

Completing the last batch of potions, Madja introduced you to the other healers, who welcomed you with open arms. Over dinner, you exchanged stories of your respective lives—Madja sharing tales of her long existence, while you recounted your travels across distant lands. The other healers listened in awe, their curiosity piqued by your adventures beyond Velaris. Constantly asking questions of your adventures, asking about the dragons you’ve came across. About the handsome warriors that you went through dungeons with. A smile tugged your lips as you bid them goodnight and headed to your room.

As you lay on your bed, enveloped by the chill of the night air, you found comfort in the warmth of the quilt that Madja had provided. Retrieving a book about defensive magic from your bedside table, you delved into its pages, seeking solace in the familiar words until sleep claimed you.

****

As the end of the first week approached, you found yourself manning the desk, processing orders for sleeping tonics, stomach remedies, and various other mundane requests. It was the less exciting aspect of your work, but you understood the necessity of attending to such matters. After all, not every day could be spent brewing exotic potions and elixirs. Madja had left to replenish the inventory and wouldn't return until nightfall. Before her departure, she mentioned that someone from the court would be coming to collect a 'private' order and instructed you not to charge them.

As you cleaned the countertop, the door creaked open, and a chilling breeze swept into the room, carrying with it the scent of mist and cedar, tinged with a hint of blood. You looked up and found yourself locking eyes with a figure standing in the doorway. My stars, he was strikingly handsome in a deadly sort of way—a sight that momentarily stole your breath away. You recognized him as an Illyrian, though you had never seen one before. There was something about his wings that instilled a sense of fear in you, even though they remained folded tightly against his back, shrouding his features in shadows.

Azriel dipped his head in acknowledgment, his golden gaze piercing as he spoke in a low, almost hypnotic tone. "I am here to pick up a prescription," he stated, his voice like a captivating melody that seemed to draw you in.

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as you retrieved the bag containing the requested item. It was a rare occurrence for you to feel flustered, especially in the presence of another. As you handed him the bag, your hands brushed briefly, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth flood your cheeks. The label on the bag revealed its contents—a contraceptive tonic. Oh... he was an active male too.

Azriel murmured his thanks before casting a lingering gaze over you, his expression unreadable behind his hand. As he turned to leave, you couldn't shake the feeling of self-consciousness. Did you smell bad? Was your human heritage too obvious to the fae? Such thoughts raced through your mind as the door closed behind him, leaving you to ponder the encounter long after he had gone.

****

Azriel departed for the House of Wind, where a family dinner awaited. Elaine had begun emerging from her room, while Nesta remained ensconced in her moody disposition. Lucien had ventured to the continent, leaving an absence felt at the table. Feyre was already seated next to Rhys when Azriel arrived, discreetly passing the tonic to Cassian, who muttered a quick thanks before Azriel settled in beside him.

"I didn’t realize Madja had taken on a new apprentice," Azriel murmured, his gaze shifting to Mor as she joined Cassian. Feyre glanced at Azriel, her curiosity piqued. "You met her today? She’s a friend of mine from the village. I knew her growing up," she explained. Azriel took a sip of the wine passed to him by Cassian, his mind wandering to the petite healer who had left such an impression on him.

Elaine's transformation from human to fae had only heightened Azriel's attraction to her, raising questions about his preferences. Was he developing a preference for humans? Could he handle the brevity of their lifespans? Feyre's voice broke through his reverie, drawing his attention back to the conversation. "She’s half-elf too, are they rare?" she inquired.

Rhysand nodded, his expression softening as he delved into the history of elves and their dwindling numbers. "They used to be slaves for the Fae, around the same time as the humans," he began. "Perhaps that's why she has never been to Prythian until now."

He paused, his tone softening even further. "Also, the elves were known to lack emotions, which led to them not reproducing that often, ultimately to their demise. There’s a few around, but not many anymore."

As food was placed on the table, Azriel found himself consumed by thoughts of the healer. Her scent lingered in his mind, reminiscent of cherry blossoms on a warm day. Though he had only met her briefly, he felt an inexplicable pull toward her that tugged at his heartstrings. It was a feeling he had never experienced before.

An idea struck him. "Don’t we need to deliver the potions to the camps? I could help with that tomorrow, I finished the reports," Azriel suggested, turning to Rhysand. A smirk danced on the high lord’s lips—a silent understanding passed between them. "If you want," Rhysand replied casually, gesturing with a wave of his hand. "Perhaps show her around Velaris while you’re at it."

Azriel nodded, anticipation stirring within him. Tomorrow promised to be an intriguing day, his shadows seemed almost restless to meet the little healer again. A new sort of feeling fueled both him and his shadows.

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #feyre acotar

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myysaints · 1 year

Text

°˖ ⊹ ꒰ LN4 ꒱ PICTURES OF YOU ─ LANDO NORRIS

LANDO NORRIS x f!model!reader

⌗︙・ summary — lando accidentally slips up on stream, revealing he has a girlfriend. chaos subsequently ensues.

genre — social media au, fc yeji from itzy

notes — as a fashion girlie myself this was like scripting my ideal life LOL. i love lando and i'm so excited for baku!!! hopefully he can haul ass and get that mclaren to podium - or at least a girl can dream. also gif not mine!!! pics are all from pinterest :) hope you enjoy this one! sorry for the crunchy quality on the tweets, can't seem to find a high quality tweet maker 😭

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lando.jpg Singapore. Shot by Lando Norris.

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yourusername added to their story. 17s

[caption: gooooooo teammmmmmmm @/mclaren]

f1wagupdates

Liked by landonorris, and 34,021 others

f1wagupdates Cause for celebration! After his podium win at the Singapore Grand Prix, fans spotted Lando Norris enjoying a night to remember with a mystery woman on a small motorboat not far from the Sentosa resort at which he allegedly stayed at. Fans reported the couple being “all over each other” and “laughing the night away”. 🥂🪩

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lando.jpg

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lando.jpg You ask, I deliver.

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maxitaxi I-

Liked by lando.jpg

yourusername hot damn norris. who’s the pretty lady?

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danielricciardo added to their story. 38s

[caption: making a @/lando.jpg post]

yourusername

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yourusername sun’s out & fun’s out!

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bellahadid glowing

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landonorris ahem, pic creds?

yourusername 🙄 thanks i guess…. landonorris we can talk about my payment when you get home 😉 This comment has been removed.

barbiealbono “when you get home” UM. HELLO????

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🏷 yourusername

lando.jpg lost the pic but gained some great memories 🎞 have this one instead as an apology

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🏷 landonorris

yourusername swapping out the soft launch for the hard launch 🛞 did i get it right landonorris ?

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landonorris nailed it ❤️ couldn’t have been prouder my love

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 11 months

Text

The Green Prince | Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!Reader

-Based on the Fairytale 'Bluebeard'- Halloween Special!

Summary: Six wives before her mysteriously disappeared, and someone in Dragonstone calls for her once her new husband entrusts her with his master key | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: dub-con, arranged marriage, victorian england setting, era-typical sexism, murder, uxoricide, blood, toxic behaviour, apparitions/ghosts, manipulation, threats of violence

She's heard only tales of Aemond Targaryen.

The Green Prince of Dragonstone. A wealthy gentleman who often stayed within the confines of his estate.

When she abandoned the frills and wide smiles of girlhood, thrust into the pomp and practice of womanhood, that is when the stories began.

She had never seen him. And she began to believe, that the people around her who spoke of him never had either.

They were of a decent background, her and her family. Not overwhelmingly rich. But well-off is what her father always said.

Enough to employ a small army of servants.

Enough to never have to worry about the troubles of daily life that so often would hinder an everyday individual.

She doubted Aemond Targaryen ever had to worry about that either.

One fact that simply could not be frayed, was that he was royalty.

Only in the sense that he was utterly untouchable.

He had this elegance about him, they would say, a sort of curious exoticisim from the way his long, silver hair would drift down his back, to the way his inhuman purple eyes would glimmer, half lidded and looking straight ahead, as if he were piercing a knife through the individual with his gaze alone.

Though they were technically neighbours, she saw very little life pass through the iron gates of Dragonstone. His estate so vast, that by foot, she would have to commit a whole hour to simply brush by the border of what she deemed was a forbidden land.

There seemed an aura of darkness over it, that she could not quite comprehend. But one that intrigued her all the same.

Last year, at the same time as now, she had been considered a child. No better for company than being banished upstairs to dwindle about her books and writings, out of the way of adults and their serious business affairs.

What had really changed in 12 months, that they now considered her a woman?

She felt age had little to do with it.

She felt that she had been grown in her mind for some time, and had actually changed very little from the age of three and ten.

But now, at the tender age of nine and ten, there was still a girlish nature about her face. A brightness to her eyes, and a plumpness about her cheeks. One that her mother had once commented that men would find appealing in a wife.

And so here she was.

Dressed in her finery, a glass of wine in a crystal glass delicately placed in one hand, she stood beside her eldest brother, who had torn himself rather blatantly from a woman he himself was courting in favour of supporting his sweet, youngest sister.

"Do not, for the love of our mother, allow yourself to be approached by Mr Gardner. He has had five servants in as many months. I am sure you can understand why", her brother mused with a contented chuckle.

She did not know why. Nobody had told her plainly.

Sometimes she wished people would just be honest with her. And not assumed she knew the inner workings of people's minds, after years of being shut away upstairs by her parents and brother alike.

The foyer and adjoining rooms alike were filled with people, all pretending to make pleasantries with each other. And as the night dragged on, several well known bachelor's having tried their hand at impressing her, she found her glass of wine was not as endless as she thought.

When a servant had spotted her, appearing at her side to refill her glass, she had turned her body sideways and locked eyes, finally, with him.

The one people affectionately named, The Green Prince.

Like most of the men tonight, he was dressed in a suit with a long overcoat that covered his dark green waistcoat. So dark were the colours of his outfit, that they almost appeared black, like the rest of it.

His hair was loose, with a few strands falling to the front over his shoulders, and as her eyes trailed up to his pale collar, where a tie was loosely wrapped about his neck, she saw that when she met his gaze, he was already looking at her.

He held his glass in a manner most unbecoming. Hanging at his side, his long fingers grasping the edges so delicately, she was sure for a moment it was floating in his hold.

His finger, she noticed, tapped idly at the side of the room, as if deep in thought as he looked upon her.

She saw his gaze drop to her outfit, one that her mother had chosen for her. A red, almost burnt tea coloured dress, with very little flounce and fancy to it. The collar hung delicately at her shoulders, the bodice tight and the only detail of any colour was in the stitching of her skirt, which he noted was a shimmering gold.

When he lifted his eyes, he took a sip from his glass, still almost filled to the top, his burning lilac gaze hovering over the brim. She sucked in a breath, her own eyes flitting over his face. And to the patch that covered the left eye.

She didn't know why her chest felt tight, and why she hoped suddenly for the appearance of her brother. Or her father perhaps. He was staring at her so unabashedly, that for an unmarried woman such as herself, she would be looked upon with immense judgement if she were found to be staring back at him in the same manner.

Knowing his gaze was burning at the back of her head, perhaps tracing the intricate pattern of braids her hair had been styled in, she decided to ignore him, until he had the decency to approach and introduce himself to her properly.

As any good gentleman would.

She meandered through the menagerie of figures, careful to keep her wine close to her so that she wouldn't repeat the same embarrassment as last year when she spilled the entire glass down Mr Bray, whose wife near lost her voice with incessant shouting.

Her father, ever cheerful, as rich men so often are, materialised at her side, grasping her elbow and tugged his daughter close to him. His breath smelled like red wine as he whispered to her.

"It appears you have captured the special attention of Mr Targaryen, daughter"

Her father chuckled when her wide, terrified and yet curious eyes met his.

How could she have captured his attention, when she had done nothing at all? She thought.

She did not yet know, the charms that the appearance of a female body could offer. And how it could transform a respectable man from a pillar of society, to a hungry, lustful beast at a moment's notice.

"I shall introduce you to him" her father insisted, leading her along at his side, despite her quiet protests.

"But father-"

"Hush now. Remember your manners".

His tone of voice was enough.

She had not experienced it as a mere female. But she had seen first hand what her father did to her brother when he disobeyed. Finding a sort of punishment worthy at the end of his cane as it cracked against her brother's palm.

Her brother still wore gloves often. That was his shield.

She had yet to find her own.

Perhaps hers was in her mind, she thought. That she might be able to protect herself with her ideas and opinions, twisting the minds of men, as her elder sister had said once, to suit the needs of the women they owned.

She often had to remind herself, she was property. And could easily be bought and sold, and kicked to the roadside if she had done something to mar her family name.

She was thrust into a sort of social assassination once again once stood before the famed Mr Targaryen, who nodded his head in greeting but said nothing.

"My Targaryen. What an honour it is to have you here. Please might introduce my daughter"

He bent somewhat at the hip, his hand moving to grasp hers, the skin soft and feminine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss"

His voice was like the purr of a cat. And though terrifyingly intriguing, she couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"And to you, Sir. Many thanks for the invitation" Aemond turned towards her father, giving another barely existent nod of his head, his expression flat and almost bored.

"It is no problem at all, Mr Targaryen. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your wife"

Late wife?

She felt rude to ask, so said nothing.

Aemond seemed to understand her curiosity, and gave a light smirk in her direction, though she was on his blind side.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a great tragedy indeed"

"Indeed" her father repeated, leaning forward as if to emphasise the size of his empathy for him, "I understand she was quite distressed for some time, was she not?"

She almost passed her father a warning glance. Thinking it rather rude for him to say such things about his late wife. Whether she may have been mad or not.

But Aemond merely nodded.

"Indeed. I am afraid, however, it was an inevitable accident"

Accident.

She of course, remembered hearing the gossip, and hearing her father read the newspaper every morning. An update about the mad Alys Rivers at the top of the page every time.

Alys Rivers, the Lady of Dragonstone, found dead in God's Eye Lake. A wound to the neck spells suicide.

A wound to the neck was a kind description.

Her pale skin was said to be slashed open on one side, everything visible within. And once the water had got to her, she was swollen, pale and blue, completely drained of blood. Almost entirely unrecognisable.

It was just as well she had no family. They would not have wished to see how she met her end.

The article found it necessary to articulate, that her body had been returned to her husband.

Across the room, another gentleman called for her father, and she felt the hot whips of panic at the back of her neck at the thought of being left alone with Aemond.

"Do excuse me" her father said quickly, disappearing into the sea of black and grey.

She herself turned back to Aemond, not wanting to be rude, and tapped her fingernails on the crystal glass nervously.

"I am very sorry to hear about your wife"

Aemond hummed, one of his hands behind his back like he had a secret.

"Thank you, Miss"

There was a long period of silence between them. And for a while, she wondered if she should be the one to break it.

Aemond laughed lowly, leaning down to her face as he caught something interesting in his sights.

"See your brother?" He murmured. And her face turned as well, not realising at first how close their faces were, but she could not very well pull away without offending him.

All the same, he smelled of sandalwood.

Her eyes followed his, to her brother on the other side of the room, where he was thoroughly embarrassing himself by laughing too widely with the woman he had been courting for several months.

"He is awfully close to that woman, is he not?"

She swallowed, raising her chin to appear more confident as she spoke, "She is to be his intended. It is only natural they speak freely with one another" she reasoned.

Aemond did not move away, his shoulder brushing against her side. It made her shudder.

"He is certainly doing something freely" Aemond hummed deep in his chest, a tone which sent a dull ache through her body.

Her brother leaned in close to the woman. And she watched her blush and throw her head back with a demure laugh, her brother leaning close to run his nose along her neck, grinning against her skin.

It felt forbidden to watch them be so close.

And yet he was so brazen about it.

"She seems to be enjoying herself, at least"

She couldn't find it in herself to reply.

For the woman did appear as if she was enjoying herself. And briefly, stood beside Aemond, his breath softly batting against her neck, she wondered herself, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her. Sneaking into her mind like a whisper, as if he were being a locked door, and was peering through the keyhole to uncover her darkest thoughts and desires.

Her brother leaned towards his intended, planting a kiss to the column of her neck. And she felt herself parting her lips as the other woman had, not only at the shameless behaviour of her brother, so consumed in wine that he felt no need to appear reasonable in front of other people, but also because she felt Aemond’s slender fingers at her forearm.

It was not at all like the way her father had pulled her to him, in ownership.

Aemond tugged her towards him in a sort of longing, his nose pressing into the plaits of her hair.

“I am going to ask your father for your hand” he whispered, “and he will say yes. And you shall be mine”.

She listened with her fingers wrapped around the wooden pillars of the staircase as her brother shouted obscenity after obscenity at her father. Every now and then her mother would insert her little, sweet voice that was inevitably crushed by the low boom of the two males in the room.

With her gaze planted firmly in her lap, tracing the patterns of the lace of her nightgown as she listened, she thought with a sort of sadness that the offer of marriage should be a joyous and happy occasion. And now in her household, the prospect of her being tied to the Green Prince himself was so offensive to her brother, that he felt the need to fight on her behalf.

Perhaps knowing his sweet sister had no choice in the matter.

“He is barely half a decade older than her and has had six wives in as many years, father!” he boomed, and she could tell by the way his voice bounced off the furniture that he was pacing and throwing his arms around.

“To give her away to that brute. It is unthinkable!”

“Be quiet!” her father roared back, “the wedding will go ahead as planned. We will not get a better offer than this!”

While she was happy, that her brother was trying to stick up for her, it was no use. He nor her had a choice in the matter.

Her father had said it himself.

We will not get a better offer.

Not she.

She was property. Something to be sold and given in exchange for goods or reputation. What she wanted, was of no consequence.

And she couldn’t help but think of her mother, several decades younger than her father, and how she must have felt at her tender age when confronted with the prospect of marrying a man much older than she.

In a way, she felt connected to her mother in that way. But also in a way that she resented her, for dressing her up, plaiting her hair and pushing her out into the rich man’s world, ripe and ready for the taking.

Passing her the torch of a woman’s anguish.

The wedding felt clinical. More akin to a funeral than a union of two people.

Her brother stares dagger into the back of her intended for the entire ceremony. All while her mother cried softly into her handkerchief and her father sat, stoic and silent, his chubby fingers caressing the sculpted ornament on the top of his cane.

She remembered his hands as they were bought together and the officiator had placed a sort of sacred cloth over them as he muttered his prayers. Binding them lawfully and before the eyes of God, for their whole lives.

His hands were large, his palms completely dwarfing hers and his long fingers wrapping around hers like tight vines. And at that moment, she had never felt so small in her life.

And noticed that his side of the wedding chapel, where his family members were supposed to sit and witness their union, was completely empty.

Six wives in as many years.

That is what her brother had said.

She knew Aemond had been married multiple times prior to her, but was her brother merely exaggerating?

In contrast to his hands, where the blood swam warmly through his limbs, his lips where the officiant asked them to seal their union with a kiss, were cold, and not forthcoming. As if he had not asked her father for her hand in marriage, but that this entire affair was so useless and merely for looks, that he’d rather be somewhere else.

That said. She could not escape the intensity of his gaze.

He seemed to focus solely on her, much to her discomfort, to the point where it seemed like he was not listening to a single prayer or hymn that was uttered in the chapel all afternoon. And though her eyes were elsewhere, to try and place the feeling that bubbled in her chest somewhere else, she often found his lilac eye drifting to the details of her necklace, to face, and pausing where she wet her lips nervously.

If he hadn’t possessed such a domineering, strong presence, she thought he would be devilishly handsome.

Perhaps a fact he already knew.

It was unlike her family to have celebrations, so they didn’t.

She gave each of the servants, some who she knew for most of her life a final embrace, thanking them for their hospitality and care where she did not receive it from her parents. And as her luggage was packed meaningfully in the back of Mr Targaryen’s carriage, with two large horses at the front, she gave her brother a tight embrace as well. Inhaling and savouring the musty smell of tobacco on his coat.

He looked saddened, but for the sake of appearances, forced a smile onto his face.

“Good luck, dear sister. Remember you may write to me, even though you are a married woman” he smiled, teasing her softly with a nudge to her shoulder.

She gave a softer hug to her mother, who usually was not keen to shower her with affection. But she supposed, she was the youngest daughter, so it was only natural.

Her father, after having busied himself in an idle chattering session with Aemond, merely tipped his hat, and did not shed one bit of emotion as she climbed into the carriage before her husband. Aemond's hand helped her up the step, watching as she disappeared inside.

The smell of his sandalwood perfumes on his coat was stronger as he sat beside her on the cushion, instructing the handsome, olive-skinned driver to move forward and away from her home.

She only waved to her brother. And watched as he had wet eyes, stepping forward a few paces like he was about to break into a run after her.

The carriage was much nicer than anything she'd seen in her young life, and though they were for all intents and purposes, considered neighbours, it was still a half hour ride to his estate.

Dragonstone.

Her skin prickled at the mere thought of it.

She'd never seen it before. Nor had any of her family.

All she knew was that it was often clouded in fog, that when you stood at the front gates you could barely see the arching towards and dark brick in the distance anyway.

All she had heard was what people said.

That it was a frightful, maze of a place. With winding corridors and crooked doorways, and barely any servants.

He was a rich man, why not employ more?

He did not say a word the entire way home. He only sat, cross legged, and fiddle with his fingers like he was nervous. Turning them over in micro-movements.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

As Dragonstone came into view once they crossed the boundary of the iron gates, she felt her breath taken away.

And it was only when Aemond assisted her with a hand as she stepped down from the carriage that she could really appreciate the sheer size of his estate.

It was so big it was beyond comprehension.

She briefly wondered if she would get lost in such a place.

"Cole will bring your things to our room"

Her heart started to flutter, and pitter patter all at the same time.

Our room.

She had almost forgotten her one wifely duty she was to fulfil this evening.

To appease him.

The thought made a sort of tightness in her belly, though she was unsure why. Of course, her elder sister had divulged her own horror story of her wedding night. Though her sister was twenty and she herself only five and ten at the time, the nitty gritty was of great curiosity to her.

"For several hours the poor thing just cried and it rather spoiled the mood. Turned out that he had…pleased himself the morning of the wedding so as not to become too excited when the evening rolled around.

Oh well, no matter. Instead, when he had a rather excited visitor the next morning he crawled atop me and breathed heavily into my neck while he tried to get it inside me. 'Twas over in an instant dear sister and I did not feel a thing".

Though the anecdote was funny, although awkward seeing as she sat next to her brother-in-law the next morning and tried not to giggle, right now, it did little to quell the gnawing inside her.

Aemond did not seem as quiet and unsure of himself as her brother-in-law was. She doubted a man of his standing would have any issue fulfilling his role as a husband.

As he had done, six times before.

Which triggered yet another question.

Why no children? Surely all six of his previous wives could not have been barren?

Did they commit suicide? Ashamed of themselves for failing to fulfil this task? Were they all mere accidents? Or did someone break in at night to steal his plethora of fine jewels and artefacts and run into one of his unfortunate wives along the way?

It seemed entirely impossible.

She watched Aemond walk confidently to the front doors, where a couple of servants stood to greet the new Lady of Dragonstone. His coat fluttered around his thighs as he turned, the ends of his silver hair hung like they were floating.

"Wife. May I introduce you to the staff. Anything you so wish, please do not hesitate to ask them"

The two servants stood, hands clasped, looking entirely scared stiff. One was a middle aged man with an apron dirtied at the edges, and the other a maid, barely five and twenty, who offered her a polite curtsy.

She simply smiled at them, "a pleasure".

They said nothing.

There was something melancholic. Ancient. And crushing about Dragonstone.

She felt the weight on her shoulders the moment she passed those gates. Did they feel it too?

Did Aemond?

This was the only moment he seemed to smile, as miniscule as it was with a darkened gaze, was when he turned to look at his new wife and nodded.

"If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I will see you tonight for supper"

His expression never wavered, even as he bent at the middle to press his lips to her hand, above the ring he had placed on her finger not a few hours before.

The servants quickly scuttled out of her sight and so she thought to amuse herself by exploring her new home. Out of habit, she started upstairs, going straight to her bedroom to inspect.

There was a large four poster bed made of what appeared to be walnut in the middle of the room, with various ornaments strewn about, but very little to suggest that he actually relaxed in here.

There were no mementos, keepsakes, and she thought briefly she couldn't get a grasp on his personality this way either.

She blushed and felt that tightness again at the thought of sharing a bed with him, of what they might have to do.

The rest of the house was indicative of the first room she ventured to. Lacking a certain personality she was sure existed in her new husband but one he refused to show.

The estate was cold and empty, with flagstone floors stretching along the long dark hallways.

There were so many doors it was difficult to know what on earth could be behind all of them. She'd so far discovered the Library, the Dining Room and even happened upon the scullery rather by accident.

And then, one room…

It had a oxblood red door, worn around the edges and the colour faded somewhat. She noted the scuff marks around the handle and the hinges, as well as the stone beneath the door where overtime, footsteps had worn it down.

So she was doubly surprised to find the door locked.

Curious.

Her skin prickled, and she was sure for a moment that she saw her own misty breath. Like that feeling that someone is watching you but you are too afraid to move an inch. The tips of her fingers suddenly felt numb.

She felt it on her neck, an iciness.

But when she turned, her breath stuck in her chest from panic, she could only see nothing but the empty corridor.

And all was silent.

There was a heaviness in her chest which seemed to pass through her like trying to walk through honey, trying to pull your feet up just an inch to step forward.

And as quickly as that feeling came, it was gone and she turned back in panic once she heard soft, careful footsteps behind the oxblood door.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in fear, trying to reason with herself.

Undeniable footsteps, ones that had started at the threshold and we're now walking slowly away from her.

The blood rushed warmly back into her fingertips, and she rubbed them painfully against her navy dress, trying to will a feeling back into them.

Footsteps…

She only heard her own as she hurried down the corridor again, her shoes clocking against the flagstone.

So desperate to get away from that heavy, morbid feeling that she nearly hurtled right into the young maid.

"My Lady!"

"I do apologise" she uttered immediately, her chest pushing against her bodice with her hurried breath, "I was not looking where I was going".

The maid curtsied, as if she'd forgotten to and straightened, "Supper is to be served, my Lady. May I-"

"What is that room? Down the hall?" She asked.

The maid raised her eyebrows, "Which one, my Lady?"

She turned her head down the hallway once again to point to the one she meant, and her words died on her lips.

The door moved.

It was unmistakable.

The shadow where the door was leant ajar quickly disappeared, and the frame was filled once more by the large wooden slat against it.

There was no click of a lock to be heard.

She was so afraid she lost herself for a moment. Going all pale. So much so the maid had to prompt her.

"My Lady?"

She shook her head, looking back to see if the door would move again, and drift open as it had before.

But it never did.

And the thought that as she was running away before, the door was slowly inching open, scared her beyond belief.

"It's nothing, I apologise" she said quickly, "Supper, thank you".

There was nothing of note for the rest of the evening.

Supper was quiet. And the table was so long with husband and wife sat at either end, that they may as well have been in separate rooms while they ate.

It was nice enough food she was grateful for that. A selection of soups and meats, and breads to fill her belly between courses.

He did not speak.

He barely moved any other muscle than his arm to fork the meat into his mouth. She watched him every now and then, over the barely dancing flame of the candelabra, otherwise the room would be completely dark.

So she drank her wine, and stayed silent. Waiting to be spoken to.

The only thing he said was right at the end.

"Shall we retire for bed, wife?"

And she could not very well say no.

She made brief eye contact with the maid as she followed her husband to the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier and more nerve-wracking than the last.

Her husband was tall, broad and she had no doubt be enjoyed the domineering aura he gave off. Judging by the dark colours of his waistcoat and trousers, as well as the leather eyepatch over one eye, he enjoyed inhabiting darkness.

She thought with some amusement that the only bright things about him were his hair and eyes.

Things he could not change.

He was certainly a marvel of a man. And truthfully, she should count herself lucky that he is at least somewhat close to her in age.

Aemond closed the door softly once they were both inside. The curtains were now drawn, and the room was filled with an amber glow from the candles the maid had lit for them.

She needn't ask him for help, for her new husband immediately stood behind her, and began to unlace her dress as if they had been married an age.

His movements were so sure. And she felt with jealousy of some kind that he had done this with six other women before her.

No wonder he was practiced.

There was no room for romance when to him, it was all just a matter of duty.

She stood only in her chemise, having pulled her hair free of her braids, feeling his gaze the entire time.

"Are you intent on remaining silent, wife?" He asked, and she heard him pull off his waistcoat with every pop of his buttons.

"Or might you become more vocal in the marriage bed?"

She felt her cheeks flush and thickness in her throat. Inadvertently pressing her legs together where a sort of excitement was blooming.

"I could not say…" she answered.

And chuckled lowly, pressing his front to her back, dragging his nose up the side of her neck, just as she had seen before.

She felt something hard press against her backside, his hips pushing it against her and moving softly, creating just a tiny bit of friction.

"Tell me" he muttered, his lips tickling her ear, "tell me what a good wife does"

She was suddenly nervous, thinking about what other people had told her.

And it was increasingly difficult to think, with his large hands pulling her chemise off her body.

"A good wife…is loyal to her husband" she recited, her breath coming in short pants, "she is…loving"

He blew air from his nose, like he was amused.

"..and she is obedient"

"That's it"

Aemond peeled the chemise off her, letting it drift to the floor.

"A good wife makes herself available to her husband"

She gasped and he revelled in it, as he pushed her newly naked body onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress and watching as her husband bared himself one button at a time.

"Of course. There a many other wifely duties" he grinned.

His fingers moved to his trousers.

"But for now, I only care about this one".

Being touched all over was strange. There was a dull ache in her core when her husband touched certain areas, a feeling that she didn't recognise.

Her confused and somewhat distressed face at the whole ordeal was endearing to him.

Her young, plump face looked up at him with gleaming eyes and shame arched in her eyebrows.

It hurt. Not as greatly as she thought. But it still did.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon"

She did as he said, turning her face away. But it was not over soon.

His member throbbed inside her, and she thought she'd never felt more full in her life. Since closing her eyes, she could not see the way his hair began to tangle around him, as his hips chased hers and came against hers with a soft smack.

The pain gave way to another feeling still.

That same ache she felt when he'd touched her.

Aemond smirked when he saw the confused, ashamed expression on her face. At the way she pressed her lips together.

"I think you are enjoying this" he murmured lowly, pushing harder into her like he was intent in piercing her stomach, "if I did not know any better, you would almost be moaning".

She didn't want it to feel good.

Or did she.

It felt wrong.

And yet she couldn't deny when he raised her thighs, his fingers wrapped into her flesh, it did feel good.

"Look at me" he whispered, never stopping, "Look at your husband, who is giving you pleasure"

Some excitement sparked inside him, when she didn't do as he asked, her warm embarrassed face pressed into the sheets as much as she could. Her eyes closed.

He laughed when she refused.

"Yes - you feel it, do you not? No need to act all coy. I can feel your body's response"

Shame crept into her body, her limbs going all tight just as he'd said. Feeling herself hit that irreplaceable point, she simply whimpered and felt his length throb once more before he spilled inside of her, releasing all he had to give.

She thought with lewdness, that his spend was warm inside her.

Aemond seemed to take great pleasure in making his wife shrink into herself with embarrassment and shame every time they coupled. He loved that doe eyed look she gave him, as if he did not have his cock buried between her legs every night he could since the wedding.

He would have her any way. Fully clothed if the moment presented itself.

There was something erotic about taking something that looked so innocent and filling her with his spend. How she would act all coy, with it dripping down her thighs.

He delighted in the fact that he had managed to kidnap this sweet young thing, and use her for himself and his pleasure any moment he was able. And the month that passed since the wedding, he could not think of a time that was sweeter.

So it was with great irritation that he was called to King's Landing. Some business with his brother that apparently couldn't wait.

He did not want to leave her.

He spoke firmly, stood before the oxblood door in his travel wear.

"While I am away, you must not enter this room. Do you understand?"

When she nodded without asking why, he smiled in pride and placed the master key in her small palm. Entrusting that she would do as she had promised in his absence.

He thought he'd reward her when he returned, by fucking her in the comfort of their bed sheets, until she was pink in the faxe and begging him to stop. Just as he liked her to be.

As soon as her husband left, she felt even more that she was being watched. All the little hairs on the back of her neck pointed upwards.

The maid kept clear of her, which was nothing unusual. But it was almost as if she was escaping rooms before she herself knew why. As if she knew what invaded the invisible space within them as soon as her back was turned.

Did she hear the voices too? See the dark figures and closing doors?

Anytime she passed the long dark hallway to the oxblood door, she felt her curiosity grow tenfold. But also a sense of dread, heavy in her gut, tugging her back to this wretched place.

What could be behind the door, that her husband wished not for her to see?

In the Library, the fire crackled comfortably as she turned the faded pages of her book. The maid busied herself collecting the dirtied saucers and teacups beside her, humming to herself gently.

The air suddenly went cold around her neck, and a breeze passed, evident by the dangling of her earrings. It was not only her imagination.

"A golden key. Oxblood door. Give the six souls rest, sweet child"

She looked up at the maid, "I am sorry, did you say something?"

The maid straightened and shook her head quickly, eyebrows arched in confusion, "No, my Lady"

Why did the maid always flee like that? Like someone was chasing her? With their claws at her back like an animal in the forest?

The key was ornate, with winding patterns and several notches at the top. And when she held it in her small palm, it felt hot to the touch like an iron rod.

Aemond would punish her.

How? She did not know.

She slotted the key into the door, without the energy to turn it. And her limbs felt heavy, and her knuckles cold, like someone was pushing on it. Forcing her will.

"That's right. Insert the key into the keyhole, and turn…"

A voice echoed off the stone.

A low, sweet, mature voice.

Click.

The oxblood door gave way to light, torches lit at every corner, illuminating the oxblood colour of the floor before her.

A step down.

The floor rippled like liquid.

"Our souls…"

Her shoe was slick with something oily that clung to the suede. Irreparably staining them.

Her skin prickled. Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat.

Six torch-lit figures reflected in the blood on the flagstone floor.

Hung, wrists bound over their head. White skulls in various stages of deterioration, with strings of what was once luscious hair drifting past their bony shoulders.

She saw with dread, they were still wearing dresses that hung off their ivory skeletons.

She was sure she collapsed with grief, a scream echoing around her that did not feel like her own. The only sound she registered was the clanging of the key as she dropped it in shock, blood of Aemond's ex-wives enveloping the brass.

Her throat felt sore.

She watched their empty eye sockets. The dust over their bound hands and their feet as they dangled inches off the floor.

Breath hot in her lungs like she was clinging to life as she knew it, she scrambled for the key and pulled the door shut behind her with a mighty boom.

Darkness crawled up her skin, now that she knew what was behind it.

Was this her fate?

If she displeased him, would she be their successor?

She was sat, with head in hand, in a state of complete distress with sweat on her brow and neck as Aemond returned.

She had paced the room for hours she felt, wringing her hands, as if to find what she might say to him on his arrival. He'd see it on her face.

He would know she had seen the corpses of his precious wives on her soft, innocent features. Scarred forever by death.

His tall, broad form filled the doorframe. And he dropped his coat onto the bed with a tired huff, but said nothing.

She almost wished he would say something. To spare her this horrible anticipation.

But she watched as he took two careful steps in. His one eye flitting over to the key he'd left her on the bureau.

The blood had not lifted from the brass. She could not wash it. No matter how much time she committed to it, it would not become clean.

Her husband looked back at her like she was something to eat, his eye half open with only half his iris visible.

She sobbed and cried when he advanced and held her to the wall by her neck with ease, slamming her small body against it.

"You thought you would get away without punishment, hm?"

She sobbed like a child, her tears wetting her cheeks and neck, to his fingers. Her own tried to pry his away, feeling that he was hurting her effortlessly with his grip around her throat.

"Please…husband…"

He could have laughed.

"Now is no time for begging. Tell me, how should I punish you, wife?, he grinned widely, his tone low and condescending as he spoke to the small woman before him.

"Please…you may do as you like with me - just first, let me pray-" she begged with a hoarse, tired voice. Never feeling that she could be scared of him in this way.

He pulled his head away, looking down at her past his nose, his lips tight.

She felt his grip loosen, but the places where his fingers had been were sore and red.

"I shall do as I please. But since you asked so nicely to pray. I shall let you"

She felt herself breathing like she was swallowing fire a she stepped out the door, allowing her privacy to pray before he inevitably drove a dagger through her, or something of the like.

She rushed to the master key and locked the door with a quick slam and click, locking her husband out and flinching when his palms pushed with urgency on the other side. Rapping on the wood like an animal who couldn't see their prey.

She had no intention of praying.

"Open this door! Now!"

Her eyes scanned the room anxiously and with urgency. She felt her fingers shaking as he pushed the window open, looking down at the great height she would have to jump to escape him.

A sure death.

She clambered over the bureau, her knees knocking painfully on the wood as she advanced in a panicked state towards the ledge.

Her brother.

If she could just escape to him.

He would save her.

A clang of metal rattled against the floor as her husband, as strong as she was, sent the door flinging off the hinges. His large arms wrapped around her waist as she writhed, fearing her life. Expecting a blade to her neck. Or perhaps to be dragged to the oxblood door, to never return.

"Husband - please - have mercy-"

"It is too late for 'please'. It is time for you to feel the consequence of your actions"

She struggled so much, he tackled her to the floor, holding both her forearms behind her back in one hand, pushing her front to the cold stone floor, her warm cheek moulding to the pattern of it.

"I beg you - have mercy and kill me quickly-"

Her tears wet her face entirely, feeling his body over her back, pressing his hips into her backside, letting her feel his wrath.

"Mercy?" He chuckled darkly, "why would I show the likes of you mercy?"

"You who I have treated with care and respect. You who has disobeyed me"

"My Lady shall learn this lesson now"

His voice was dark and low, and it scared her more than the whisperings of the paranormal and the sight of what was behind the oxblood door.

She panicked with a warm face as he rucked up her skirts to her waist, flinching when she felt two of his thick fingers swipe across her hot centre while he continued to hold her down.

"I do not often take pleasure in teaching my wife a lesson. But, for you, I shall make an exception"

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to anger him with her whimpers and whines as she felt him slide his trousers down and rub his hot, throbbing member, ready and waiting for her, against her cunt, collecting her wetness on his length for ease of entry.

He sighed longingly, his breath tickling her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her jaw.

She choked on her breath as he slid into her, his fingers holding her hips desperately to widen her legs to accommodate him deeper inside her.

"None of them were worthy - fucking none of them -" he breathed, his breath hitching with each soft smack of his hips against her, stretching her walls to the shape and size of him and groaning at the way her hot insides parted.

"Do you wish me to give you a child, hm? None of them - fuck - none of them could give me what you do-"

She whimpered, feeling his length fill her repeatedly and bully the end of her, each blow against that rough spot inside increasingly making her shame and despair at his use of her body ebb away into a forbidden and unknown feeling.

"If you do not behave, you will not be allowed that pleasure" he muttered, his breath coming in short bursts, his thrusts as well becoming sloppy and unconfident.

Her gut warmed with his length piercing her insides. And she felt as though she was missing something he was telling her in his own way. Eyebrows arched in confusion.

Even now, while he fucked her on the floor, she felt afraid for her life.

"Oh, little one, I am almost disappointed that it took so long for you to realise that I do not intend to kill you.”

Her wet eyes cracked open to turn her head in discomfort to him. Her cheek rubbing against the stone floor as he pulled her hips up to fuck her deeper.

"No. You shall give me children. Many of them if you wish to please me"

She tightened around him completely out of instinct, and Aemond groaned loudly above her, pushing his chest so hard against her back she felt she might break.

And her hands clenched into fists, absentmindedly pushing her hips back to him to chase the remnants of that sweet rapture she was sometimes awarded when coupling with him.

A sweet escape from this prison.

He laughed, when he realised that she was quite resigned to her fate.

That she, compared to his other wives, was finally worthy of giving him children. Of satiating his desire to dominate a woman so easily. How he enjoyed watching the look of shame and pleasure on her face, as she battled with herself to submit to him or not.

He slammed with a wet squelch back into her again, filling her with his warmth with a long, shuddered groan. His grip so hard around her forearm, she was sure blood did not reach her hands.

He continued to move shallowly into her, pushing his spend as deep inside her as it would go. As if, whether she wanted to or not, he would fuck his child into her and watch her grow fat and round.

And then, once she had one, would fuck yet another into her.

Her breath came fast and hot from her swollen lips as she trembled around him, unknowingly prolonging his pleasure inside her.

His lips brushed against her ear.

"No other words before I begin?"

It was difficult with her head pushed against the floor, but she nodded softly in confirmation. Relief flooding her as she saw her husband's smirk rise to his lips, both his hands dropping to her hips to tug her back onto his length.

"Then let us begin"

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r0ugesun · 2 months

Note

Can you write about a witch reader × aemond? Like he was lost after a battle of God eyes in the wood and then he found the reader, and then she help him with his wounds?

Thank you so much for your request. I apologize for the delay, and I appreciate your patience. I hope this meets your expectations :>

(Also shout out @moonstruksandco for helping me with this she’s my irl wife my moon and muse❤️)

Witch!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

No warnings

Synopsis: After a fierce battle above the gods eye, a wounded Aemond finds refuge with Y/N, a reclusive witch, who offers healing in exchange for something that will help guard the forest. They find solace amid the chaos of the ongoing war.

“You have lived too long uncle”

“On that much we agree.”

The battle above the God’s Eye was a clash of beasts, dragons roaring fiercely at their riders’ command. Smoke and flames thickened the air, war cries echoing across the sky like distant thunder.

Vhagar expertly maneuvered around Caraxes, their talons intertwining in a deadly dance. Though old, Vhagar's experience in combat was undeniable, but she struggled against the agile younger dragon. In a swift moment, Caraxes snapped his jaws onto Vhagar’s neck, giving Daemon the chance to leap from his saddle, Dark Sister aimed at Aemond.

But Aemond’s death did not come however, Vhagar twisted and writhed in caraxes grasp until her fire engulfed Daemon, sending him and caraxes into the depths of the lake.

The forest beyond was a twisted labyrinth, ancient trees clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The aftermath of the battle left the land charred, a silent witness to horror. Bloodied and broken, Aemond staggered through the underbrush, pain eclipsed only by the grief in his heart. His mighty dragon vhagar lay dead below the water, her sacrifice weighing heavily on him.

As darkness threatened to consume him, a soft, ethereal glow broke through the shadows. Driven by instinct, Aemond forced himself toward the light.

He stumbled into a secluded glade, where a dilapidated stone house covered in ivy stood, a beacon amid the gloom. The air was infused with the scent of incense and flowers, a sharp contrast to the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh he’d left behind. A lone figure, cloaked in black, tended to a moonlit garden. She turned, her eyes reflecting the light like constellations.

“Who goes there?” Her voice was a haunting melody stern, yet oddly soothing.

Aemond collapsed at the edge of the clearing, vision fading. “...help…me,” he gasped.

The woman crossed her arms, her expression one of clear annoyance. “The spirits always send me their messes to clean up.” she muttered under her breath.

Without a word, she stepped aside and helped him in, though her demeanor was far from welcoming. Aemond staggered into the warmth of the cottage, the scent of herbs and something unidentifiable filling his senses. The woman guided him to a wooden table, but her touch was far from gentle.

“My name is Aemond,” he managed, though his vision was blurring.

She rolled her eyes. “I know who you are, Prince Aemond. I am Y/N. Sit still and don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Aemond watched as she moved around the room, gathering supplies with quick, irritated motions. She mixed herbs with practiced ease, creating a paste that she applied to his cuts and bruises. Her touch, though skilled, was brusque, and the pain began to ebb away under her care despite her apparent displeasure.

Then darkness took him. When he awoke, he found himself in a dim room, shelves lined with mysterious vials and tomes in a language he didn’t recognize. The woman was beside him, applying a green salve. It stung at first but soon numbed his pain.

“You saved me” Aemond rasped.

Her nod was slight, her gaze steady. “Your wounds are grave, but you will not join the Stranger yet. I will heal you.”

He studied her intricate symbols etched into her tunic, her skin shimmering like silver in candlelight. “Who are you? Why are you alone in these woods?”

“I am y/n” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “I tend to the animals. They need me.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “You tend to the beasts of the forest? You’re not just a healer, are you? You’re a witch.”

She she looked at him sharply “That’s one name for it. I am whoever the forest needs me to be sometimes a healer, sometimes a protector. And sometimes, something more.”

His expression softened as she unfastened his tunic, revealing deep, angry wounds across his muscular torso.

“These wounds run deep. Can you truly treat them?”

“Trust me” she said, fingers hovering over his scars, her voice unwavering. “The magic flows through me, but it requires something in return.”

Taking a deep breath, he felt the weight of his decision. “Very well. Do what you must.”

Y/n’s fingers grazed his skin, warmth radiating from her touch. “Close your eyes. Breath deep.”

As he obeyed, a surge of energy enveloped him in q blend of warmth and power flowing from her into his wounds. He sensed the whispers of the forest, and for the first time, he allowed himself to believe in something beyond mere survival.

When the healing was done, she stepped back, her eyes searching his. “I need a scale from your dragon” she said, her tone more serious.

His eye snapped open, suspicion and curiosity mingling. “For what purpose?”

“There’s an ancient spell I need to complete” she explained. “One that requires the essence of a dragon. With it, I can enhance my powers and protect this land from the dark forces encroaching upon it.”

He hesitated, the pain of his dragon’s loss still raw. “Vhagar lays at the bottom of the lake, I fear I won’t be able to reach her.”

"Not a problem, I can brew a potion that will grant you the breath of the sea, allowing you to reach her without pause." she replied. “Will you do it?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he nodded, the weight of her request heavy on his heart. “I will……I thank you for your help.”

“Come” she said, she gathered her ingredients with practiced grace. the air thick with the scent of herbs and salt Wisps of smoke curled from a small cauldron as she kindled the flame beneath it, the fire dancing in rhythm with her murmured incantations.

She crushed silvery seaweed between her fingers, releasing a shimmer of iridescent essence, and added it to the bubbling brew. Next, she sprinkled in powdered pearls, their luminescence casting a soft glow around the room. As she stirred with a carved wooden ladle, the liquid transformed into a deep azure, swirling like the depths of the lake.

With a final flourish, she dropped in a glimmering shard of moonstone, causing the potion to shimmer and pulse with an ethereal light. “Drink this by the lake, and you shall breathe as easily as the currents flow”

As he left her hut, determination and sorrow fueled his steps. The scale of his recently fallen dragon, an ancient spell, and a witch’s power, this journey was far from over.

With a steady hand, Aemond raised the shimmering potion to his lips, the cool liquid gliding down his throat like a gentle wave. Instantly, a rush of warmth enveloped him, filling his lungs with a strange, invigorating energy.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the water’s edge, the moonlight reflecting off the surface like scattered diamonds. He plunged into the lake, the cool water wrapping around him like a cloak. As he descended, he felt the potion working, granting him the ability to hold his breath as he swam deeper, propelled by determination and the promise of what awaited him below.

As Aemond descended further into the lake’s depths, the water grew darker, illuminated only by the faint glimmer of bioluminescent creatures. Suddenly, he spotted Vhagar, her massive form resting peacefully on the silty bottom, surrounded by a tranquil stillness. Beside her lay his uncle, the visage of his former glory entwined with the majestic shape of Caraxes, their bond transcending even death.

A heavy heart weighed on Aemond as he approached, the sight of Vhagar once a fierce and fearsome beast now appearing serene in eternal slumber. He felt a bittersweet pang of longing, knowing the dragon had once soared the skies with him.

With a quiet determination, he swam closer, carefully reaching out to take a few scales from Vhagar’s side, each one a testament to their shared history. As his fingers brushed against her scales, a profound sense of reverence washed over him, mingling with grief and the echoes of lost love.

Hours later, Aemond returned, a scale from Vhagar in his hand. The witch y/n took it reverently, her eyes softening. “This will do,” she murmured.

Together, they ventured into the heart of the forest, where Y/n began her incantations. The air thickened with magic as she worked, the scale glowing with an otherworldly light. Aemond watched, his heart heavy yet hopeful.

As the spell reached its climax, the forest seemed to come alive. The trees swayed as if in reverence, and a deep, echoing roar filled the air. Vhagar’s spirit emerged, majestic and powerful, her essence blending with the forest. She became its guardian, a spectral presence that would protect the land.

Aemond felt a profound sense of peace. Vhagar was gone, but her spirit lived on, safeguarding the forest. He turned to y/n, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you” he said softly.

She looked up at him, her stern expression softening. “Vhagars sacrifice will not be forgotten. This land is safe now, thanks to both of you.”

Days turned into weeks as Aemond recovered under Y/N’s care. Her initial annoyance with him faded, replaced by a grudging respect and something more tender. They spoke of many things of dragons and magic, of loss and hope. Aemond found himself drawn to her strength and independence, while she began to see the depth of his pain and the vulnerability beneath his warrior exterior.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Aemond reached for her hand. “You’ve done so much for me… I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

She met his gaze, her eyes soft but still guarded. “You owe me nothing. I did this for the forest….And perhaps, for you as well.”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “Y/N, I’ve come to care for you deeply. More than I ever thought possible.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. “Aemond…our lives are so different. I am bound to my duty to the forest, to its magic. And you… you are a prince, with duties the war isn’t over”

“There’s nothing left for me there” he said, his hand gently cupping her face. “What matters to me is here, with you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. The fire crackled softly beside them, mirroring the flame igniting their love. “Then stay” she whispered. “With me.”

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, the spirits of the forest their only witnesses to their new bond. Despite the chaos of the world outside, they found each other, a love as fierce and enduring as the magic that surrounded them.

For the first time in a long time, Aemond felt truly happy.

#aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond kinslayer #aemond one eye #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond oneshot #my writing

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captn-trex · 5 days

Text

playing pretend

Rex x F!Reader / Bi!Reader

word count: 4.2k

description: Rex is a good friend of yours, and any good friend would teach you how to flirt, right?

warnings: reader is bisexual, a few suggestive lines of dialogue/sexual innuendo, friends to lovers, that's it I think

a/n: I really went back and forth on whether to make the reader bi or not lmao. I suppose it could get less reads because of it but eh. at the end of the day I write for my own enjoyment, so here it is

You drummed your fingers unrhythmically on the table, watching your ‘target’, so to speak, from across the bar. You pursed your lips, brows drawn together in concentration as your mind worked something up.

“Are you-”

“I’m finding it” You cut off the clone Captain, holding your hand up as you continued watching the woman at the bar.

She was honestly gorgeous, you couldn't have possibly missed her when she walked in. Her hair falling to her jaw and hanging over her forehead and into her eyes, those big blue eyes…

Okay. Maybe you were getting a little ahead of yourself, you didn't even know the woman. But you wanted to know her, and that was enough.

“Nothing is going to happen if you just keep staring, you know” Rex informed you with a teasing grin, and you directed a lazy scowl in his direction.

“I'm aware, just give me a minute” You turned back to watch the woman once more.

She was now on her tiptoes, leaning over the bar a little to talk to the bartender, and you gulped, looking back to Rex. His expression was nothing short of amused, watching you fawn over this mystery woman and not having the guts to go and speak to her.

“You're really not helping right now” You grumbled, and he just grinned back at you, shrugging.

“I know, it's funnier just to watch”

“Some friend you are” You rolled your eyes, but there was no real animosity behind it.

You and Rex had been friends for a number of years, with you working as an engineer in the heart of the Republic. You didn't get to see him very often anymore, especially not with the war stretching the GAR so thin, so you cherished these moments you did get with him. You felt sort of bad, having gone to the bar to catch up with him and now having your eyes glued to someone else.

“I can't understand what the fuss is all about” Rex admitted as he took a swig of his drink.

“What? You must be joking” You laughed, “She's probably the most stunning person I've ever seen”

Rex scrunched his nose a little, a shrug in his shoulders, “Eh, not my type”

You blew out a long breath, shaking your head disapprovingly, “You're missing out then”

“Seems you'll be missing out too” He replied quickly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You nudged his shoulder a little, “Once again, not helping”

You let your eyes wander back to the woman in question, who was somehow still alone, and now holding a drink. She was stood leaning her back against the bar, her eyes scanning the room as she swirled her drink with the straw provided.

You sighed, but it wasn't a dreamy sigh of admiration, it was shallow and exasperated. Rex frowned a little, the heavy breath audible even over the loud volume of the bar. He bit into his cheek a little before he spoke.

“What's actually stopping you from going over?” He asked, the sincerity in his voice surprising you.

You turned to look at him again, and found the look he was giving you to be all too inviting. You shifted in your seat a little, looking down to your lap and musing on how it was exactly that kind of look, from his eyes specifically, that made you so nervous to go and speak to the woman.

You had always secretly harboured some more-than-friendly feelings for the Captain, and had tried to make that known. After a while of trying, you presumed he was deliberately ignoring your advances in the hopes that you'd stop, so you did. Though it didn't stop the way your heart raced when his amber eyes met yours with such an intensity as they just had.

Truthfully, it was the complicated feelings that you had for the Captain that had shaken your confidence, and you found yourself unable to even try. Especially with him sat right there.

It was particularly odd. In every other aspect of your life, you were reasonably confident, or at least sure of yourself and your abilities. However when it came to the realm of romance, you had no such luck.

You couldn't tell Rex that it was your ridiculous crush on him that made you feel this way, you know he would blame himself and just keep apologising for ever shaking your self-worth. Though, it wasn't his fault, it was you.

You, ever the romantic, that loved far more easily and deeply than apparently anyone else.

“I'm just no good at… flirting, and… all that stuff” You admitted, your voice a little quieter than it had been the moment before.

Rex studied you carefully, his eyes scanning your suddenly nervous demeanour.

“That's bullshit”

Your gaze snapped back to him, your expression almost scandalised, “What?”

“You're so outgoing, there's no way” He argued, but you just shook your head at him.

“It's not just about being outgoing” You countered.

“Then what is it about?” He crossed his arms, leaning forward so that his elbows rested against the table.

You laughed airily, “I'm not sure, why don't you tell me?”

“You want flirting advice from me?” Rex smirked a little, one eyebrow lifted as his eyes bored into you.

“No, I-” You rolled your eyes once again, then came to a stop, “I guess that's not a bad idea actually”

Rex was a little bemused, you could see that much plain as day on his features. He bit into his lip a little, watching you with concentrated eyes for a moment.

“Alright, I'll give it a shot” He conceded, and you gave him a small grin.

“Okay then, where do we begin Master Rex?" You asked with a slight air of teasing.

“Please don't call me that” He huffed, shaking his head, “But I don't know, what's your usual approach?”

You should know. You couldn't stop yourself thinking it.

“Uh…” You thought for a moment. What was your usual approach? “I guess I try a compliment, and then if that lands, I… try and work whatever response they give into some kinda… story, a tidbit, an explanation, that sort of thing. To get talking or whatever”

“Right” Rex frowned for just a second before his expression returned to neutral. You almost thought you'd imagined it. “And that doesn't work?”

You huffed, “Well obviously not, if it hasn't got me anywhere yet”

Rex hummed thoughtfully, giving you an odd sort of look that you really couldn't place.

“What is it?” You asked. You were open enough with him that you could ask freely and you knew he'd give you an honest answer.

“Nothing” He dismissed it.

At least, you thought he'd give you an honest answer.

“Okay, why don't you try flirting with me and we can see where it's going wrong” He suggested, his regular demeanour returning.

You gave him your best disgusted look, “Flirt with you? No thanks”

He just rolled his eyes, “It's just pretend, come on”

“Pretend or not, it's still you” You pointed out, desperately trying to contest the way your body was reacting to the thought of actually flirting with Rex. Or more accurately, Rex flirting with you.

“Oh please, you should be so lucky” He pushed at your side a little, his face pulled into a teasing smile.

Oh, how right he was.

“Come on, humour me” He urged.

You sighed aggressively, giving in, “Fine”

The task was a lot easier said than done. What could you say to Rex that could go under the radar enough that he wouldn't realise you were actually interested in him? Your mind drew a blank.

But those eyes… the ones that drew you in like nothing else, they were just watching you, same as ever. Could you really compliment his eyes? Or would that be too much? Had you complimented his eyes all those moons ago when you had tried to gain his attention? You couldn't remember.

“Say Rex” You gave your best over-the-top voice, accompanying it with a sickly sweet smile, “Did you know, you have the most wonderful brown eyes?”

Rex chuckled at your ridiculousness, “Stop fooling around, come on, do it properly”

“Hey! How do you know that wasn't me doing it properly?” You acted offended, but Rex just gave you a pointed look and you huffed, “Fine, fine”

You knew what Rex was like, always too eager to help, so you put your ego aside for a moment and just gave in to letting him help you do this. You took a deep breath before beginning, mustering up a little courage.

“You know Rex…” You began, your tone regular with an extra hint of wonder, and leaning ever so slightly towards him, “I've never met anyone with eyes quite as beautiful as yours”

It was said in such earnest, almost wistfully, that Rex actually seemed a little startled. He quickly recovered though, and leant in a fraction himself, continuing the simulation.

“That right?” He hummed, looking at you down his nose a little, “You can't have met very many people in your life then”

You frowned, though your lips indicated a small smirk, “Don't sell yourself short Captain, It's true!” You insisted, “They're very captivating. Some might say they were brown, though I might say they were more amber than anything, and-” You leaned in even closer, your eyes narrowing a fraction as they looked into his, “That's right, there's a little bit of gold in there too”

Rex was thoroughly captivated. He wondered how you could say you were bad at flirting when you had him absolutely wrapped around your finger in only two lines. Not only was it your words, but it was everything else too. Everything about you. Your presence enveloping him, your face so close to his, your eyes searching his so deeply, inspecting him in a way that made him feel alive rather than scrutinised. It was enough to make him weak in the knees, so he was thankful for being sat down.

“I think you're just saying that” He spoke lowly, giving you a chance to back down, to take it back.

You shook your head resolutely, your smirk blooming, “I'm not a liar if that's what you're accusing me of”

“I wasn't-” Rex's voice was taken from him at the feel of your hand resting atop his thigh. He had armour on, of course, but had he known you were going to do that, he would have dressed down in civvies this evening. Even the light weight of your hand, the knowledge that it was there, was all that was needed to send his heart into overdrive.

“What was that, Captain?” You teased.

He gave you a look of warning, though it wasn't anywhere near as serious as he was pretending.

“Loth-cat got your tongue?” You purred, your eyes flicking down to his lips and back up again.

Rex was being driven insane. He tried to remind himself that you were just pretending, in a little game that he had suggested, no less, but that was doing little to quell the desire he felt for you.

“You know, if that loth-cat could be so kind as to give it back, I'm sure we could find another use for it” You spoke quietly, your gaze intense as you said the most daring line yet.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the alcohol in your system having loosened your lips, but your nerves were far from durasteel. You realised how close you had really got to him then, your leg pressed into his as your hand rested on his thigh, your mouth maybe an inch from his.

Rex spoke your name in a low tone. It sounded breathless, but like some sort of warning nonetheless. You maintained your composure as you drew away from him, as if to act like nothing was wrong, like you hadn't crossed a line.

“So, how'd I do?” You asked nonchalantly. You could feel your cheeks burning, so far from feeling calm and relaxed like you tried to appear.

Rex took a moment to come back to himself. He had been so completely lost in the moment, and though he kept trying to remind himself, he had forgotten it was supposedly all to help you learn how to flirt. His heart ached a little at the full realisation of that fact.

“Uh-” Rex cleared his throat, “Yeah, that was good”

“Any pointers?”

“Nope” Rex said, a little too quickly, and looked towards the bar, “You should get going if you want to catch her alone”

You brows drew together in confusion for a second, then you followed his line of sight to the woman, who still stood at the bar. Suddenly the prospect didn't seem as exciting.

“Right, yeah” You struggled to get a smile back onto your face, and you were sure it must've looked more like a grimace. “Wish me luck” You added, slinking out from the booth you both inhabited.

You didn't wait for his reply, you were honestly too mortified by the whole ordeal. Maker, what were you thinking? At least now speaking to this woman wouldn't be the scariest thing you did this evening.

Rex watched you walk up to the woman with the utmost confidence and begin talking to her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He couldn't help the twist of jealousy in his gut as she seemed to respond to your advances, and the two of you settled into a conversation. Though soon enough, the woman looked towards him and pointed, which made you turn and look at him. He had no idea what was going on, but luckily you trudged back to the table to let him know shortly thereafter.

“She wasn't into girls” You grumbled, slouching back into the booth.

“Ah, I'm sorry about that” Rex said as honestly as he could. He meant it, in certain ways. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be rejected for that reason, so he did feel for you, but he would be lying to say he was sad that you stopped flirting with someone else.

Rex desperately wanted all of your attention on him again, the way he did just minutes ago. You were almost as close as you had been before, your knee almost touching his, but it wasn't enough.

“Eh, it's fine. She was nice about it at least” You shrugged. “She was pretty interested in you though” You added with a small smirk, looking over at Rex to gauge his reaction.

“Oh” He seemed a little surprised, “Really?”

You nodded, “I think she wanted you to go over”

“Uh…” Rex frowned a little, his eyes flicking towards the woman and back to you, “I'm good. It's like I said, not my type”

“If you say so” You rolled your eyes a little, “What even is your type then?”

Rex gave you a weary look, a small smile blooming, “I'm gonna keep that to myself”

“Why? You have a thing for Wookiees or something?” You teased with a grin.

Then it was Rex's turn to roll his eyes, “I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer”

“I'm going to believe it until you give me a different answer” You crossed your arms, a smirk taunting him.

Rex just watched you for a moment, weighing in his mind how bad it would really be to just come out and confess to the way he truly felt about you. In some ways, even if you didn’t feel the same way, it would feel better to just get it off his chest. Then he could maybe stop thinking about you when it served him well not to. Like in the middle of missions. That was really quite irritating.

He settled on, “I think my type is women who don’t want me”

“Yeah, you and me both” You laughed, and Rex just gave an apologetic look which you ignored, “But something tells me you're lying”

“Lying about what?”

“That women don’t want you” You said as if it was obvious.

Rex gave you a strange look, “It's really that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, I mean-” You hesitated, and you couldn't help but think it would've been less obvious to just say it confidently, “You're a nice guy, and you're good looking, what's not to like, right?”

“I'm good looking?” Rex repeated, one of his eyebrows raised.

“Alright, I said it once, don't make me say it again” You rolled your eyes to brush off the question, “Anyway, who's this girl that doesn't like you back then?”

Rex huffed, looking away from you and tracing his finger around the top of his cup, “No one, you wouldn't know her”

Your heart sunk a little, despite Rex's assertion that this woman didn't return his affections.

“Alright well why are you under the impression that she doesn’t like you?” You asked, leaning forwards onto your elbows.

“Um…” Rex tried to think of a good reason, “I'm not sure, we're good friends so it's kinda tough”

“Well have you ever actually expressed that kind of interest in her?”

Rex cast a glance over at you, “No, not exactly”

You let out a short disbelieving laugh, “Well why not? How can you expect her to know you like her if you don't even show it”

Hearing those words coming straight from your mouth only drove home how stupid he was coming to realise his actions had been.

“I'm not sure, I don’t know what I could say at this point” He shrugged, looking back into his almost empty cup.

You rolled your eyes once more, “You could just tell her you like her”

“It's not that easy” Rex sighed. It was strangely therapeutic to actually talk about it, but it was definitely a little strange to be talking to you about it.

“Why not?”

Rex didn't reply, and you watched him with interest as he chewed on his bottom lip, his finger tracing his cup again. He looked particularly deep in thought.

“Okay well, what could you say then?” You changed your approach.

“I don't know” Rex huffed and looked up at you with some kind of thoughtful expression, “Maybe you could help”

You frowned a little, “But I don't know her…?”

“Right, but…” Rex paused, “If it was you, and someone was trying to show you that they liked you, what would be good to say, or do”

“Um…” You took a moment to look away and think.

Rex took note of the look of concentration on your face and his heart swelled a little, touched that you were taking this so seriously.

“I suppose… Maybe you'd want to get a little more physically intimate with them? you can kinda test the waters that way” You said, “Nothing crazy, just some quick touches, gets them thinking about it you know? If they respond positively to that then maybe try some more lingering touches”

“Ok, got it” He said assuredly, and, following your instructions, reached over and pushed some of your hair off of your face and behind your ear.

He could hear your breath catch in your throat, and fought to keep the smirk from his face. Your eyes widened a little, and he silently took great satisfaction in it. It seemed that you had responded positively to it, which boded well, according to you.

“What then?” Rex asked, keeping his tone light and acting clueless.

“Um, then…” You began slightly nervously, “I suppose you could give them some little compliments every now and then, or observations you make about them, to show you pay attention to the small things”

“You give really good advice, you know that?” Rex asserted, leaning his head into his hand and looking at you intently.

You were absolutely frozen. Was he meaning to do this? Or was it somehow just coincidence that he seemed to be following your instructions.

“Go on” He urged, moving his leg so that his knee rested against yours, “What after that?”

You took a shallow breath, “Maybe you could… try to spend some more time with them just one-on-one, or just try to be around them more. You know, give them your full attention. If you're friends already that shouldn't be too hard”

“Okay, I can do that” Rex said in reply.

He slung his arm over the back of the booth, now facing you and locking you into his gaze. It was electrifying, and the concentrated and adoring look in his eyes was something you could definitely get used to.

“What next?” He reminded you to continue.

“Uh, I- I'm not sure, maybe something will happen in that time” You shrugged, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him.

Rex hummed thoughtfully, and placed his hand gently on your knee, lightly tracing his thumb over your skin, “What might happen?”

There was no way this was coincidence.

“Whatever you want” You murmured without giving it much prior thought, causing Rex's eyebrows to raise.

“Is that right?” He asked in a low voice, almost asking for confirmation that you understood it was you that he was interested in, that he was getting you to help in winning over yourself.

You nodded, not speaking for fear that it would just be an undignified squeak.

“Well, if that's the case…” He spoke with a smirk.

He then slowly slid his hand up your outer thigh, his eyes still locked with yours, and he pulled you towards him and onto his lap so that you were straddling his legs. Your breath had been stolen from you, and you let your hands rest against Rex’s chest as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, his hands resting on your hips as he made sure.

“More than” You confirmed breathlessly, and his lips quirked into a half-smile, half-smirk.

“Good” He whispered, brushing his nose against yours, “Because I think this is a little overdue”

The feel of his lips against yours far superseded anything you had ever imagined, and it was something that you had thought about a lot. Though now, with it actually happening, your mind was empty, drained of thoughts and letting him take over everything.

His lips captured yours with a passion that had been long held back, and it was clear that he was done being secretive about it. He needed you to know just how long he had wanted this, how much he desired you. His hands held you hips firmly, fighting the urge to pull you into him further as you snaked your hand around his neck and deepened the kiss. You ran your fingernails gently down the back of his neck, and he shivered in response, his grip on you tightening.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his to regain the breath that had been so fervidly taken from you. When you opened your eyes and met his, you both started to laugh. It was almost too good to be true, and equally baffling that it was happening, after being just friends for so many years.

Rex grinned at you, shrugging a shoulder, “Like I said, a bit overdue”

“I'd say more than a bit” You argued with a wide smile.

Rex chuckled, “I mean, I have been waiting years, so yeah. More than a bit”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, pushing his shoulder a little, “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” He challenged.

You pursed your lips, “Hm. Touché”

“Doesn't matter now” Rex said in a murmur, and brought his lips to yours once more.

This kiss was much more reserved. Ardent but quick, an evident deep affection being shared. You missed the feeling of it immediately, chasing after his lips when he pulled away.

“Hey now, no need to be so eager” Rex chuckled teasingly.

You gave him a mock frown and a small irritated whine, and he laughed again.

“All in good time Mesh'la” He spoke smoothly, one hand coming to rest against your cheek, “Why don't we get out of here? We could even test out some of those other uses for my tongue”

Your eyes widened, remembering your earlier words, and then a small victorious smirk wound its way onto your face, “I think that sounds like a good idea”

#trex writings #clones #tcw #clone troopers #501st battalion #captain rex x reader #the clone wars #star wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x you #rex x reader #clone trooper #clone wars #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #star wars clone wars #divider by saradika

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bloodreinasbathwater · 3 months

Text

The Art & The Muse

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Artist!Reader

a:n took me forever to post this because I thought it was so boring (overthinking) and my Nico fic has taken up so much time, but here she is the artist and Luke in the official part 1.

Masterlist Link

Summary: A struggling artist finds inspiration in the most unexpected place - a painting class which the famous Luke Hughes has joined. y/n is in awe at his beauty, finding herself fascinated by his masculine beauty.

Part 1

word count - 3500

Y/N's fingers gripped the charcoal pencil with practiced ease as she surveyed the blank canvas before her, a slight furrow in her brow. Around her, the chatter of the other students filled the air, but she found herself quickly tuning it all out, her focus narrowing to the task at hand.

In her mind's eye, she could already see the image she wanted to create: a solitary figure standing on the precipice of a towering cliff, their gaze lost in the vast expanse of the ocean below. It was a scene that had haunted her dreams for weeks, and she couldn't wait to bring it to life.

She shook her head, ridding herself of any new ideas for the time being. This painting class was meant to learn a new perspective, to master the art of realism that had eluded her for the past two years. Her company had been nagging her relentlessly to deliver a new collection, and she knew she needed to regain her focus.

The class had begun, and the instructor - a petite woman with a warm smile and thick accent - was busy demonstrating techniques for sketching the live model posing at the front of the room.

Y/N nodded along absently, her eyes flickering toward the model, but it wasn't long before her gaze was drawn elsewhere.

"Alright, class, let's start with the basics," the instructor said, her voice lilting with an exotic flair. "Pay close attention to the model's posture, the way the light hits their skin. These are the details that will bring your sketch to life."

Y/N hummed in acknowledgement, but her focus had already shifted. Three easels down, sat a man who had immediately captured her attention the moment he'd walked through the door.

His sandy brown curls peeked out from under a well-worn beanie, and his strong, angular features were enough to make Y/N's breath catch in her throat.

She knew she shouldn't stare, that it was rude to ignore the instructor's guidance, but she simply couldn't tear her eyes away. There was something magnetic about this man, from the way he held his charcoal pencil between calloused fingers to the intense focus etched into the lines of his face as he worked.

The instructor had moved on to demonstrating color mixing, but Y/N barely registered the words.

Before she could stop herself, Y/N's hand began to move across the canvas, charcoal leaving bold strokes in its wake. She sketched the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the mesmerizing fullness of his lips. Each line was infused with a reverence, a fascination that had taken hold of her very being.

As the instructor continued to walk the room, offering guidance and critiques, Y/N found herself falling further and further under the spell of this enigmatic stranger.

She should have been following along, observing the live model and honing her own technique, but something about this man had utterly captivated her.

The sharp planes of his shoulders, the flex of muscle in his forearm as he worked - Y/N drank it all in, her fingers moving with a fervor that belied her usual cool, composed demeanor.

This was no longer just a simple sketching exercise; it had transformed into an exploration, a quest to unravel the mysteries hidden within every inch of this man's captivating form.

Y/N's brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she navigated the delicate shadows and contours of his features.

She knew, deep down, that this was a risky endeavor - what if he caught her staring? What would the other students think? - but in that moment, none of it mattered.

"Wonderful work, class! Now, let's move on to adding depth and dimension with shading."

Y/N risked another glance in his direction, her breath catching in her throat as she noticed him glance up, his intense gaze sweeping the room.

For a moment, their eyes met, and Y/N felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he'd sensed her scrutiny, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Oh Jesus Christ, get a grip," she muttered under her breath, determinedly keeping her eyes fixed on her own canvas.

As the class wore on, Y/N found herself growing increasingly distracted, her sketches growing sloppy and unfocused. The instructor's critiques sailed over her head, her mind too preoccupied with unravelling the mystery of the alluring stranger.

Finally, the lesson drew to a close, and Y/N let out a quiet sigh of relief. Quickly, she gathered her supplies, eager to make a hasty exit before the man had a chance to notice her. But just as she turned to leave, a flash of movement caught her eye.

There he was, standing just a few feet away, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, suspended in a charged silence.

Then, before Y/N could react, he took a step forward, a curious expression on his face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and velvety smooth. "I'm Luke."

…

Y/N took a deep, steadying breath as she pushed open the glass doors of the towering office building, the sleek marble floors and modern decor greeting her with an air of cool professionalism. Squaring her shoulders, she strode purposefully towards the elevator bank, her heels clicking against the polished tiles.

As she waited for the elevator, Y/N could feel the familiar fluttering of nerves in the pit of her stomach. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation, she knew that much.

Her reps had been hounding her for months, pressuring her to deliver a new collection. It was the same old song and dance - her art was in high demand, and her company was eager to capitalize on her success.

The elevator dinged, and Y/N stepped inside, her fingers drumming anxiously against the railing as it carried her up to the 15th floor. When the doors finally slid open, she made her way down the plush carpeted hallway, the sound of her heels muffled.

Approaching the sleek wooden doors of her company's offices, she paused for a moment, taking another deep breath to steel her nerves.

"You can do this," she murmured to herself, before pushing open the doors and stepping into the reception area.

The secretary, a prim-looking woman with a severe bun, looked up from her computer screen, her eyebrows arching slightly at Y/N's arrival. "Ms. Y/N," she said, her tone clipped. "They're expecting you."

Y/N nodded, forcing a polite smile as she moved to take a seat on one of the plush leather couches that adorned the waiting area. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, betraying the anxiety that roiled within her. This wasn't the first time she'd been summoned to this office, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

Time seemed to crawl by as she sat there, the tick of the clock on the wall the only sound that broke the stifling silence. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the secretary rose from her desk.

"They'll see you now," she announced, gesturing towards the ornate double doors that led to the executive offices.

Y/N rose on shaky legs, taking one last steadying breath before pushing open the doors and stepping inside. The plush, wood-paneled office was exactly as she remembered - imposing and intimidating, a physical manifestation of the power wielded by the company that controlled her artistic future.

Seated behind the massive mahogany desk were three stern-faced individuals, their piercing gazes fixed squarely on her. Y/N felt her heart hammering in her chest as she approached, each step feeling heavier than the last.

"Thank you for coming, Y/N," the man in the center spoke, his voice level but tinged with a subtle edge of impatience. "We have some...concerns we'd like to discuss with you."

Y/N nodded mutely, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as she braced herself for the impending confrontation. The three figures seated before her - the company's CEO, CFO, and head of marketing - regarded her with a disconcerting blend of expectation and exasperation.

"As you know, Y/N," the CEO began, steepling his fingers atop the gleaming desktop, "your work has been in incredibly high demand these past few years. Your paintings have become the talk of the art world, and our company has greatly benefited from your success."

Y/N felt a prickle of unease creep up her spine. She knew where this was heading, and it made her stomach churn with dread.

"However," the man continued, his brow furrowing slightly, "we've noticed a...concerning trend as of late. It's been months since your last major release, and our clients are growing restless." He paused, his steely gaze boring into her. "To be blunt, they're demanding new work. And that's where our concern lies."

Y/N opened her mouth, scrambling for a response, but the CFO cut her off with a raise of his hand.

"We've been patient, Y/N, but our patience is wearing thin. You're our biggest asset, our crown jewel. And frankly, we can't afford to have you sitting idle." He leaned forward, his expression grim. "There's been...talk of other artists who may be able to provide the output we need. Artists who are hungrier, more prolific than you."

Y/N's heart sank like a stone. She knew exactly who they were referring to - Jacob, a rising star in the art world whose bold, innovative style had been the talk of the industry for months. He'd been aggressively courting her company, and by the sounds of it, they were seriously considering his overtures.

"I...I understand your concern," Y/N managed, hating the way her voice wavered. "But I can assure you, I'm working on a new collection as we speak. In fact, I have one more painting to finish, and then I'll have the entire series ready for you."

The three executives exchanged a loaded glance, their expressions unreadable. Finally, the CEO leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, that's...excellent news, Y/N. We're pleased to hear it." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Of course, we'll need to see the completed works as soon as possible. You understand the urgency of the situation, I'm sure."

Y/N nodded mutely, her mouth suddenly dry. "Absolutely. I'll have everything ready by my deadline."

"Wonderful." The CEO rose from his seat, his two colleagues following suit. "We look forward to seeing what you've created. Don't disappoint us, Y/N."

As they filed out of the office, Y/N felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of her stomach. She'd lied through her teeth, and they all knew it. But what choice did she have? Her career, her very livelihood, hung in the balance. She had to deliver, no matter the cost.

…

Luke’s pov

Luke pushed open the front door of the apartment he shared with his older brother Jack, the familiar sounds of chatter and laughter immediately greeting him. However, as he stepped inside, the first thing that caught his eye was an unfamiliar figure curled up on their couch beside Jack.

She was a striking woman, with fiery red hair that spilled over her shoulders in lush waves. Her features were bold and angular, with a nose that seemed slightly disproportionate to the rest of her face. Luke couldn't help but stare for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Hey?" he said quietly, the lilt in his voice making it sound more like a question than a greeting.

Jack perked up at the sound, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips as he lightly pushed the woman off his shoulder. Turning around, he draped his chest over the back of the couch, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Lukey! There you are," he exclaimed. "How was the class?"

Luke glanced down at his hands, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "Uh, it was fine, I guess," he mumbled. "I, uh, actually met a girl there."

Jack's grin widened, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. "A girl, huh? Do tell!"

"It wasn't that serious," Luke hurried to clarify, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I just...I caught her staring at me a couple times, that's all."

"Ooh, a secret admirer!" Jack crowed, practically bouncing in his seat. "Way to go, bro! So, what's she like? Is she cute?"

Luke shrugged, fighting the urge to fidget under his brother's intense scrutiny. "I don't know, I didn't really get a chance to talk to her much. She seemed nice, I guess."

Jack let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in exasperation. "Typical Luke, always so reserved. Come on, man, give me the juicy details! What did she look like? Was there any, you know, chemistry?" He waggled his eyebrows again, and the woman beside him giggled coyly.

Luke felt his cheeks burning, suddenly wishing he could just disappear. "I don't know, Jack," he grumbled. "She left before I had a chance to ask much, it was just a painting class, that's all. Nothing special."

"Aw, don't be like that." Jack reached out and gave Luke's arm a playful shove. "You gotta put yourself out there more, bro. How else are you gonna meet someone?"

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the woman beside Jack piped up, her voice sugary sweet. "Maybe I could help you with that, handsome."

Luke blinked, his gaze snapping to her as he realized she was addressing him. "Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he mumbled, mentally kicking himself for his lack of social grace.

The woman giggled again, batting her eyelashes coyly. "I'm Amber. It's so nice to meet you, Luke."

Both Luke and Jack shared an incredulous look, their brows furrowing in matching expressions of confusion.

Luke stood still, his shoulders tensing as he registered Amber's words. "What do you mean by that?" he cringed, his tone laced with suspicion.

Amber giggled again, seemingly oblivious to the brothers' discomfort. "Well, I just thought maybe I could help you find a special someone," she purred, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "After all, a handsome guy like you shouldn't be single, right?"

Luke's features soured into a sour expression as he awaited her answer. "I, uh, I'm not really looking for -"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up," Jack cut in, holding up a hand. "Are you trying to set my brother up or something?"

Amber turned her gaze to Jack, seemingly delighted by the interruption. "Well, I just thought it would be fun! You know, double dates and all that."

Luke felt his stomach twist with discomfort. This was the last thing he needed - some random woman trying to play matchmaker. He opened his mouth, fully prepared to shut down the idea, when Jack beat him to the punch.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but that's not really our thing," Jack said, his usual easygoing demeanor laced with a subtle edge. "Luke's not interested in that kind of setup. He likes to do his own thing, you know?"

Amber's face fell, a brief flash of disappointment crossing her features before she quickly schooled them into an overly bright smile. "Oh, I see. Well, that's a shame." She reached out, placing a hand on Jack's arm. "I'm sure we could still have fun, though, right?"

Luke watched the exchange with a mixture of relief and mild disgust. He'd never been one for the whole dating scene, and the thought of being set up by some random woman he'd just met made his skin crawl.

As Jack and Amber continued to flirt, Luke took the opportunity to slip away, muttering a hasty excuse about needing to unwind from the painting class.

Once he was safely ensconced in his room, Luke let out a long, weary sigh. Sometimes he envied Jack's ability to charm just about anyone - it would certainly make his own romantic life a lot easier. But for Luke, the whole dating game just felt like more trouble than it was worth.

With a shake of his head, he flopped down on his bed, fully intending to avoid the living room for the rest of the evening. The last thing he needed was to get roped into some bizarre double date scheme. No, he was perfectly content to just enjoy the rest of his day off in peace and quiet.

…

Y/N pushed open the door to her loft apartment, panting heavily as she battled to keep her armful of supplies from spilling. The large canvases she was carrying ruffled against the fabric of her coat, the bottles of paint and brushes clanking together with every step.

Frustration etched across her features, Y/N kicked the door open wider, accidentally dropping the heavy canvases to the floor with a dull thud. "Shit!" she cursed, quickly bending down to scoop them up and push them further into the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Her steps were heavy as she plodded over to the kitchen island, unceremoniously depositing the bags of art supplies. With a weary sigh, Y/N shrugged out of her coat, hanging it by the front door before flipping on the light switch, casting the spacious loft in a warm glow.

As she crossed the room, her gaze was immediately drawn to the massive painting that dominated one wall. With a flick of a switch, the mechanical blinds whirred to life, pulling back to reveal the stunning, yet hauntingly emotional work.

Shades of deep blue and mossy green swirled and blended together, creating an almost hypnotic backdrop for the central figure - a woman, her body draped in chains that seemed to constrict and bind her. The pain and anguish etched into her features was unmistakable, tugging at Y/N's heart.

Y/N stared at the painting, her brow furrowed in deep contemplation. She had been working on this piece for weeks, pouring her heart and soul into every brushstroke, every carefully rendered detail. And yet, something was still... missing.

Crossing the room, she reached out to trace the outline of the woman's face, her fingertips skimming the textured surface of the canvas. She knew this painting was important, a powerful statement on the weight of societal expectations and the struggle for personal freedom. But the emotions it evoked in her were complex, a tangled web of frustration, sorrow, and a deep, primal need to break free.

Y/N's gaze drifted to the discarded art supplies on the island, her mind racing as she considered her next move. As Y/N set to work, carefully selecting her paints and brushes, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to the enigmatic man she had encountered in her art class - Luke.

Try as she might to focus solely on the task at hand, the memory of his striking features and captivating gaze kept creeping into the forefront of her mind. She shook her head, chiding herself for the distraction.

"Get it together," she murmured under her breath, dipping her brush into the rich ultramarine paint. "You have a deadline to meet, remember?"

And yet, despite her best efforts, her mind kept circling back to that fateful moment when Luke had approached her, introducing himself with a warm smile. Y/N felt her palms grow clammy at the mere recollection, her legs beginning to bounce up and down in a nervous fidget.

She had been so caught up in her own work, so consumed by the need to finish her painting, that when he'd come over to speak to her, she had panicked. The words had stuck in her throat, her tongue feeling thick and clumsy, and she'd barely managed a coherent response before practically fleeing the scene.

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, trying to push the memory aside as she focused on blending the paint on her palette. "It was just a stupid class," she chided herself. "You're a professional, for heaven's sake. You can't afford to get distracted by some...some pretty face."

And yet, even as she tried to convince herself of that, a part of her couldn't help but wonder about Luke. Who was he, really? What was it about him that had so thoroughly captivated her, even in the brief moments they'd interacted?

Shaking her head, Y/N turned her attention back to the canvas, her brush gliding across the surface with renewed determination. She didn't have time to dwell on these silly daydreams and flights of fancy. She had a job to do, a deadline to meet, and a company that was counting on her.

Still, as she worked, a small part of her couldn't help but wonder if she might cross paths with Luke again. And whether, this time, she'd have the courage to truly get to know him.

…

Tag List <3

@dasiysthings, @mileyraes

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missmarveledsblog · 1 month

Text

Flumpy part one ( jake seresin x reader )

SUMMARY: The dagger squad all were wondering who the mysterious figure was in one of the rooms in the base only to discover to bradley's explaining it was pete maverick mitchell's kid with out seeing them fully before leaving jake makes a comment he will in future regret . y/n doesn't let the man off light with the comment either .

warning : enemies to lovers kinda , straight up self indulgent writing so soz slight comedic feel although that just my opinion ( sorry)

They gather in a curious bundle , looking in a the figure Head down on table large hood covering everything from head up as they tried to figure who it was that was well they hope was a sleep since the said figure hasn't moved .

" you sure they're alive they literally haven't moved in what ten minutes or more" one whispered.

" they allowed to be in here i mean what if its a civilian" another gulped.

" i mean they could be a bum" the tall blonde mused.

" hey what you standing around for" roosters head tilted looking at his squad members.

" there's a possible dead bum or civilian in there or dead civilian bum" fanboy looked into the room eye widening at such a possibility. Only bradley knew , his lips twitched in amusement at his friends assumption .

" nah that just mavs kid , must of fell asleep waiting" he explained as they looked more.

" jesus who would of thought mavs offspring would be flumpy there" jake grimaced .

" flumpy what are you twelve" phoenix rolled her eyes only for the figure to scoff.

" cyclone is looking for you bagman" rooster cleared his throat remembering why he was there in first place .

"Course he is needs a real man's help huh , see yall , bye flumpy" he called loudly as the figure head started to rise .

A quick nod to Pete as he passed yet their eyes all focused as the figure yawned and stretched out . Pulling the hood down to reveal the figure was a woman , a beautiful woman at that.

" hey kiddo sorry I got held up you ready" Mav smiled as she stood stretching aching muscle .

" ready as i'll ever be plus don't worry about it i got some z's"she smiled only seeing a group of new faces well not exactly new but in person new. " oh shit did you guys need the room , bradshaw you told me it was free" she glared at the man a comical sight giving their size difference.

" pretty girl you should of just went back to my place if you were tired... not like that you filthy people she like a sister to me" .

" i wouldn't be so tired if i had slept on way here but no someone a singing driver , i wanted to kick you in your great balls of fire" she grumbled.

" stop being so mean i gave you my hoody when you were cold little shit" he shot back .

" do i need to put you kids in time out" mav asked.

" you going hard deck tonight" bradley rolled his eyes.

" nah i need to unpack and sleep more" .

" she coming beach tomorrow since she's our new mechanic get to know you all" mav spoke up ignoring the glare she sent his way.

" beach tomorrow apparently also hi i'm Y/N" She turned holding her hand out to the group as the boys started pushing each other to be the one shake her hand only in their antic phoenix got in there .

" natasha trace but you can call me nat or phoenix" she smiled proudly getting their first.

"Well nice to meet you i already know who you all are from the glowing reviews i got from the two old men there" she chuckled shaking their hands.

" so where were stationed before here?" fanboy bashful spoke up goofy grin as she looked at him.

" oh i'm not in any form of military i got clearance and a civilian contract life of a navy nepo baby" . " come on we show her around the hangar" mav called all following behind .

She didn't need to see the hangar not when she been in it a billion times before during her childhood . following in the footstep of her mom charlie blackwood being a civilian contractor was a little surreal maybe because rooster was also there it was like they were the new generation . both legendary parents but she couldn't take the extra steps trying to be in her dad's shadow,that would of never worked although it seemed anything that could fly was a great love must of been genetics in this case.

" well as i live and breathe y/n it good to have you on board" she turned to see admiral beau simpson sauntering over towards her .

" admiral nice to see you again" she nodded politely not little how the man was looking at her .

" pleasure is all mine sweetheart if i'd known you'd be here i would of gave you the private tour" he almost purred as her own face scrunched up.

" i got her plus i need her check out phoenix jet for the test runs on monday so she's a little busy at the moment admiral" pete mitchell stood in front of her easily also not liking the way the older man was looking at his daughter.

" phoenix could you show me the way please oh admiral tell that darling wife of yours i say hi" she walked of linking arms with the female aviator .

" would that be all sir" rooster asked . " yes erm i forgot i got a meeting , rooster i got hangman in the end" he said making a slightly quicker exit.

" so what's the problem or did my dad make it up" she asked looking at the jet itching to get working .

" sort of shaky on the landing and steering is a bit stiff it can wait til monday really i think your dad just used.. And she gone" she watched the new woman in the hanger climbing up to assess everything out.

" i shouldn't of said anything" mav laughed knowing what his daughter was like.

" roo here" she called pulling the hoodie off only to hear metal clanging . " oh this place never changes" she shook her head seeing the men looking at her in awe.

It seemed as though everyone in the base had a reason to be in the hanger that morning , some excuses were almost believable others not so much when a recruit handed rooster a stapler insisting they needed it for any reason .

" nice to have a fellow female in her really was being a meat fest and don't even getting started on the pissing contest some of these guys can have"nat called .

" definitely hasn't change" y/n shook her head . " i mean between rooster and hangmans ego's then moment their on the ground best friends it's whiplash at best" .

" hangman? Blonde guy wonder if he's the one that called me flumpy" she mused with a giggle .

" you heard that huh?" .

" loud and clear what an asshole" she checking thing over before moving on to next part.

" i'm sure he'll take it back when he see's you" nat whispered almost reveling to see hangman's reaction to it all .

" hey need help" the guys called.

" nope it's all good i'm actually finished but thank you" she climbed down covered in grease and oil but she didn't mind .

" please come the hard deck so i can get you drink fixing my baby" nat smiled hopefully.

" no can do i need a shower , nap and unpack but i will see you all at beach tomorrow right" she asked all nodding away eagerly.

" you ever play dogfight football" bob asked slightly surprised at his own bravery to talk to the pretty lady .

" oh i'm not even attempting to play that i got a book with my name on it while you guys get all sweaty also stealing nat so i'm not on my own" she smirked .

" i'm fine with that" nat high fived her whilst sticking her tongue out at the others .

"come on you we get you home" maverick lead her out.

" no one tell hangman" was all nat said once they were gone all silently agreeing wanting to see hangman's reaction to the real flumpy .

The moment he stepped on base all he heard was his fellow officers gossiping like little girls usually he would of rolled his eyes and scoffed at the immaturity but jake seresin was always a sucker for pretty face and now he was full fledged curious .

" i think she'll be at hard deck i hope she is" he heard passing by yale . smiling like cat got the cream knowing it was no contest to who was going to get the girl .

" well look who finally showed his face , mav just left that long ago needing to drop his kid home" nat said almost too sweetly although his mind was elsewhere.

" great flumpy's gone anyways you guys heard or seen the smoke show , how true to the scale is she hot" he asked .

" lava like burn through anything hot" Javy spilled out as rooster tried not to react .

" well i guess i'll know later when i'm buying her a drink tonight i'll let you know how hot she is tomorrow though" he winked heading into the locker rooms.

" who's gonna break it to him" payback asked.

" no one dare say a word think of it as my christmas present" nat rubbed her hands together all heading to get changed and ready to have a few drinks after long day .

It was safe to say jake was annoyed the next morning , the mysterious hotty never showed at the bar so he couldn't brag like he wanted which in turn had the gang busting his balls for the forward assumption . it didn't help they were doing it all way to the beach or when he was helping set up the table for the food that was coming but he also had to listen to hear how cool mavericks offspring was maybe he was wrong about the dude or whatever then he start thinking flumpy was why the hot girl was there since they both showed up on same day which irritated him a little more then he cared to think . when he saw the hottest girl he'd ever seen like show stopping hot walk on the beach maybe he could get over the whole thing by getting her. He wasn't going to just go over no he pretend to throw rooster the ball only for it to land right near the woman . " don't worry i'll get it" he winked and strolled over so cocky and confident . sunglasses hid how his eyes raked over her the sundress that hugged her body like a damn glove , like it was made for her and her only . how her hair flowed messily down her back or how it fell to the front as she picked up the ball . " sorry ma'am my friend there can't seem to catch a ball" he stood a little taller , tensed his muscle a little knowing the ladies loved it. She looked over at rooster eyebrows raised before throwing the ball to him.

" looks like he's not so bad at all" she said walking with her towel under her arms ready to set it up .

" or maybe he wanted to impress you" jake followed .

" or you got a shit throw" she said placing her things down placing the towel on the warm sand before pulling the sundress over her head to reveal the red bikini that sat under it .

" hey kid you wanna help penny carry down the food before you get all comfortable" mav called

. " sure thing old man" she walked off leaving jake coming to a horrible realisation.

" was that?" he asked his fellow squad members.

" flumpy" the all called back" with shit eating grins .

"oh and hangman she heard you say it" nat cackled as his face completely dropped .

With the bragging right now and truly down the toilet giving as she wouldn't even look so much as his direction although . hell it seemed baby on board was in with more of a shot then he was. He was also now a fan of don't judge the book without fully seen cover that was his first mistake. Damn the cover was just his style that was for sure.

" just give up hangman , she not into you , you've ruined your chance" payback smirked as they began loading their plates .

" oh don't you worry boys i will have her eating out palm of hand and sweating for more" he laughed only they we're not laughing .

" man shh" javy whispered eyes darting behind the texan.

" what you know it i will have her riding me like a bull at a rodeo by the nights end" only instead of continuing a clearing of a throat .

" excuse me" she pushed past loading her own plate.

" darling how much of that did you hear" he winced .

" enough you tell you that i'd rather starve then eat from palm of your hand and walk to china the ride in your rodeo cowboy" she scoffed walking off sitting down on her towel picking up her book and completely ignoring the fact that jake seresin existed . which only to his torture while he was playing pool she was chatting away to some of the guys at the bar. He watched as the fawned and flirted with her , dropping their best lines while she let them think she was lapping it up , oh she was good he would give her that.

" your not gonna give up are you" coyote asked .

" not by long shot" jake smirked potting his winning ball .

Part two

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