#ship: caught in love's web | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ozzgin · 1 year

Text

Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp."

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up.

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum.

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one.

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it.

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary.

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way.

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only.

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage."

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible.

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later.

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people.

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile.

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable."

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation.

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe.

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best."

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly.

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it.

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense."

"Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved.

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you.

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter.

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin.

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out.

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair.

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always.

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities.

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up.

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave.

Not until it had its fun with you.

#alien #alien covenant #prometheus #xenomorph #neomorph #neomorph x reader #xenomorph x reader #alien x reader #monster x reader #android x reader #robot x reader #yandere #yandere alien #yandere x reader #monster smut

2K notes · View notes

mistywaves98 · 7 months

Note

Okay.... but like, consider merman/siren (Not the bird kind of siren.) Scara sinking our ship and eating our crew. But we're a woman disguised as a man because they used to not let women on ships. He only eats men so when he notices we're different he takes an interest in our body, mainly our boobs? I don't know- just a random thought I had while trying to concentrate during biology. Can be read as a drabble/brainrot or a request. Whichever you'd prefer to read it as<3

This is a very interesting concept ngl 😮 also this was not as great as I'd hoped it would come out..

✧･ﾟ:* ->Siren! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: (sort of) NSFW, Just him being entranced by your chest, Nipple sucking, Making out!

✧･ﾟ:* ->Smut written by a minor!

You had just begun to feel like everything was going according to plan until your ship was attacked and your crew disappearing beneath the water, only to resurface as mangled corpses. The water around you was a horrible mix of blood and guts as you clung desperately to a floating piece of board that passed by.

You couldn't see anything beneath you, it was just water that went deeper for miles. Suddenly, a webbed hand shot up behind you and covered your mouth. A shape emerged alongside it and you felt a firm, wet chest against your back. Another arm wrapped around your upper torso as a raspy voice whispered into your ear,"Looks like I missed one.."

You thought this was the end, and didn't even bother to struggle since you knew it was futile. This creature was going to turn you into one of the dismembered bodies that were still somewhere nearby. However, you didn't feel yourself pulled underwater. The hand on your chest suddenly moved, slowly tracing the curve of your breasts through your clothes. You couldn't help but feel embarrassed as the creature you assumed to be male straight up groped you.

Suddenly, you felt sharp nails dig into your shoulders as the webbed hands spun you around, giving you a clear view of your 'attacker'. Slit pupils bore holes into your chest as he studied you with a furrowed expression. There were fins in place of his ears and his indigo hair seemed to flow around him despite being dripping wet. His eyes then darted up to your face, his glare piercing you.

"You...you're not a man." He said in a flat tone. You slowly nodded your head,"You're right, I'm a woman... Aren't you going to eat me?" "Eat you? Don't be an idiot, I don't eat female humans," he scoffed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world,"...especially not such lovely specimens such as yourself..." his voice suddenly dropped an octave and a dark expression came over his face. He leaned in a bit, his nose almost touching yours,"You know that you're trespassing by sailing here, right? That's why I killed your crew as a punishment for disturbing my peace. But I won't kill you, though. I already have an idea of what I'll do to you..." His eyes flickered downwards for a split moment and you blushed in embarrassment as you caught onto his meaning,"O-Oh... Well I suppose I am in the wrong... Punish me as you see fit."

Your top was tugged open, even torn in some places due to the enthusiasm of his claws. His scaly tail curled around your lower body beneath the water to hold you still as he lowered his head down till it was level with those soft mounds now covered in droplets of water. Moans keened from your throat as he hungrily began to suck on your left nipple, pointy teeth grazing the already erect bud, eliciting a soft yelp from you.

Your hands weaved their way into the damp hair on the back of his head, tugging him closer,"Mmm...you're so eager, aren't you my little captain?" He teased with a smirk as he released your nipple with a pop and pulled back a bit. Your hands came down to grasp his shoulders as his hands moved up to toy with your breasts, squeezing and kneading them between his webbed hands. The sensation was strange yet pleasurable at the same time and it left you breathless and flushed in the face.

The siren seemed to notice how you seemed to writhe even more when he occasionally gave your nipples a light pinch,"These are so sensitive... Yet they taste delicious. I want to taste more of you." With that, he dove in and captured your lips in an intense kiss. His hands brought you closer, one holding the back of your head to ensure you didn't pull away. You moaned as you felt his tongue snake its way into your warm mouth. It was so sleek and long, practically choking you with how deep it reached, yet it felt so amazing, you didn't want to pull back.

However, the kiss inevitably ended when you needed to breathe. He licked his lips as he watched you catch your breath, appreciating the sight of your exposed chest heaving with every inhale,"Your mouth tasted even better than I imagined. I bet there's other places that would feel absolutely divine on my tongue...but for now I'm satisfied. But don't think that means I won't be coming back for you." He suddenly scoops you up in his arms and makes his way to the beach nearest to the mainland.

As expected of a siren, you arrive there in a matter of minutes. Once you get close enough, you decide to part ways and swim the rest of the way, but before you go he says,"The name's Scaramouche by the way. Remember it for our future encounters." After that final goodbye, he disappears beneath the water and you vaguely make out a dark shape heading back out to deeper waters. As you sit on the beach, attempting to cover up your torso so it looks somewhat decent, you can't help but think that you'll be venturing to that part of the ocean a bit more often now, but on purpose this time.

#this was harder to write than i thought #how do fish fuck y'all #genshin smut #x reader smut #smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader smut #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader smut #scara smut #scara x reader smut #✧･ﾟ:* meena's memos! ✧･ﾟ:*

741 notes · View notes

gatorbites-imagines · 7 months

Note

Hmmmm 👁️🫦👁️ yandere Doflamingo X from male reader who develops stockholm syndrome (I'm it isn't scientific but it's helpful ;-;) and ends up slowly warming up to/falling in love with him?

Doffy can be sickly sweet, always holding reader close, lavishing them with praise and buying things for them, but when reader tried to escape or got -what Doflamingo thought- was too close to someone else, he gets kinda dark. Cue some kind of punishment followed by him acting all good cop and doting on reader.

Some fluff/smut peppered in if that's okay 😭

Hope this is alright and doesn't break any of the rules

Yandere Donquixote Doflamingo x male reader

Headcanons

Tw for darker stuff ig? I love Doffy, hes my little crazy muffin. Probably not the best Stockholm syndrome, mainly just the reader being dumb and easily manipulated.

i feel like my obsession with doffys tongue is visible in this... exposing myself.

Doflamingo is known for being a master manipulator, so once he turns his attention to you and wants you for himself, he will have you one way or another. Theres a big chance you won’t even realize what’s happening until its way too late, and you are completely caught in his web of strings.

You had just been the average dock worker, working for one of the many companies working under The Joker in the underworld, smuggling all kinds of stuff. It was never your job to question what you were shipping, and not asking questions meant you got to stay alive.

You just happened to be at the wrong place at the same time. You just happened to be dumb enough to not have a sense of self preservation. You just happened to not recognize the 10 ft tall blonde in a pink feathery coat and goofy sunglasses. And you just happened to look so… cute.

You didn’t really have any friends on this island. It wasn’t the place you got close to anybody, and you sure as hell never trusted anybody, as everyone here was some kind of criminal. You were one of the few who wasn’t a blood thirsty psycho. You just had been given a bad hand in life and a lot of bad luck.

When the tall blonde started appearing near the docks on the regular, you didn’t question it. Questions should never be placed, and even though you had no idea who he was, everyone else seemed to fear him. So, no matter how handsome he was, you tried to stay out of his way.

You were a clumsy fool. It had resulted in a lot of punishment and beatings, but to Doflamingo, you were just so adorable. Like watching a little lamb running around thinking they were safe from the pack of blood thirsty wolves always circling.

When gifts started appearing in your dorm, as you were so low ranked in the system that you didn’t even have enough money for your own place, you didn’t know what to do.

You had never owned expensive things, so you knew nothing about the quality of things you were given. You didn’t understand just how expensive the shirt you were given was, or that the bracelets that looked a little too much like shackles cost more than someone like you would ever see in their life.

The gifts kept coming, and somehow your roommates disappeared, leaving the room all for you. One day when returning from the docks, it had even been redecorated. You almost had a heart attack, thinking someone else had moved in. But when you asked your superior, they had just glanced around nervously and said it was for you and to not question it.

Through all of this, Doflamingo watched your every move. From the moment you got up in the morning till you went to bed, and sometimes even as you slept.

Being who he was, Doflamingo had nothing against sneaking into your room as you slept, just so he could watch you. Or if he was feeling starved enough, he would lean down and kiss you, sometimes letting that long monster of a tongue slide into your mouth for just a small taste.

Before you knew it you were pretty much Doflamingos property. In the beginning you didn’t wear any of the fancy clothes or jewelry, not wanting to dirty any of it. But from one day to the next, all your old clothes went away, leaving you with only the clothes so expensive the majority of the world could only dream about owning it.

You didn’t understand why most of it bore a specific shade of pink, or that the symbol sewn into most of the clothes in one way or another was a jolly roger. You, in your oblivious mind, just thought it was a brand or print.

Doflamingo couldn’t help but feel pleased as everyone stared at you with fear and dread, avoiding you every chance they got, as everyone but you seemed to know you were his, and his alone.

You were right where he wants you, and little by little, Doflamingo would insert himself into your life. At first, you’d see him in passing, but soon you would see him every shift and you two would talk.

You were so concentrated with working that you didn’t notice how he always seemed to stare at you, and if he hadn’t worn sunglasses, you might have seen how he so rarely blinked, as if wanting to eat you up.

At some point he just happens to “offer you a job”, giving you the job of a lifetime. Doflamingo could almost have writhed in pleasure when you agreed, smiling so brightly and looking so deliciously stupid, to him at least.

All the many mysterious gifts you were given were moved, and soon you worked right under Doflamingo. Maybe as his assistant or something like that, some job where you would be right by him every day. Of course, you weren’t actually do any work that mattered, he just gave you fluffy paperwork that would be thrown out, since there was nothing of importance on them.

From then on you gave you his presents in person, leering and grinning when you became flustered and stuttered before giving a shy thanks.

Everyone in the donquixote family knew you were off limits as they saw the possessive look Doflamingo always gave you, or how he would pull you into his lap and claim there weren’t any more seats, using his strings to whisk whatever chairs were around away.

Working for Doflamingo, you ended up growing, what should I say, used to the treatment. You had come to expect his praise and lingering touches, or the gifts hed rain down on you. So when he kissed you the first time, you weren’t too surprised.

Sure you still blushed up a storm, but it had all seemed to lead up to this. To you, who still had no idea of Doflamingos darker side, thought he may just have been shy and expressed his feelings for you through gifts.

When you guys started “officially” dating, he got worse, or better, depending on who asks. I’m putting officially in quotations, as to Doflamingo you had always been his.

Forget about any type of work you were doing before, you were always seated in his lap now, wearing the clothes he picked out for you, and being a good little lover for him.

Dating Doflamingo also meant you quickly got used to gagging, since he’s the type of guy that always tries to shove his tongue down your throat, and with Doflamingo having the tongue he does, he actually succeeds in doing so.

Hes sickeningly sweet to you, fawning over you and piling praise on you, his large hands wandering and making you see stars whenever you are even a little bit in the mood. Its because of this it takes you so very long to realize what kind of monster he is.

The reveal was never meant to happen, but you somehow ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time, and you got to see Doflamingos true colors. Seeing him tear someone apart with his strings, that large grin on his face, made you feel sick.

After that you grew distant, and Doflamingo pouted and kissed your face all over, trying to get him to tell you what was wrong. But you never told him, just shrinking away from him, as the seriousness of the situation finally seemed to dawn on you.

Even to you, who wasn’t the smartest person around by far, it all seemed to click into place. From your job, to your clothes, to how everyone seemed to avoid you, isolating you to under interact with Doflamingo.

You needed to get you, that’s what you became sure of. Its only because Doflamingo never thought you’d actually try to leave that you got the upper hand. In the end you didn’t even get off the island, but you were smart enough to get out of his base and to the docks where you had worked before.

But as you were about to board a ship to get outta there, strings seemed to cage in the entire island, like a birdcage. Doflamingo had realized you were gone, and he was pissed.

Before you knew it, conquerors haki covered the entire island, knocking you out almost immediately, but not before you felt your heart sink to the bottom of your feet, the reality of Doflamingos strength finally hitting you.

When you wake up again, you find yourself in Doflamingos bedroom, golden shackles similar to the bracelets you were given keeping you locked to the bed.

It takes you a moment to notice him, but when you do you almost throw up from the fear it causes. There in the corner sits Doflamingo, but for the first time since you’ve met him, he looks angry. No, he doesn’t look angry, he looks enraged.

He doesn’t even demand an answer from you as to why you tried to run. He just gets to his feet and approaches you, and for the first time his 10 feet of height scares you. But then he doesn’t something unexpected. He cradles your face in his hands and coos at you, treating you as if you were some kind of child or animal that had broken the rules, not because you wanted too, but because you were so very dumb you didn’t realize you broke them.

All these months of being with Doflamingo from morning till dawn as caused you to love him, its no secret. Its just a reaction of the human psyche, so part of you had been scared of disappointing him. It also makes your insides flutter at his cooing, even as he calls you a brainless stupid idiot who can’t think for themselves.

All his cooing and sugar sweet but cruel words makes you cry, making Doflamingo smirk when you sob into his chest, apologizing for running away. When you agree with him that you are stupid and can’t make decisions on your own, he knows he’s won. Well, he’s known he’s had you for months, but seeing you admit it is euphoric.

Doflamingo ends up holding you in his arms and cooing at you, pouting and sounding of so sweet as you cry, telling you he forgives you. But there must be consequences, and you have to be punished.

You’ve never been punished by Doflamingo before, so you have no idea what to expect. Knowing the kind of role Doflamingo wants to play, the punishment is probably something along the lines of overstimulation until you pass out, and when you wake up, he will do it again and again, repeating the process until he feels you’ve paid for your sins.

When hes strung you of everything you’ve got and you cant even think straight, he would pick you up and kiss you all over, praising you in that sickeningly sweet honey voice of his, carrying you to his personal bathroom.

Here he would get both of you into his large bathtub, where he would scrub your limp and hickey covered body dry as you whine and whimper, almost melting against his chest as his large hands massage all your sore muscles.

As you bathe, you most likely end up with him fucking your thighs, Doflamingo cooing in your ear that he will have mercy on your cute little holes for now, since they’re still so sensitive from your punishments. But next time he won’t be as lenient.

As he slides his shaft between your thighs, Doflamingo would slide his tongue down your throat again, smirking to himself as you jolt and twitch, still arching into his touch even as your body ached and burned from all the overstimulation.

After he finishes, he would praise you more before getting out of the bath, where he would dry you off in the softest of towels, before Doflamingo would tuck you both into bed. You would pass out immediately again, slumping against his chest as Doflamingo laughs, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head.

He loves you, as much as someone like Doflamingo could love. And because he loves you, he owns you. That’s his logic at least. This also means you will never be allowed to leave, and no one will ever be allowed to take you away. And he will do everything in his power to make it a reality.

616 notes · View notes

kairiscorner · 1 year

Text

so... i might have gotten a little carried away...

my itsv and atsv bots masterlist

miguel o'hara bots:

feral miggy that you caught

resting with your husband miggy

drunk miggy

sick miggy

oh you made him mad miggy

7 minutes in heaven with miggy

smitten with you miggy

arranged marriage miggy

jealous miggy (1)

sharing a bed with miggy

wanna have kids? miggy

jealous miggy (2)

you and miggy are prideful knuckleheads

divorcing miggy

working with miggy as your supervisor

being miggy's secretary

you're his daughter's teacher

miggy's scaring you

miggy's that single hot dad you keep seeing around

divorced miggy but still loves you

caught in a scandal (TYSM TO @miguelswifey04 FOR THE INSPO)

your best friend, father figure, and mentor

comforts you after breakup miggy

he wants to know who's been texting you

he's here to help you feel comfortable

visiting your husband at work

he's tired of teaching

after a long day, you're all miggy needs

waking up with miggy

you wish he could get off your ass (father figure miggy)

saving miggy from a ship wreck as an atlantean

miggy walking in on you dancing

royal guard miggy teaching you how to behave (royal!au)

being miggy's maid

posing with miggy

your college classmate is into you

he can see why his dog likes you so much

he owes you all his victories (rcd!miggy)

he can't remember being your husband

your dad's best friend is really... (dbf!miggy)

miles morales bots:

you and miles have an argument

grafitiing with miles

your first date with miles

miles is smitten with you

pavitr prabhakar bots:

giving pav a chance to prove his love to you

pav wants to get to know you better

a night out with pav

pav hates seeing you cry

hobie brown bots:

committing property damage with hobie

your boyfriend hobie

hobie's falling for you

hobie trusts you with his secret identity

hobie'll be your little secret

hobie admits it to you

hobie loves your bad ass

hobie's hands are just right

hobie loves his grumpy dear

gwen stacy bots:

gwen's falling for you

gwen's sorry she has to leave you

gwen comforts you

peter b parker bots:

peter b'll teach you everything he knows

your husband peter b

lyla

if she was human, she might just like you

spider noir bots:

cat dad noir

dance partner noir

noir's in love with you

husband noir

divorced noir

anniversary with noir

always saving you noir

wants your sweet attention noir

first kiss with noir

got himself webbed up noir

you're noir's muse

noir has a smoking problem

ben reilly bots:

you're ben's one and only

needy ben

wants your attention badly ben

your silly best friend

the spot:

the spot still loves you

I HAVE TOO MUCH TIME ON MY HANDS HELP (i made a lot of these in one sitting pls, i hope they're any good :'>)

please tell me what you think, and enjoy !!

(the skrunklies, they didn't fit.......)

#miguel o'hara #gwen stacy #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #miles morales #peter b parker #the spot #spiderman into the spiderverse #spider noir #character ai #ben reilly #astv lyla #atsv x you #atsv spiderman #c.ai

1K notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 9 months

Text

Montero.

Yan Gojo x F Reader.

Synopsis: It was easy to find you.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, and major power imbalance.

Word Count: 700.

*~*~*~*

Satoru left the door unlocked again. He also left the keys on the table and some money. It was so obviously a trap. But how could you resist such an offer to get away from a man who has taken control of your entire life and forced you to be his little stay-at-home girlfriend? When you think about it later, after you were caught a few weeks later, after emptying every ATM you come across, using Satoru's stolen credit and debit cards, after buying yourself a motel room and passing out drunk, after buying one train ticket after another with the aim of getting to Japan's border and either sneaking onto a boat or purchasing a pass to get on. You thought of how to divide your stolen money, whether to sneak onto the ship or buy a ticket to not be arrested and thrown back into Satoru's suffocating arms. Unfortunately for you, Satoru already knew where you were, what you were doing, everything. He was always one step ahead of you.

You never know what is going on inside his head. It is both a blessing and a curse. You never know what he is going to do to you. But you also are not broken because Satoru, ironically enough, still has enough self-control to let you have some independence. Emphasis on some. It is mostly shown through moments exactly like this. But the independence is still false, like a painting of a door on a wall.

It may look good from afar, but it is unusable. It is only good for looking at and hoping that whatever higher power there is will eventually turn into a real door because you are not God. You are not God, and you cannot create things, living or not. Satoru knows this. You come to know it. In this world, Satoru is the closest thing to a god, you think.

He expects you to worship him as one too.

You used to, long ago. How could you resist being captivated by him, with his radiant presence and gleaming white appearance, emanating a comforting warmth and possessing eyes as vast as the boundless sky? Though his teachings were cryptic and filled with bewildering references to cursed energy and haunting visions, you swallowed them like sacred doctrine, like the finest wine in all the land, embracing him as your rescuer. He had liberated you from darkness and vowed to keep you immersed in luminosity. Whatever his true nature, it was divine enough for your devotion.

But you don’t anymore. You don’t know whether Satoru misses your praising words or not. But you don’t see him as the devil either, anymore. You blame him for the bottles and bottles you drink and drink in those motel rooms, using abandoned restrooms infested with rats, and soon having nothing to eat because you used all of your money out of impulse, out of fear. But deep down, you blame yourself for being caught back in Satoru’s web. Because, against everything and everyone telling you not to, you tried to get past security and sneak onto a boat to South Korea.

It made finding you all the easier, Satoru told you. He knew what you were doing the whole time, when you bought enough beer to nearly give you lethal alcohol poisoning, when he came to rescue you from the nearest police station, from the police officers interrogating you and threatening violence and insulting you with every word in the book. As much as you want to blame him entirely, you know some of it was you. He didn’t force you to do anything. You could have just stayed where you were placed and waited for him to come back. You are human, not immune to sin indulgence, and selfishness. So is Satoru. Neither of you are God, and neither of you are Satan.

But oh how you wish that either of you were. No matter who gets the power, at least there is some difference between you.

Because Satoru and you are many things, but self-sacrificing isn’t one of them. Both of you know that, and you hate it. Satoru loves it.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #yandere satoru gojo #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

482 notes · View notes

thedarlingdearestdead · 9 months

Text

Losing Control

Summary: Anakin needs to let off some steam, he has found a willing partner.

Warnings: Yeah this is pretty shameless smut. R18.

Word count: 1,350

Missions did not always go well, and Anakin Skywalker hated it.

He didn’t like to lose, never had. He didn’t like the disappointment - the losses, the debates, the paperwork, there were all worth it if the battle was won. But when they lost? He could barely contain himself. That’s where you came in.

A younger Jedi, assigned to his corps a few months ago, your relationship began after only your second mission together.

On that fateful mission, the odds were stacked against the Republic forces from the beginning. Anakin's frustration was palpable as the mission unraveled, the enemy proving more cunning and ruthless than anticipated. The aftermath was a grim scene of wounded soldiers, damaged equipment, and a bitter taste of defeat.

As the surviving members of the mission trudged back to base, the weight of failure hung heavy in the air. Anakin, visibly seething, marched ahead with clenched fists. It was then that you approached him, respectful but determined.

"Master Skywalker," you began, choosing your words carefully, "we did everything we could. The enemy caught us off guard. We'll learn from this and be better prepared next time.”

Anakin shot you a stern look, his blue eyes flashing with frustration. "We can't afford mistakes like this, especially when lives are on the line. We need to be better, faster, stronger.” His agitation had become visible, he was practically vibrating with anger. This un-jedi-like behaviour would surely earn him a reprimand. Concerned, you dragged him with you down a hallway, trying to find him a space to calm himself, to straighten out his attitude. But he had only took the opportunity to kiss you, to push you against the wall, to drag you into a cupboard and pound into you until all this annoyance had been spent.

Since then it was like a ritual after every failures. He sought you out, you helped control him stabilise his moods. You were where he could focus his frustrations on, and you enjoyed it so much.

Anakin was not a man to be messed with. He was a general, he was smart and strong and brave, and terrifying. Attributes which made him both the perfect soldier and the perfect lover.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, your relationship with Anakin Skywalker evolved into a dangerous dance of desire and secrecy. The allure of forbidden love was intoxicating, fuelling the flames of passion that burned between you. Behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, you revelled in each other's touch, your bodies entwined in a tangled web of carnal need.

But with every stolen moment, a seed of doubt began to take root within you. The weight of secrecy hung heavy on your shoulders, burdening your conscience. You knew the consequences of such an illicit affair, the potential for scandal and disgrace that could bring ruin upon you both.

Yet, in those stolen moments, it was easy to forget about the world outside. Anakin's touch ignited a fire within you that could not be extinguished. His commanding presence combined with tender vulnerability made him irresistible. It felt as if the universe conspired for your bodies to collide, to find solace in each other.

So here you were yet again. Anakin dusty and sleep deprived, returning from battle unharmed physically, but the toll on his soul was heavy. You could see it in his eyes. And in the numbers which emerged from the ships, so many fewer than those who had left on them.

His eyes met yours from across the hangar and you knew he needed you. Back in your chambers he had you shoved against the door, hot mouth biting harshly down your neck, onto your chest.

“Force, I needed you. I need this.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Anakin's lips trailed down your body. The familiar rush of desire flooded through you, eclipsing any sense of guilt or rational thought. In this moment, there was only the two of you, bound by an undeniable magnetic pull.

His hands roamed hungrily over your curves, igniting every nerve ending in their wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a testament to the intensity of the fire between you. As he claimed you with every fevered kiss and possessive stroke, the world outside ceased to exist.

“I want you right here, now.” He was on his knees then, mouth level with your burning core as he shoved your robes up to your hips. He was harsh and fast with his movements, desperate.

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of passion and the sound of your ragged breaths filled the room. Anakin's eyes, dark with desire, locked with yours as he continued to worship your body. The raw hunger in his gaze set your nerves ablaze, electrifying every inch of your being.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, as waves of pleasure coursed through you. The world around you blurred into a hazy euphoria, leaving only Anakin and the overwhelming sensations that consumed you.

“Oh Force, Anakin…”

“I could do this all day.” He said, stopping briefly and kissing up to your lower stomach before going back down again. Revelling in the feeling of your hands tangling in his hair.

Minutes passed in second and soon you were spilling into his face as he lapped you up. Hands moving up and down your legs to keep you steady, then just as you caught your breathe, he moved under your thighs and picked you up.

Once his face was levelled with your once again he took your mouth in a hungry, desperate movement. Your slickness had left a tart flavour on his tongue as he consumed you, distracting you so much that you didn’t notice that he had lain you down on the bed.

By time you realised, coming in and out of consciousness, he was already above you once again, and had already disposed of both of your robes. His heavy form pressed you down into the bed, strong arms reaching up and down your body, finally resting at the point where your two cores met.

He nudged into you slowly, always giving you time to adjust to his size. He watched your face, his chin resting near your collar bone as he gazed at your open, gasping mouth, neck lent back into the pillows. He grinned an Anakin Skywalker grin, full of pride, and power, and anticipation, he revelled in your moans as he bottomed out inside of you.

You were practically shaking, he cooed into your neck, kissing softly and moving slowly. The touch of his lips sent shivers down your spine, every sensation heightened as he moved.

Thrusts came in faster, an enthusiastic and increasingly wild rhythm that drove you wild, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. He plunged into you deeper, harder, your cries echoing in the chamber as his name tumbled from your lips."Anakin," you gasped, your back arching off the bed as you clung to him, his name a plea, a prayer, a desperate call to the force.

Soon he was groaning softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he reached his own peak. You could feel his body trembling as he poured himself into you. His climax was hot and intense, filling you completely, it was almost too much.

He collapsed onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, your skin sticking to his as your bodies mingled together. Your heart raced, your mind spinning, your body still impaled by his hard length. You could feel him still leaking out of you, so much of him must be staining your sheets but you couldn’t care. Not when it was him.

You looked down at him, the crease of frustration and fatigue which had dominated his forehead for weeks now, was faded. His breathing slow. You shut your eyes and smiled, you were the only one who could do this to him. The older General relied on you, on this time with you. And you were more than willing to oblige.

#star wars prequels #anakin x reader #clone wars #star wars fandom #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars fanfiction #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin smut #star wars #anakin x y/n #anakin x you #anakin star wars #anakin skywalker smut

423 notes · View notes

deathmetalunicorn1 · 24 days

Note

can i ask for some headcannons or maybe like a oneshot of strawhats or the whitebeard pirates with a fem crew mate whos a drider???

drider:

something similar to that design and like she would fight with webs using them to crontol people like doffy does with his strings js on a lesser scale! also really tall pretty pls🙏💋

HAVE A NICE DAY/NIGHT/WTV🫶🫶

Originally I was going to do the Straw Hats but remembered that Sanji and Nami are scared of spiders lol.

And the moment I saw this request I could only think of one drider/Arachne!! Rachnera!!

-Whitebeard’s crew was full of dangerous and well-known fighters and members, both with Devil Fruit abilities and ones with natural abilities- making for a melting pot of a very dangerous combination against their enemies.

-You were no exception, after Whitebeard found you many years ago on the deserted island you called your home, and while at first many of your new crew mates were terrified of you, seeing a drider or an Arachne as some called you by- they grew used to you and your shenanigans.

-That being said, you always got to have your fun when new crew mates joined the crew, you loved teasing others, seeing others looking half terrified half aroused by you- as you were quite stunning, and you used that to your advantage~~

-Ace was the newest member and when you scaled down your thin wire, descending upon him from above, his scream made you grin as he turned white in shock, fainting on the spot before the whole ship burst into laughter.

-When Ace popped back up, he went to yell at you before you turned and he froze, he couldn’t yell at a lady~~

-You quickly saw this and approached, your clawed hand coming to cup his face, cooing softly at him, “Ooh~ a chivalrous man- even to a monster such as myself~ I think we need to keep you~” Ace was so flustered by your words and being so close that you couldn’t help but lick your lips in delight- you loved shy boys the most- they were so fun to pick on.

-You learned that Ace was dangerous, just as any of the rest of you were, with his fire abilities, as fire was one of the few things that could severe your threads, which were like iron, as you couldn’t handle extreme heat well.

-Ace was careful around you, not wanting you to get burnt, which always led to you pulling him into your arms, hugging him close while he was red faced, trying to get away from you- flustered by your affections.

-Ace knew that you were strong, as you could take down whole marine ships on your own, just using your dangerous threads, but you were also quite intimidating when you wanted to be.

-When you were on an island, getting supplies alongside Marco, Ace, and Thatch, someone threw a stone at you, which you caught easily as they called out a monster. Other villagers looked scared of you as well, as they had never seem someone like you before, but as you grabbed his man’s face, your eyes turning red as you bared your fangs, threatening him, he quickly fainted, and you dropped him while your ‘brothers’ were defending you.

-You always told them you didn’t need it, as you were used to it- you were used to others being scared of you, something that upset your brothers when you told them this.

-You froze when a child ran over, hugging one of your legs and instantly you were surrounded by other children, as you all came to realize the man you took care of was someone who recently arrived and was threatening this little village with violence, and you just saved them.

-Ace couldn’t hide the shit-eating grin on his face, seeing you looking away with a shy blush on your face, as you were shy with praise like this from others, especially kids.

-When Whitebeard got back to the ship he couldn’t help but laugh, seeing the three men wrapped in your silk in cocoons, only their heads visible, upside down while everyone else was laughing at them while you were up in the crow’s nest, pouting lightly from embarrassment.

-You were a unique member of a unique crew, but they all treated you like family, they were protective of you, and you were protective of them, but if they pissed you off, they were put into timeout like those three- you had a reputation after all!

#one piece #one piece ace #one piece marco #one piece thatch #whitebeard #whitebeard pirates

73 notes · View notes

emilykaldwen · 1 month

Text

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: This chapter got out of control and ended up split (did I add another 1k per beta notes? yes, yes I did). I also wrote half of this chapter in the blackout haze I was in during this past season soooo take that as you will.

Many many thanks to @darkwolf76 for her un-spoiled eyes on this chapter and the encouragement I needed! Go check her work out for Strong Family Feels!

Much love to @selfproclaimedunicorn who likes to see what pretty jars we can shove these characters into to shake them around. ALSO check out her fantastic fic as well!

@vampire-exgirlfriend is my favorite person in the whole world, the Rhaenyra fan to my Alicent fan, the fox to my rabbit. I adore you and this story would not be here without you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Oh, Father, Tell Me

Aegon spirals on his morning ride and in the face of Daemon's arrival. A tense conversation with Larys Strong. Won't anyone just leave him the fuck alone?

The wind howled between the cracks around the windows and Abby snuggled deeper into the covers, Wylla’s hands clasped around her own. The bed was three times the size of the one she had in the Red Keep, and she tried not to think that the last person in this bed had been her mother.

“It’s alright,” Wylla whispered. “You shed all the tears you need.”

The words had been robbed from her in this haze of grief and loss, of confusion, and so many other things that raked at the soft meat of her insides. She could only nod into her pillow, and let Wylla push her hair from her face, half unfamiliar words in the song she sang quietly to her. It was only as Abby finally began to drift off, did she hear the sound of the door open, but she did not open her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Wylla hissed.

“You’re here to make sure nothing untoward happens,” Aegon’s voice drifted over her, followed by the soft thunk of boots on the rug. “The bed’s big enough; I can wake the other ladies to join us.”

“She just fell asleep-”

“Is she alright?” Aegon’s voice was softer and closer all the same, and Abby felt the bed dip as Aegon climbed on top of the covers behind her. The warmth of him was like a fire, soothing and comforting as he pressed up against her back, effectively keeping her contained between him and Wylla. She turned her head slightly and Aegon’s lips tenderly grazed her temple.

“She will be.” Wylla’s hands squeezed hers and Abby sighed, finally able to drift fully asleep.

Sleep had eluded Aegon, and he had woken far too early for his tastes, the murky gray light that signaled the coming dawn creeping in through the windows. The maid who had come to stoke the fire had stared at him, wide eyed, before dropping into a curtsy and hurrying from the room. He rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Abrogail’s temple before dragging his stiff body from the bed and slipping quietly out onto the tiered balcony. He reached up, fingers caressing the wisteria blooms he’d sent back with Ser Simon all those months ago. Abby adored them, and he wanted to bring a piece of their garden here.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong.

Jace had said little after the revelation, speaking of what he’d overheard, his voice harsh and cracking between breaths and in Aegon’s hands lay the admittance that his sister had truly sired bastards by the tongue of her own son. Jace had put the lives of his family in his hands then, amid his gasping and tear filled eyes. It was the moment that Alicent Hightower had been waiting for all these many years…and Aegon only kept a hand pressed between his nephew’s shoulder blades, sat beside his childhood companion, and simply sat there with him in the dark.

By rights, Aegon should hate the boy beside him. His feelings for his sister were a tangled knot of Helaena’s embroidery thread that joined the ribbon tied through his ribs. A piece of him that he would never be free of, for Aegon didn’t know how to cut himself free of it. It was not his sister in the crypt that Jace had heard, however. It had been the king, sire and grandsire, the head of their family. The man who looked past Aegon as if he was a specter that was too painful, and then the moment where those eyes focused and for those fleeting heartbeats, Aegon thought the king saw the son that he had.

His own hand held the blade - or in this case, lit the match - and it occurred to Aegon then how obvious it felt. Targaryens believed in a cleansing fire. Their house words spoke of this, Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood had come for House Strong, not a powerful wave crashing against the towers like some suspected Lord Corlys to have been responsible for it. His weak father had taken the accusations personally, and defended his daughter with the same sort of viciousness that Mother had defended Aemond. The same sort of viciousness that he never bestowed upon them.

Too weak. King Viserys was too weak but it was not weakness, Aegon thought, to spare a child. Had Rhaenyra admitted what had happened, he doubted anyone would have faced death. Ser Harwin would have gone to The Wall, Rhaenyra’s sons disinherited. Maybe Aegon would have become her heir then. Not that he wanted it, but Aemond would have even at that age, and that might have been something.

No. Instead, the king spilled blood through the sort of schemes he disdained of.

Harrenhal was too unfamiliar for Aegon to make his way through quietly. It was early enough that he wasn’t bothered, but it meant that the murmured conversations of the servants were his to overhear.

“They say it’s a Second Great Council,” a voice had said to their companion; two servants scraping out the great hearth that had burned low through the night. “I heard that the king will name his son heir at the wedding.”

“He didn’t name him in King’s Landing,” the other voice had pointed out.

The first voice laughed. “But more are coming to the wedding. You can see the tents for miles!”

The court had whispered those rumors the whole of Aegon’s life, every time his name day came around that it would be the year that he would supplant his sister as heir. Rumor that would chase along the whispers of court each time Rhaenyra gave birth to another brunette boy.

He wants me to inherit nothing! He wanted to scream at them. They all saw it. They all saw over and over again how little King Viserys cared for his long sought after first born son. The boy he stopped caring about as soon as Precious Rhaenyra’s little Jacaerys came.

Jacaerys Velaryon, who looked like Ser Harwin and always had, who shared the same dimpled smile as Abrogail. Jacaerys, who the king doted on and spoiled and paid more attention to than Aegon.

Jace, who had come running to him when he was small, crying because something had frightened him. Jace, who tagged along after him when Aemond rolled his eyes and stuck his head in a book.

The castle was already bustling as Aegon made the long walk to the stables, Kostōba already saddled by his request. He reached up to rub his palm along his face while he fed the horse a carrot for his good behavior and left out the main gates and down the trail west, away from Harrenton and towards the roost where Sunfyre and the other dragons had nested.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong in order to cover up for his sister’s indiscretions.

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him as he climbed on, chittering and confused, watching him with great, golden eyes and trilling softly; a whistle of a song. Dreamfyre was curled up a ways away, Vermax chittering beside her while Moondancer perched up along the jagged rock of the ruined tower that made up the dragon roost. They all watched as Aegon and Sunfyre took off and Aegon let his stomach drop, the wind from the ascent pull tears from his eyes and tried to escape into the nothingness of the sky.

Did he even want to be king?

He had meant it when he said that he would not contest Rhaenyra’s claim. Kingship looked exhausting, with everyone demanding and expecting and pushing and pleading. He already dealt with the favor seekers and the clout chaser amidst court, preying upon him to aid their own desperate grabs at ascent. Cassandra Baratheon had been a more dangerous indulgence; the comely heir of a Lord Paramount with eyes set on something more. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that allowing her to think she could get her claws in him had been a risky move, and one that he was pleased had worked out for the better. She had not been the only one, nor, he knew, would she be the last.

Sunfyre let out a loud shriek and swooped down, the flotilla of previously peaceful ducks floating languidly upon the still waters of the lake now a frenzy of frightened calls before the dragon let out a pleased groan and scooped a mouth full of the water fowl into his mouth, belly just skimming the water, tail splashing in the sudden descent and quick ascent to avoid crashing into the depths. Water splashed up, the droplets catching into colored streaks of light in the early morning rays. He shouted in surprise and delight, Sunfyre shaking water from his head as he indulged himself, successfully pulling Aegon from the spiral of uncertainty that he had found himself in.

He did not want to be king, nor did he want to hide himself away amidst the ash and bone of the past the way his father did. He wanted to wake each morning buried balls deep in his wife, senses filled with her to erase away the haunted dreams of loneliness and pain. He wanted to greet the day upon dragonback and watch the sunrise; a streak of blue as vivid as Abrogail’s eyes, streaked with pink and orange and purple, the rays turning Sunfyre more golden and brilliant than ever. Where the world was quiet and peaceful, where nothing chased and demanded and clawed. Aegon wanted a life away from the harsh demands of King’s Landing. How peaceful it was here at Harrenhal. Yes, he missed the sound of bells from the Great Sept, the bustle and crush of Flea Bottom, but it was not a longing that bred contempt. Aegon knew that in his bones. It was an ache of appreciation, of thankfulness, because the quiet here, unexpectedly found as he and his dragon danced above the God’s Eye, was a gift he had not realized he had needed, let alone wanted.

The Isle of Faces was shrouded in the morning mist and the high, bone white boughs of the weirwoods reached up through the fog, the sprays of vivid red leaves like drops of blood against the snow. Sunfyre kept a distance away and Aegon did not urge him closer. He knew little of the island except that it was the last home of the Southron Weirwoods, a sacred place of worship. He squinted towards the island, the little outcropping that jutted out into the water, and startled as something moved.

The antlers caught his attention; the twist of the them at first fooling him for branches of a tree before the figure moved. It was no beast, at least, not one that Aegon had ever seen before. It was a shadow in the mist, a figure of some great height but he could not tell if it was what adorned its head or if the figure was truly tall. It moved out of the trees, the damp swirling around it as it stepped into the streak of morning light that lit up the little outcropping, shrouded in shadow.

Aegon’s ears pricked as a strange sound met him. A loud but low humming seemed to emanate the closer they came to the island. He had never heard such a thing before and although it was a distant sound, it reverberated in his bones, vibrating along the back of his neck.

His father had Lyonel Strong and his son were killed to protect Rhaenyra from further accusations.

The accusations had not been erased, and Aegon had seen the way Ser Simon had looked at the boy, eyes wide, the man who was so quick with words stunned speechless.

Everyone knows. Just look at them.

He craved the sweet rush of Arbor Red down his throat, or the taste of Abby’s cunt on his tongue. He craved escape and with an anguished shout, he urged Sunfyre faster, letting his roar claw at his throat just as Sunfyre joined him, the sensation of his dragon a comfort in his chest. The pair of them yelled together, Aegon breathless and lightheaded, his throat protesting at the scream he let out.

Sunfyre let out another trilling call and took off higher, the end of his tail slapping against the water and Aegon craned back to watch the figure as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance. The feeling in his stomach was one of uncertainty; an unsettled sensation that roiled in his belly like a sloshing ale tankard. He leaned over the horn of his saddle, running a gloved hand along Sunfyre’s scales. Another strong beat of his dragon’s wings, and Sunfyre sped faster into the dawn sky, the cold of the clouds hitting against Aegon’s face, cooling the perpetual heat of his skin and stinging his eyes. Yet he inhaled the smell of petrichor and let it course through his body and wash away the odd sensations and the thoughts that plagued him.

Still, it stuck.

His father had his wife’s father and brother killed to protect his sister. His wife’s other brother had a hand in it.

His sister, Aegon would never forget, who stood in the face of their brother’s maiming, the grievous injury that could have killed him; an ugly and long, painful death from infection and agony, to change the focus to her, and the perceived injustices against her, to the expense of the rest of them. Instead of punishing her children in any sort of capacity, she turned it into something completely different. Cruel and unnecessary; no one had been speaking of it. It had to do with Vhagar, not an attack on Rhaenyra herself. But she had run with Jace’s quiet words of a foolish child, bringing in what wouldn’t have been on the table had she not been fucking Harwin Strong and trying to pass his children off as Laenor Velaryon’s.

The king had eagerly gone along with it, further than even Aegon expected. King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, was mild, milquetoast, and so averse to conflict that he and Aemond would start muttering, “Oh no, my indigestion! Oh no, my ulcers!’” every time some sort of disagreement or conflict began to rise at whatever familial occasion came about. Their sire, who yelled and railed when he wished to be contrary to exercise his desire…had ordered the deaths of his Hand and the man’s heir—the man who his heir was fucking.

Three children too late, of course, but the king had been backed into a corner and had snapped and spread his wings to show he could be just as dangerous as Prince Daemon. Aegon knew that much about his father. Even if none knew how it had happened, did Rhaenyra know what their father had done for her? Aegon could not know her mind, but he knew if it had been himself, he would have raged at it.

He would have gone into the king’s room and torn his heart from his chest. This fool of a king who waited too long, acted too late to do anything and left them all here: fractured and broken with no hope of anything but blood across the throne.

Was Rhaenyra not also a dragon? Or had she rolled over and showed her belly in the face of their father’s twisted adoration?

Alicent Hightower’s children. Never brother nor sister..

Aegon had no choice. There was no world he existed in where Rhaenyra was not his sister. She had enough luxury to put distance between them, and how aggressively she did. Her shadow loomed behind him, and he knew that his own dogged her. She was not coming to this wedding for him. She was not coming to share in his incandescent joy to finally be bound to the one he loved. She was coming to assert her place, to remind them all that she was their father’s favorites, their father’s chosen.

What would she do in the face of House Strong who saw Jace’s face, and would soon see his brothers? What would the king feel compelled to do? Would he set the rest of the house ablaze to erase whatever physical similarities would undermine Rhaenyra’s claim? As if three sons of his own weren’t enough to undermine her? Take their faces instead of their tongues.

King Viserys despised nothing more than being made to look like a fool.

It was never just Mother who railed at what was plain to see. It was never just her.

‘Do you think Rhaenyra’s sons will be your playthings forever? When she ascends the throne, your life may be forfeit. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession. You are the challenge, Aegon! Just by living and breathing!’

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, the chirping purr he made one full of confusion and concern, his great head turning to look back at him. Aegon remained slumped over the saddle horn as the dragon flew aimlessly above the God’s Eye and the rolling hills of the Riverlands. It would be so easy to unhook his belt and let himself roll off and plummet into the depths below. To escape the machinations and lies and secrets of his family and replace it with the depths of blue would be a simple escape. Whatever violence his mother and grandfather saw in the future, could he simply… make it go away? If he went away?

He could not. He would not. Not now. Not when he was so close. He could not leave Abby here alone in this world; he would not abandon her the way she had been left behind by everyone else. He’d promised and he meant it.

Aegon looked up from his staring at the pink frills along Sunfyre’s neck to blink up, eyes stinging, as a warbling, undulating call echoed from the east. It echoed over the rolling green fields and the forest that hugged along the banks by the castle. It was a distant sound that sent a shiver down his spine, undulating and unnerving. His stomach swooped and dropped uncomfortably, and the half bottle of wine he’d drunk last night threatened to slosh up. Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, a growl in his throat as he whipped towards the east with a screech.

There was only a single dragon in the sky; his sister must have gone further to meet the carriage that held the children and the Velaryons. The blood red of Caraxes’ scales glinted like garnets in the morning light. The distant sound of laughter joined the dragon’s call as the red pitched and turned north.

Sunfyre’s warning call screamed louder across the sky. He didn’t need to be told; Sunfyre simply knew. They bolted after them a heartbeat later, racing towards the hulking, melted spires of Harrenhal, thoughts of oblivion, of glutting on lake fish forgotten. His friend might not be quite as old as Caraxes, but he was just as big, and fast, if not faster. A screech let out, a flash of hot light expelled from Sunfyre as they gave pursuit, but the wyrm merely dropped down and another laugh echoed back. Something hot burned in Aegon’s chest and Sunfyre shuddered beneath him.

The command rested on Aegon’s tongue, tempting as a fresh bottle of wine, as his winsome lover spread upon his bed. It was from a deep, feral place in his chest, where Sunfyre’s presence glowed warm and molten through his veins. He bit his tongue and Sunfyre screeched for him. The need to take the other man and his dragon in his jaws, rip and rend and shake the bits of them as blood sacrifice to the gods, was near consuming. A rage inside of Aegon that had built over the years threatened to bubble up. The hot tang of blood rushed into his mouth both from dragon dreams and the fact that he’d bitten himself to keep from shouting. He was desperate to do something with this rage that had nowhere to go, and the idea of rending Daemon Targaryen limb from limb, offering him as sacrifice at the feet of his mother to free her from the strangling fear that turned her angry and desperate.Aegon would take the threats of their family, prove to Aemond that he too was capable of standing up, bold and strong. To show Otto Hightower that he was not the feckless fool he sought to puppet. To prove to Abrogail that she would never have anything to fear, ever again, and that their family would be safe.

To show Rhaenyra that she could keep her claim that she so desperately wanted, but that she would not come for them, lest she meet the same fate.

To show his sire-king, the decrepit old man he was, that Aegon would defend them with fire and blood too when he would not. To force King Viserys to see him and know that this was the creature he’d turned him into; that he’d turned this family into. Where his mother had turned cruel and desperate to protect them, where Aemond was angry all the time, where Aegon lived each day with a sword above his head, wondering if that morning would be the day the king did not wake, and the dragons would scream.

Another laugh echoed as the pair ahead swooped down to skim the water before bursting back up, amused and uncaring of the screaming dragon that gave chase. Daemon was enjoying it. He howled as that rage took him, and Sunfyre screamed along with him. They were nearing the great curtain walls of the fortress now, the sun to their right casting their shadows along the glimmering blue of the God’s Eye, the antlered shadow on the outcropping long forgotten. The wyrm banked further northwest to the dragon roost and Aegon hissed.

“Lilagon, Sunfyre,” he commanded, and Sunfyre danced. The dragon glided effortlessly into the turn, coming up up along the inside as they circled Harrenhal and used the momentum to burst past and rocketed straight for the broken tower. Sunfyre let out a warning cry, banking around and rising up, wings spread. Aegon had no thoughts, no words, except to protect. This was his, and this laughing man and his strange dragon wyrm had chosen already.

Like Viserys, Daemon had chosen his side, more dangerous than the rest of them.

The dragons below in the pit started shrieking in response to Sunfyre’s call, but Moondancer shot up, her calls far less distressed, the verdant green of her scales glimmering as she twirled in the air. At the little dragon’s approach, the wyrm circled towards her, the elongated neck ensuring that Caraxes’ eyes did not leave Aegon and Sunfyre, warning him away.

“Sȳrī tymptan!” came the distant shout. Aegon felt Sunfyre shift. “Aōha kepa avy dīnagon ozūndegon amastas! Rhaenyra aderī kesīr ulza.”

Dreamfyre was ululating from the ground in response to Sunfyre’s warning and Aegon glared towards his uncle.

“We’re fine,” he murmured to the dragon, scratching at the scales along his neck. Sunfyre huffed his displeasure but did not cry out again. Dreamfyre was still making sounds, but the distressed call had stopped and the two of them lowered to the ground, Moondancer still above and circling. The Dragonkeepers were rushing about, and Ser Arryk was holding onto his horse’s bridle, the stallion stomping its feet with fear at the shouts of the dragons. Aegon could see a wheelhouse in the distance, another Kingsguard stallion leading it ahead.

He undid the hooks on his saddle and slid down Sunfyre’s wing before the dragon could settle properly, his golden eyes fixated on the other dragon settling himself away from Dreamfyre. His breath was quick and his skin felt overly hot, prickly, like he was about to let out his own flame. Daemon Targaryen was far more fluid; lazy, even, as he swung himself down, the fall of the man’s hair and his long limbs a familiar sight. There was a strange moment when the man turned and cocked his head, that Aegon thought he was looking at his brother, and wondered in a terrifying moment, if Daemon Targaryen was Aemond’s future.

The last time he’d seen his uncle had been at Laena Velaryon’s funeral. A figure seen occasionally during his childhood, Daemon Targaryen was more a staple of stories and sneers than what Aegon would consider an actual uncle. He’d holed himself up on Driftmark with the Velaryons and the twins before he married Rhaenyra, and the pair of them had refused to come to court since their marriage. The man had changed little over the years. Tall and silver haired, Daemon was a figure of health compared to King Viserys, still recovering from the long trip up from the capital.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Aegon said, a final, gentle pat against Sunfyre’s neck, the dragon’s head turned to keep his golden eyes on the Blood Wyrm and its rider. Aegon lifted a hand, tugging his glove off with his teeth before pushing his tousled, wind tangled hair from his eyes. He would not be intimidated. He would not let the whispered threats of what Daemon Targaryen would do if the opportunity found him overtake him. This was his home, and Aegon was still the king’s son, and the prince was a guest. He’d made his loyalties clear years ago.

He remembered with such startling clarity running after his sister, shouting her name, begging her to wait for him, struggling to get his coat on and tripping in his haste. “Nyra wait!” She was striding down the hallway, the sun catching on her long silver hair, like Visenya reborn, waving to Daemon and Laena Velaryon. His sister had paused and looked back at him but it was Daemon’s sharp, cruel smirk that had stopped Aegon short as the man reached for Rhaenyra’s shoulder and drew her attention.

“He is of no importance.”

More who did not want him.

Aegon stumbled slightly as he felt a huff of warm, sulfuric breath hit his back, followed by the gentle bump of Sunfyre, the warmth of his purr vibrating inside the hollow between his ribs and through his limbs. There was a gentle chirp, like a bird song, and Aegon turned to press his hands against the dragon’s warm snout, pressing a kiss between his flared nostrils. “Lykirī,” he murmured, calming them both. Another pat against his warm scales and Aegon shoved his gloves in his pockets. Ser Arryk was watching him from his post near the stone cottage where the Dragonkeepers were staying. The elder man’s brows were slightly furrowed, his face impassive, but his gaze flitted to Daemon’s briefly before looking back to him.

“Your Grace,” Ser Arryk said. There was a question in the simple greeting that came from the years that Ser Arryk had been his sworn shield. It was nothing specific and sometimes it caused a prickle of uncertainty and self-doubt, different in the self-conscious feelings that Ser Criston stoked.

“I’m sure the prince would appreciate the quiet solitude of the carriage ride,” Aegon said on his approach, his gaze darting towards Daemon as he stalked towards them. The carriage would be there shortly, back in sight after the bend around some of the boulders that marked the border of the shale caves here along the lake. “He does spend much of his time surrounded by the babbling of children.”

“How thoughtful you are. You certainly don’t get that from your mother.”

Aegon ran his tongue over his teeth, jaw aching with a pain that was not his own, Sunfyre still rumbling beneath his skin. The bait was blatant, so low hanging that he could kick it should he so wished. How he wished to take it and pummel Daemon with it. His mother’s hands may have left scars upon him, but she was his mother. His defender even when he disappointed her. These last few months were strange and hopeful in a way he didn’t know how to handle. Her touch had been gentle across his brow or upon his shoulder, her smiles tentative but there, the furrow between her brow easing.

His mother who cuddled him when he was small and afraid when she was pregnant with Daeron, that he would lose her, who cared about the small folk in her sponsorships and initiatives she was so busy with. Nothing Aegon would do was ever good enough, but sometimes? Sometimes it was.

The response to Daemon was on his tongue, ripe and juicy as a grape. “And we know you get nothing from yours.” Cruel and barbed and hooked, his own teeth bared if Daemon Targaryen was so eager to see what he was made of.

“I did not realize you and the queen were so close for you to recognize what qualities I did or did not receive from her,” Aegon said instead, wan smile and cursory look in the elder’s direction. “If you were wondering, I do get my good looks from her, and a taste for honey cakes.” He shrugged, reaching over to stroke the velvet softness of his stallion’s nose. “The hair is, of course, from my father, the king. I notice Baela wears the same displeased expression you wear. As well as your nose.”

The smile he gave Daemon was a bit brighter this time as the carriage pulled up, Ser Marbrand on his steed. The door opened unexpectedly and Baela herself came out, silver braids swinging and the gold bands shining in the light. He had spent enough time around his cousin over the past few months to see the same uncertain tension in her shoulders that he frequently saw in Aemond as she took in her father.

“I heard Caraxes,” she said by way of greeting, the deep greens and blues of her riding leathers scored with seahorses and dragons. Daemon’s attention swung to his daughter and Aegon ignored the rest of the conversation as it turned into High Valyrian, rapid and ancient, their accents markedly different from how he spoke with his own siblings. A raw feeling struck hard inside his chest, and he watched them for another moment before his attention swung to further movement at the carriage.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Larys Strong’s voice carried unexpectedly well given his low tone. “Forgive me for not getting out - it is rather difficult for me to move here.”

Daemon’s face was impassive at being addressed by the lord of Harrenhal and Aegon looked at the soft, torn up ground that the carriage had stopped in. Baela gave Aegon a nod before pulling her father’s attention, her Valyrian flowing easily. “I thought we could go riding. Just you and I.”

“Another carriage is on its way, your Grace,” Ser Marbrand said. “I shall stay here, Ser Arryk.”

Kostōba pawed at the ground and without being asked, the footman tied Aegon’s horse to the back of the carriage. Aegon bristled, opening his mouth to demand the servant cease until Larys’ voice came once more.

“Join me in the carriage, my prince. We are going to be family soon, and it’s so difficult to get time together.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed a touch, long lashes hooding his eyes as he turned his attention back to the footman who had handled his horse. He could hear his uncle and cousin still conversing in rapid Valyrian, their words muffled just enough, so easily flowing between them that Aegon couldn’t keep up. The horses knickered and whined, pawing at the ground with the proximity to the dragons.

“Of course, Lord Larys. We will indeed.” Aegon gave him a tight smile and gestured for him to enter the wheelhouse first. The ones from the capital prioritized privacy with their screened in windows. The ones belonging to House Strong were more easily opened, the windows with little, folded shutters and fluttering linen curtains; far more open and far less like a cage.

Larys tapped the handle of his cane against the roof of the wheelhouse, and with a gentle jerk they headed back. Aegon leaned back against the plush pillows of the bench, stretching his legs out before him. In the small space, it was a sight to see how tall Larys Strong was. He was a thin man, much like Aemond, but while Aemond walked as straight as a blade, Larys made himself small. A sick feeling curled in the pit of his stomach as the understanding washed over him; the feeling of seeing one in the mirror. Aegon did the same thing. Curled shoulders and slouching to avoid the gaze of those who would bite at him.

The only difference, Aegon surmised, was that Larys’ desire to be undetected did not come from something as childish as his own desire to be unnoticed.

The soft sound of scraping drew Aegon’s gaze down to peer at Larys’ metal boot.

“When you take your seat here, my prince, you should know what you’re up against,” Larys said softly, his dark eyes pinning Aegon like one of Helaena’s bugs to the board. “You handled the council meeting well, as the squabbles of the Blackwoods and Brackens are exhausting to us all. Of course, Grover Tully approves of you. He may have sworn oaths to your father’s chosen successor, but make no mistake that he will raise banners for you. His grandson, Elmo, on the other hand…”

Aegon recalled the elder man with a wash of inferiority. Elmo Tully was tall and broad, with dark, auburn hair and piercing eyes that shifted from blue to green, he recalled, because it had unsettled him. ‘Lucerys’ eyes,’ Aegon remembered thinking when he first sat across from the man at the small council table.

“Aunt Celeste isn’t your mother, is she?” Aegon’s brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile the woman who had helped raise him with how she could bear this giant of a man. Ser Harwin let out a sad sounding laugh and shook his head.

“No, my prince. My mother was Lysa Tully, granddaughter of Lord Grover. I squired in Riverrun before my father became Master of Laws for your father.” Ser Harwin shook his curls from his face, reaching to tie it back to keep it from his face. “She died when I was a little sprog, barely walking.” A distance took his eyes and Aegon averted his gaze to offer the man privacy.

“He supports Rhaenyra,” Aegon finished, not wishing to dance around implications.

“He will, if only because he views the Hand and your mother as overstepping the crown’s wishes and the contract between the throne and its people.”

Aegon frowned at this, arms folded across his chest. “Speak plain, Lord Larys,” he said with his own hard look. Aegon understood games, he understood doublespeak, but there was much left to the imagination and he would not be made a fool of. “The throne provides for its people. What imagined overstepping is he so worried about? He’s simply sore that he lost Harrenhal to me.”

“He’s concerned about the dragon this marriage placed in his lands.” Larys shrugged softly and leaned back in the seat, the carriage jostling over a particularly large bump. “Harrenhal of course is a boon, but not in the way you might think. A comely bride is merely an additional perk, not the prize as it was for you.”

Aegon hummed softly in a way that reminded him of his brother and curled his fingers into his arms to resist the need to pick at the skin. Aemond had said something similar over the course of his nameday. How now all would see how vulnerable he was, and the way to wound him most grievously. Aegon, on the other hand, had sneered at that. Abby was not a weakness to him. To lose her would be to lose himself, yes, but it would not destroy him like Aemond tried to imply.

Of course it wouldn’t.

“They’re here to discuss the marriage contract. Lord Elmo is here on behalf of his father since Lord Tully is abed back at Riverrun. Several of the other river lords are with him, wishing to hammer out the details the crown and I worked out in regards to the inheritance of Harrenhal and jointure, the dowry, and the fact that Lord Elmo sees your placement in the Riverlands as a threat that you will take the Paramount seat from him should he not support you.”

Aegon’s face twisted in confusion, nostrils flaring at the insult at being accused of something he had no desire for. He leaned forward, a hand reaching up to the handle along the roof of the carriage to balance himself.

“He accuses me of coveting his seat?” Aegon hissed. “Just as these lords think I’m plotting to steal my sister’s throne. Why are they so quick to think ill of me? To accuse me of villainy and brand me traitor when I’ve done nothing of the sort. I plot no schemes or collusions—”

“You were born,” Larys interrupted with a soft and earnest voice. He too leaned forward, mimicking Aegon’s position. “You are the first born son of a king who murdered his first wife in the hunt for a healthy, living son, Prince Aegon. You did not choose this mantle, you did not choose to be born the son of the king, and I did not choose to be born with my own struggles. But these are the lots we have drawn in life and we must make the best of it.”

This close, Aegon noticed how he looked a bit like Ser Simon, who himself looked like the ghost of Lord Lyonel. Larys’s features were sharper than the rest of his family, he and his sister both, likely from their Frey mother. But the dark eyes reminded him of the amber glass eyes that stared out of the mounted stag heads and bear heads that lined one of the small halls in the Red Keep.

“Your own struggles?” Aegon snarled. “Like murdering your father and brother so you could have the seat instead of skulking about the Red Keep for the rest of your days?”

Aegon leaned back and so did Larys, who dropped his hand to grip the handle of his cane. He looked out the window silently, his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the amber bauble on the cane. Larys did not ask him how he knew.

Caraxes’ whistling shriek echoed high across the lake valley. There was an even more distant answer: the long absent cry of Syrax that he hadn’t heard in years.

As Larys Strong’s dark eyes found him, Aegon felt like the elder was peeling away his skin as methodically as he peeled fruit, or the flesh of the convicts in the torture cells of the Red Keep. Aegon watched the twitch of his features and the shadow that passed over his gaze.

“Prince Aegon,” he said slowly, words measured, pausing for a moment before he finally continued. “The death of my father and elder brother was a tragic accident. It was never supposed to happen that way.”

Aegon’s mouth went dry. So what Jace said was, in fact, true;that Aegon had blurted it out to the man accused was of no matter. The bottom of his stomach dropped out with an unpleasant swoop.

Larys’ can thumped softly against the floor of the carriage. “It is not something that was done out of greed, or selfishness. Nor was it years of resentment. I loved my father very much. While a lesser father would have cast a babe born as I was aside, to dash their heads against the stone and write the babe off as another loss in a long line of tragedy, he fed my appetite for learning. He taught me how to hone my mind the way my brother honed his blade. He offered to send me to the citadel if it was what I wished, just as he attended in his youth before his brother, Tristafer, died and he became heir. When I declined to go to Oldtown, he helped me find a place in the world where I could excel.”

“Then you killed him,” Aegon said, voice low, brow slightly furrowed. “A man you claimed to love, who had done so much for you, and you burned him alive.”

The other man looked down at his cane, impassive in the face of Aegon’s words. He took a breath, a slight shake of his head, then met Aegon’s eyes once more. “Princess Rhaenyra kept my brother at her side and my father, love him as I did, he did not stop it. He could have. He did not.” Larys paused and his eyes went downcast, sweeping across the floor, but Aegon did not think he was truly looking at anything. “The king saw a threat to the stability of the royal family and made his wishes clear. When the king wishes something, it will be done. Your father wanted to silence the whispers. I would not let some assassin come after my family. We all make sacrifices in life, Your Grace. Often, that is in response to…,” Larys met his gaze, “...the actions, or inaction, of our fathers and our siblings. Duty and sacrifice are tenets of your mother’s, so I know you understand. I sacrificed them to salvage what I could of our house, and to save my sweet sister who was meant to return here as my brother finally came to take his place as future lord.”

The silence was oppressive, the air thick from it, as Larys held his gaze for several more moments before releasing him to look out the window. Aegon had nothing to say and instead looked out his own window towards the lake and the trees along the shoreline. Larys had given him much to consider and it was a new experience to not have it all blamed upon Rhaenyra or even the fleeting implications in the complacency of the king. Larys had implicated his own father and brother; a mess made of the four of them.

Aegon recalled the pale, silent ghost that Abby had turned into after the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin, barely remembering the discussion of her returning to Harrenhal. His mother had been quiet too and locked for hours in the sept. Aegon had thought she had been grieving with Abby, had grieved the loss of the relationship she had had with Lord Lyonel. Did she too know about this?

It was so much. It was too much for him to think of all right now and he didn’t want to focus on it. The danger at hand now was the presence of Elmo Tully and the other lords who were raising an issue and trying to prevent his marriage. The anger at being misjudged and assumed that he was coming for things he could not give two shits about, that took the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to be king and he didn’t want a Paramount seat. He just wanted his dragon, and Abrogail, and whatever family they made for themselves.

Well. That was a season. This chapter got so damn long that we've had to split it in two, which at the end of the day is a good thing. I'll get to flesh out the second half and start moving us into a couple housekeeping things before we launch into the long awaited family dinner, a spicy spicy chapter, and THEN THE WEDDING! As an FYI, I'm starting a new job on Monday! I will no longer be WFH, so my writing time is going to be a helluva lot different moving forward, but we're still sticking to the 'at least once a month' chapter updates. And with the next chapter now half down, I'm hoping to get back to a small buffer. Thank you all for being here, and I always always love to hear from you. If you're not sure what to say, a reblog lets more people read this story! My askbox is also open! Thank you for reading <3

73 notes · View notes

arlana-likes-to-write · 12 hours

Text

Sugar Rush

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist

Summary: Carol needs advice on how to ask you on a date.

Warning: fluff, some amount of angst, mention of past abuse from the Red Room and Dreykov, Val is a good friend, everyone loves to tease the reader, gay panic

Word Count: 5.3k

Maybe Carol was overthinking it. This wasn’t foreign territory to her. It was easy for her to get a girl into bed with her. Yes, it built her a reputation as a playboy, but no one got hurt. In her eyes, she was entitled to a bit of fun after all the hell she’s been through. But you were different, so Carol needed to be different. Carol found you attractive. She believed anybody was an idiot if they failed to see your physical beauty. However, it was your heart that drew her in.

Her time was between patrolling the stars and helping the Avengers on Earth. Somehow, you were all Yelena talked about when she was at the compound. Since the fall of the Accords, Yelena has painted this picture of you. Her older sister gave herself up to Dreykov, so she and Natasha could be free. Carol was intrigued by you. She wondered how someone who was captured by the darkness so young and for so long was good.

It was easy for you to capture Carol on your web; she knew you had no idea what you were doing. At first, it was the way she caught you staring at her when she got done meeting with Steve. The blush on your cheek was Carol’s new favorite color. Then, it was the way you confronted the Widow after exposing her to the red dust. You opened your arms to her without hesitation. You comforted her and reassured her that it was not her fault.

At the bar, where you thankfully agreed to get a drink, it was your smile as you tried to hide it. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your sisters. Even when she spoke of her life, you hung on every word she said.

What she told your sisters was true. She wanted to be your friend. If it led to more (which she hopped), then she would be grateful. But it would be on your timeline; she wouldn’t force you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

So here she was, on her ship and lost on what to do. You were visiting the compound for a few days, and it linked up to when Carol was coming back to Earth. Your friendship was growing through text messages or short phone calls. Carol wanted to plan something fun to do together. She called Valkyrie for help. Was it wise to call her ex-girlfriend and her first girlfriend since Monica? Unsure, but there weren’t other people she could ask. Besides, she and Val ended things on good terms; they were better off as friends. “Oh captain, my captain,” Val teased when the call connected and her hologram came up. “What do I owe the pleasure?” Carol rolled her eyes.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, you are, but being a king is trying work,” she sighed dramatically. “What do you need? You never call.” She winced and made a mental note to be better at that.

“I need advice.”

“Is this about the Black Widow you fancy?” Val asked.

“I don’t fancy her,” she stood up from her bed and moved around her ship. “Also, who says fancy anymore?” Val laughed. “But yes, it’s about her,” she picked up a toy for Goose and threw it. The flerken ran after it. “I want to plan something but don’t know what to do.” Val hummed.

“Is the endgame to sleep with her?” Carol slapped her hand against her forehead. “What?” Val asked while laughing. “It’s a valid question, and depending on the answer, I could give different options,” Carol sighed, picked up the toy Goose brought back, and threw it again.

“Yes,” she admitted. “But not right away. She’s special, Val, and I don’t want to fuck this up like I normally do. If I do, I will have two very pissed-off Black Widows after me,” Carol paused. “3 if her mother decides to join in on the hunt,” Val laughed so hard, she almost fell out of her chair. The sound made Carol smile. Val was a pain in her ass sometimes, but she was grateful for her.

“Goodness, I forgot how funny you are.” Carol wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, so she kept her comments to herself. “So we want friendship to possible lovers’ date ideas, right?”

“Yes,” Carol sighed, shaking her head. She was starting to regret asking Val.

“And she’s the one who gave herself up for her sisters,” Carol hummed. “Heroic,” Val was silent beside the click of her pen, and she leaned back in her chair. So Carol kept throwing the toy for Goose. “Take her to an arcade.”

“An arcade?” Carol questioned, froze mid-throw, and looked at Val’s hologram. The flerken yelled at her, so she threw it at him. Val was leaning on her desk with her hands crossed.

“Yeah, she’s probably never been to one. You guys can be all cute and competitive; then you can woo her by winning her a prize.”

“I hate you,” Carol deadpanned, but it wasn’t a bad idea.

“No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t have called me,” she had a point. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Thanks, Val,” Carol smiled. “I’ll come visit soon.”

“Bring the new boo thang,” Carol hung up before Val could say anything. Sighing, she sat down in her chair with her hands over her eyes. She felt a little silly, acting like a teenager with a crush. But she was nervous and a little anxious, and these were feelings she wasn’t used to. Goose ran over and jumped on her lap, rubbing his head against her hand to get the captain to pet him. Carol smiled.

“Maybe I should take you with me. She does want to meet you,” the flerken meowed. “Do you promise not to eat any of them?” Immediately, Goose jumped off her lap. “That does not provide me with any confidence.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Hey stranger,” you turned around from your spot in the kitchen to see Carol. While you were in Russia, you missed your sisters. You missed spending time with Wanda, but you missed Carol the most. These feelings were something you were still trying to understand. While apart, your friendship was forged over text messages and phone calls. You worried your friendship wasn’t going to work in person.

“Did you bring him?” You asked. Carol shook her head but chuckled at your frown.

“Stark doesn’t like Goose,” she said and took half of the sandwich you made. You could give two fucks about Stark’s feelings. You wanted to meet the cat or Flerken or whatever. “Goose tried to eat him last time.”

“Good,” you shrugged. “He probably deserved it.” Carol laughed and took a bite. “Is it good?” The captain nodded with a smile. You rolled your eyes and took a bite of your half. She was right. It was good. Another thing about the compound is that your food was never safe.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Usually, you would spend it with whoever wanted to watch a movie or play video games.

“Nope,” you said. “Do you want to do something?” You watched her smile grow, and you enjoyed it.

This is the first time you’ve done this. You only looked at someone and enjoyed their mannerisms by analyzing every detail for a mission. Slowly, you were unlearning those behaviors while leaving with the Avengers. Wanda liked tea before she went to bed. Steve always had a sketchbook next to him. When Yelena was nervous or anxious, she played with the rings on her fingers.

You liked learning about Carol. When she was reading over a mission report, she was spinning a pen between her fingers. Her eyes would light up when she was asked about Monica or Goose because she loved them both. She was playful, snarky, and wasn’t afraid to tease your sisters or Tony. “Do you want to go somewhere with me?” She asked.

“Do I get to know where we are going?” you countered. Carol shook her head. “It sounds like you are kidnapping me,” the captain smirked.

“Do you think I could kidnap you and get away with it?” You shrugged. It would be a challenge, but it would be fun. Besides, she could not get very far. Carol laughed.

“Do you trust me?” It went against your training to trust anyone, but you wanted to trust her.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Good, wear something casual, and I’ll pick you up at 5,” she winked at you, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You shook your head with a smile and ignored the way her playful gesture filled your stomach with butterflies. Instead of focusing on the upcoming hang-out with Carol, you began to clean the kitchen. It was a simple task that kept your mind busy and present. You were so distracted that you didn’t realize someone else entered the kitchen.

“Why are you cleaning?” You jumped at the sound of Wanda’s voice. “I am going to brag for years that I was able to sneak up on you,” you rolled your eyes at the witch and splashed water at her before drying your hand. “That was uncalled for.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you something quick,” you said, ignoring her question by opening the fridge and pretending to look through it. But you felt her eyes on your back. “Stop that,” you said.

“Then answer my question,” you sighed and closed the fridge. Wanda sat on a chair, and you leaned against the counter. Thankfully, Wanda gave you time to collect your thoughts. It seemed wild that these people cared about you when you hadn’t been in the compound for long. It was a feeling you were getting used to. You’ve been on your own for so many years. Sighing, you twisted the ring your sisters gave you for your birthday.

“Carol asked if I wanted to hang out tonight, and I said yes,” you said slowly.

“You guys hand out all the time,” Wanda said with a slight tilt of her head. That was true. If you weren’t with Wanda or your sisters, you were with Carol.

“Her asking me felt different,” you told her. “I think she asked me on a date.” A smile grew on the witch’s face.

“Finally!” She threw her arms in the air. “I’ve been so tired of listening to her thoughts whenever you guys are in the same room.” You felt your body heat up.

“She thinks about me?” You questioned.

“All the time,” she answered honestly. “Some thoughts aren’t very PG,” you groaned and snapped a towel at her. Wanda laughed and took your weapon of choice. “I will be fine,” she said. “Besides, she is in your mind just as much, if not more.” You flipped Wanda off as she took an orange from the fruit bowl and left.

You tried to keep your thoughts at bay around Wanda. Yelena told you the story of how they met the witch. You trusted her, especially since your sisters did, but your mind was filled with so much bloodshed you caused that you did not want to subject her to that. Of course, she was right. Carol always seemed to be on your mind. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing after all.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“An arcade?” you questioned and looked at Carol. You stood at the entrance, amazed by the sounds and lights.

“Yeah, I thought it would be fun and a little competitive.” Carol walked over to the counter and bought two game cards from the high schooler. You were busy looking at the lights flashing and the sounds of the games. “Is this okay?” she asked and handed you a card that looked like an ID.

“I’ve never been to one,” you followed her to where the prizes were. They had candy, stuffed animals, and fidget toys. Above everything else were the more expensive prizes like game consoles and household products. You weren’t sure what a kid would do with an air fryer. “There was one in the mall in Ohio, but I wasn’t allowed to go in.” You were so jealous of the kids that were running around being kids.

“Is this okay?” Her question snapped you of your thoughts. She looked concerned.

“I’m gonna kick your ass in that shooting game I saw.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You won the shooting game, but she got more tickets than you. Combined, you had enough for a small teddy bear that she gave to you, and after the arcade, she took you to dinner for food. You had a great time. Not that you feared you wouldn’t, but this felt different. You weren’t afraid to hide your glances at her as you watched her concentrate on the silly games. She was adorable, and the smile on your face hurt your cheeks.

“Hey,” Carol’s gentle voice pulled you out of sleep. “We are back at the compound.” You opened your eyes and blinked away the sleep.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you rubbed your eyes and Carol smiled.

“It’s fine,” she said and turned off the car. You looked cute.” It was reflexes when you punched her arm softly, but you felt your body heat up at the compliment. Her laughter followed you as you exited the car with her teddy bear in hand. Out of the car, you heard the weather—the pounding of the rain against the walls. There was the distinct sound of thunder.

“It’s raining,” you said.

“Yup,” Carol closed the door of the car. “We seemed to have followed the storm.” A smile grew on your face. “Why are you smiling?” You loved the rain. You loved laying in bed and listening to the weather back in Ohio. Sooner rather than later, Yelena would end up in your but that moment of peace you cherished. Without answering, you placed your prize on the car’s roof and walked to the garage door. The hum of the garage opener filled the silence. Then, the smell of petrichor filled your lungs. “What are you doing?”

You glanced over your shoulder with a mile and walked up the driveway. Immediately, the rain soaked your clothes. A gasp left your lips as the temperature of the rain startled you. Soon, your body got used to the cold. “You are going to get sick,” Carol said with a smile and crossed arms.

“I can’t get sick,” it was a half-truth. It was more challenging for you to get sick. “You can come keep me warm,” you smirked. You held your breath as you watched Carol think it over. Maybe you were being too forward. Perhaps all she wanted was to be friends. The captain shook her head. With a smile, she ran up the ramp and into you. You laughed as you wrapped your arms around her neck, and she spun you in a circle. Carol placed you on the ground. Your laughter died down, and you stared at her lips.

You couldn’t remember your first kiss. It was before Ohio, you thought - a short kiss between you and another Window. As you got older, kissing was used as a tool. You would make out with a target and slip a sedative in their drink. Now you wanted to kiss someone and have it mean something. That scared you. Would kissing her change what you already had? You would rather stay friends than ruin it.

“Tag your it,” you said, tagged the Avenger, and ran off. Running seemed like the more straightforward thing to do.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Carol sighed and stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was still wet from the shower, but she had time to dry and style it. Her phone rang when she changed into gray pants and a white sports bra. “Hey Val,” she said, placing the phone on speaker. “I find it rude that you aren’t at this party.” Val laughed.

“Maybe Stark shouldn’t plan something so last minute,” Val had a point. “Turn on your camera. Let me see what you are wearing.” Carol rolled her eyes and placed her phone against the lamp to turn on the camera. She was finishing buttoning her white shirt when her friend’s face appeared on the phone. “I like the gray suit,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “Is she going to be there?”

“Not sure,” Carol stood in the bathroom to dry her hair and brushed it out. “She’s returning from a mission. Nat isn’t sure if she’ll be back.”

“But you are still trying to look hot,” Carol shrugged.

“Always good to be prepared,” she returned to the closest to put on her gray vest. It was more than just looking good. She felt confident in this suit. After the almost kiss in the raid, she needed all the confidence she could get.

“What’s wrong?” Val asked. “If you keep frowning like that, you will get more wrinkles.” The captain flipped her friend off. “So what’s the matter?” Carol sighed.

“We almost kissed last week, and we haven’t hung out since then,” she told her. “I don’t want to force her into something she isn’t ready for. I’d rather be friends than lose her.” Val was watching her closely.

“You aren’t forcing her, Carol,” she said. “If she did not like you, she wouldn’t hang out with you. " That was true, but Carol was worried. She is her own person.” You were, and Carol was lucky to see glimpses of the person you were becoming. “Goodness, you have it bad for her.”

“Shut up,” Carol mumbled, but she did not deny it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Let me know how it goes!” Carol waved and ended the call. She had it bad for you, and it was so worth it.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“There she is!” Yelena cheered. Carol watched the blonde run over to you. Something short-circuited in Carol’s brain. It wasn’t her proudest moment; the way her jaw dropped, a bit of her drink fell down her chin.

“Damn, you got it bad, Danvers,” Steve laughed and handed her a napkin. Carol snatched it out of his hand.

“Language, soldier,” but he wasn’t wrong. It was hard not to look at you. She saw the politicians glance your way. The red dress highlighted your figure with a thigh slight and spaghetti straps. She could tell you were wearing little makeup, but you never needed it, in her opinion. Steve chuckled.

“Maybe you should tell her how you feel,” he said. “You never know what could happen”. Carol looked at Steve and then back at you. Natasha and Maria joined the small group around you. You caught her looking, and you waved. She raised her glass to you with a smile. It was embarrassing how often she thought about kissing you or holding you in her arms. But she promised your sisters and herself she would take it slow and not force you.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Maybe you’re right.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

God, you hated parties with politicians. The dress wasn’t helping your situation, but when Sonya discovered your slight crush on Carol, she suggested the red dress. It was working. Her eyes were on you as soon as you arrived, but she hadn’t moved toward you. You sat at the table with your back to the wall, nursing a rum and coke. Yelena was with Sam and Wanda. Natasha was talking with some politicians whose names you couldn’t remember. You weren’t worried. She could handle herself around men like this. Men who valued power over personal values. It was hard to find a good politician these days. Maria and Steve were with her.

Honestly, you were so exhausted - mind, body, and soul - which wasn’t helping your mood. The past three days were late nights chasing down Widows, exposing them to the red dust, and then helping them settle. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but luck was not on your side. Tony was having a party with a few politicians. You could have gone back to Russia, but it was packed with Widows, and you would get no rest with Alexei being annoying. So, the compound was the best option. Even though Yelena wanted to see you at the party. “Well, well, well,” a man said, walking over to you. He was drinking an old fashion. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s all yours, sir. " He smiled and took the empty seat. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“David Palmer,” he extended his hand for you to shake. Before you could introduce yourself, he cut you off. “I know who you are,” you said, keeping your smile on your face and tapping into your training. To everyone here, you were a businesswoman from Boston. The fewer people who knew you were with the Avengers, the better.

“Who am I, Mr. Palmer?” You asked and sipped on your drink. You saw Carol looking at you over the man’s shoulder.

“You are Dreykov’s spider,” he whispered as if he were telling you a secret. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but you kept on smiling. It was only a matter of time before you ran into someone who knew your past. You wished it wasn’t happening here. You circled the liquid in your glass and leaned back in the chair with your right leg crossed over your left. His eyes trailed up and down your body.

“If I am who you think I am,” you said. “What will you do with that information, Mr. Palmer?” He sipped on his drink and looked around the party.

“Do they know?” He questioned. “Do they know everything you did for him?” Natasha and Yelena knew a fraction of what occurred between you and Dreykov. But you wanted to keep that a secret for the others, especially Carol. ��I’m guessing they don’t because you are among the heroes here.”

“What do you want, Palmer?” You asked. You were done with being nice. He wanted something. It was the only reason he was here. David placed a hand on your thigh. You fought your instincts not to break every one of his fingers. You hated the way his hand felt on you.

“Just one night with you,” he said. “Or I won’t go to the press. No one will know that the Avengers are harboring a killer.” His hands squeezed the flesh of your thigh. “You can imagine how bad that would look for them.”

They would lose their credibility with the public. Everything would be questioned. As for you, well, you could not care. You had to protect them, but you hated the idea of sleeping around to keep a secret. “Thank you, Mr. Palmer, but I’d have to decline your very generous offer.” You removed his hand and stood up. Before you could walk away, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back, flesh to his chest.

“Do you think you are better than us, slut?” He asked. You’ve dealt with men like this before. Men that weren’t used to hearing no. “You are a nobody without the men that made you. So get on your knees and start serving me.”

Before you reconnected with your sisters, you would have done it. You would have gotten on your knees and pleased him because that was how you were trained. You were different now. Your life was different, and you hated the way this man touched you. You twisted out of his hold and grabbed a pressure point on his wrist. The man crumbled to his knees. The irony. “It’s not nice to grab someone if they don’t want to be touched.” You felt the eyes of everyone at the party. You were causing a scene.

You quickly turned around, put your half-finished drink on the bar, and walked to the stairs to the roof. Even with the Red Room gone, that place was still haunting you.

You liked the way the cold weather felt on her arms. It was like a gentle embrace, a crisp and refreshing touch that awakened your senses. The air’s chill contrasted with your skin’s warmth, creating a delightful shiver. There was a sense of tranquility in the coolness, a quiet calm that settled over everything. Each breath you took felt clearer and purer. “What did he say to you?” Carol asked, walking up behind you.

“Nothing, I haven’t heard before,” you answered, not looking at her. Even when she stood next to you.

“You can tell me if it would make you feel better.” You shook your head.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently,” you admitted. She was quiet as you both stared into the vast darkness.

“I could never,” you glanced at her, and she looked at you. “Do you need a hug?” she asked. You nodded, and she was quick to pull you into a hug. Her warmth was intoxicating. Your body relaxed, and muscles loosened as if you had shredded a heavyweight. Her hug felt safe, a sanctuary where you could feel relaxed and at ease. “I almost punched him,” she broke the beat of silence that passed between you and her.

“Better you than me. He’s a slimy piece of shit,” her chest vibrated as she laughed.

“Oh, I know. I hated how he looked at you,” so did you. It was like you were a piece of meat to him. Then again, it wasn’t a look you were unfamiliar with. You pulled out of the hug to look at her better. “You do look stunning in this dress, by the way,” you smiled and fixed her tie and gray vest that you had messed up from the hug.

“You don’t look half bad yourself, Captain.” You liked the way her cheeks blushed. “I wore this for you, by the way,” you walked away, fingers running across the metal railing. You felt her eyes on your back.

“Wait, wait,” she jogged to catch up. “What did you mean by that?” You shrugged as she gently grabbed your wrist but immediately let go of you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you.” You frowned at her statement. You offered her your hand, and she took it. “Why did you wear this dress for me?” She asked. You concentrated on the way your hand felt against hers. Her hand was rough but warm. It showed years of hard work.

“I wanted you to notice me,” you whispered.

“Notice you?” Carol questioned. “I am always noticing you. I can’t keep my eyes off of you,” a small squeak left the back of your throat. Carol smiled. “Do you want to go on a date?”

“Like a date-date?” You questioned. “Not as friends, but maybe as something more.”

“Do you want to be something more?” The question stumped you. But Carol was patient and played with the ring your sisters gave you on your finger. Did you want more? Did you want to go on dates? To fall asleep in her arms? To wake up to the feeling of her lifts on your skin? The idea terrified you. Before Carol, you ‘dated’ two other people. One was a girl in your class in Ohio. You both were too young to understand what it meant. The second person was a Red Room guard who trusted the man’s loyalty. He failed, so he was killed. There was a brief moment when you thought you were in love with the Winter Solider, but Carol could be different.

She would be someone without the influence of the Red Room, someone who understood a life of fighting, someone who could like you and look based on the scars on your body and the blood on your hands. “Yes,” you finally said. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be good at this,” Carol smiled and hugged you again. Immediately, you slummed into her warmth.

“I’m in the same boat,” she chuckled. “We can learn together.” Her lips briefly touched your forehead. The spot tingled, and it made you smile.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Your eyes closed as soon as your back hit your bed. Carol walked you to your room, kissed you on the cheek, and wished you a good night. You were frozen to the spot for a split second, and touched your cheek. Finally, you entered your room, showered, changed, and flopped onto the bed. The exhaustion of the past few days was catching up to you. But your eyes were forced open when there was rapid knocking on your door. “Come in,” you called out. The door opened. Suddenly, a body jumped on you, and blonde hair covered your vision. You groaned. “Get your fat ass off of me,” you pushed your sister off, and she fell onto the floor with a grunt.

“First of all, I am not fat,” she stood up. “Second, you are just jealous of this ass.” You rolled your eyes, and she sat next to you. “We wanted to make sure you are okay.” You pushed yourself up to your elbows and saw Natasha. Your sisters were changed and freshly showered.

“Stark threw that jackass out, and Maria is working on getting him removed from office,” it was a start, and you were grateful they were taking it seriously. But you knew it was only a matter of time before another dirty politician took his place.

“I’m okay,” you told your sisters. You watched Natasha close the door and sit down next to you. “What he said to me is stuff I’ll always hear.” You were numb to all of it. You’ve been called a monster, a slut, a killer. Everything from A to Z was thrown at you. It was something you were used to.

“I thought Carol was going to kill him,” Yelena said. “Steve had to stop her.” The mention of Carol made you smile, biting your lip, which Natasha noticed.

“What happened on the roof?” You shrugged, but the smile gave you away. Natasha nudged your shoulder with hers. “Come on, tell us.”

“She asked me on a date,” you said slowly. “And I said yes.”

“You said yes?” Yelena questioned. You nodded. There was silence before Yelena squealed and put her arms around you. She shook you from side to side.

“You and Natasha could go on double dates,” Honestly, that was the last thing you wanted to do. You pushed Yelena to the floor again. “Stop doing that!” You laughed and looked at the redhead. You weren’t sure why you looked for Natasha’s approval.

“I’m so happy for you,” she squished your cheeks. “Look at you dating. I love seeing you all happy,” you pushed her hands away and glared at her. That was payback for your teasing with Maria.

“I hate you,” you deadpanned. Natasha smiled. She stood up and moved to the top of your bed. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“You need sleep,” she answered. “Melina said it had been a long few days.”

“Alright, Mom,” you crawled up to the headboard. “Are you going to tuck me in?” She flicked your forehead. “Fuck off!” You said and rubbed the spot she flicked.

“Move over,” Yelena said, pushing you to the bed’s edge.

“I’m gonna need some room, too,” Natasha added. Yelena pushed closer to you, and Natasha laid down next to her. “You need a bigger bed.”

“I wasn’t expecting sleepovers all the time,” you said, closing your eyes and slowly falling asleep to the steady beat of Yelena’s heart. Then you felt Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. You opened your eyes to see Natasha looking at you.

“I hope you know we don’t think you are any of those things that man called you,” she whispered. “No one here does.” You forced a smile.

“Thank you, Nat,” you whispered. “Now go to sleep,” she chuckled, and you closed your eyes. It did not matter what they thought of you. You knew who you were. You knew you were a killer. The blood on your hands runs deep. No matter how often you tried washing your hands, the blood remained.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #family is more than blood au #carol danvers x y/n #black widow sisters #yelena belova x natasha romanoff x reader

43 notes · View notes

allicat0 · 5 months

Note

i loved your poe fic!

could you write a fic with captain rex maybe

one with a female jedi reader who sucks him off in a storage closet while they try not to get found out by the rest of the 501st

and maybe the helmet stays on…

Swear you’ll never tell

♡ Ans: Thank you so much, that’s so kind! Also, totally! I’ll give it my best shot, thanks so much for requesting btw.

♡ Summary: when you and a certain Clone meet every now and again to help each other out you must commence in secrecy. (Also I made captain Rex a little mean in this one, which I know isn’t exactly him. But I think of his sternness is more job driven)

♡ Content: MDNI, 18+, afab, smut, blowjobs, face-fucking, oral, praise, Hand-job,

♡ A/N: okay because I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, I love captain Rex! Hope you guys enjoy!

There was no doubt that Captain Rex's presence brought a sense of reassurance and stability. His years of experience and leadership were evident in the way he could effortlessly fall back into the rhythm of operations without trouble. There was a certain aura of calm competence that surrounded him, a quiet assurance that everything would be handled with precision and expertise now that he was back. His familiar voice, filled with determination and resolve, cut through the air of the corridors of the ship as he caught up on the latest developments and seamlessly integrated himself back into the fold. The camaraderie and trust that had been so easily built between you and the rest of his squadron over countless missions were reaffirmed in that moment, constantly reminding us all of the strength he had over this team.

Rex carried himself with respectable manners, but under all the layers presenting himself as a good soldier, there was a secret he’d been struggling to keep. Rex doesn’t like to lie and the weight of a lie weighs heavily on the soul. Oddly enough there's a strange comfort in the familiarity of a secret, a twisted sense of control in knowing something others do not. But beneath his facade of composure lies a sea of emotions, a constant battle between the desire to confess and the fear of consequences, each day adding another layer to the intricate web of deception.

But despite his fear of getting caught he couldn’t help coming back to you each and every time he needed help dealing with. .unfinished business. When he returned back from his mission it didn't take long for him to get his hands on you, pulling you into the closest private area the two of you could find. As a Jedi, it is said that you must be faithful to the spirit of code, putting one’s selfish desires first is against the way of force. A Jedi must follow in order to stay true to oneself, especially when it comes to romantic relations. Though it was said if it was a pure attachment, there was no harm. So what's the problem in having a little fun?

So there you were, hiding away somewhere throughout the ship, in a cramped storage closet down on your knees for your second in command with his cock in hand. How it was a sight to see. You leaned in and placed a soft kiss against the tip of his cock causing it to jerk from the sensation. “I’ve missed you” You said to him softly. Rex looked down at you, watching as you would specifically choose the next spot to place a kiss on his cock, paying close attention, each time waiting for the impact of your soft lips to meet his sensitive shaft. “Mphm i’ve missed you too” He said through the back of his throat doing his best to keep any unwanted sounds to escape as he spoke back to you, the last thing he wanted was for people to hear the two of you through the door.

These moments that were shared between you and Rex were never rushed, especially if it had been some time since the two of you last saw each other, you made sure to give him whatever it was he possibly wanted. Your lips hollowed around the head of his cock, your tongue sliding against the base, feeling each and every one of the veins running along the base, pulsing with every stroke. You were always so gentle, but sometimes too gentle. . to patient. Don’t get him wrong Rex loved how much care you put into pleasing him but sometimes, all he wanted was to throat fuck you, watching as your tears streamed down you face, drooling like crazy over his cock.

His hands would travel down to the back of your head. Reaching down, his fingers entangling with your hair. Rex was growing impatient and wanted to see just how much control he could have over this situation. He started pushing your head further down the length of his cock, directing your head, forcing it to pick up to pace. The sudden push caused you to choke down on him, but unlike normally he didn’t let you back up for air. He needed to throat fuck you and your pretty face.

Rex’s hips began helping with the process, thrusting himself deeper into the back of your throat, the tears in your eyes began to brim from the constant gagging. “Awh fuck, such a good girl for me” He spoke out to you in a breathy groan, doing his best to keep quiet. Your hands gripped onto his thighs tight, your nails digging into his flesh doing your best to gain some traction. As he continued to pump into the back of your throat, it wasn’t long before you began rapidly patting his thighs, signalling him to let you breathe. Rex pulled his cock out of your mouth, you gasped out for air as strings of saliva broke from the separation. You grabbed the base of his cock, and continued to pump it rapidly as you caught your breath. After a quick breather you were ready to put his cock back in your mouth, he was quick to grab the back of your head, thrusting himself back into the depths of your throat once more.

“Look at me,” he said sternly and that you did. You were obedient, you listened to his command, it drove him insane. “Such a good girl, Look how well you take my cock” Rex said praising you, his words caused your stomach to flutter, his praise was enough to make you cum alone. You looked up at him through your lashes, tears streaming down your face, this was a sight to see and if he was honest he didn’t want it to end not now, not ever. His head rolled back, clenching his jaw as his breathing became hitched. Rex pushed your head back quickly, giving you just enough time for you to get a breath of air before pushing you back down on him once again. His gaze never left the sight of his thick cock getting buried deep into the back of your throat, as he rammed himself into you.

“Ah. thats it baby” he groaned, his thrusts were becoming sloppy, you could feel it, he was growing close, getting ready to shoot his cum down the back of your throat. Muffled moans escaped your mouth, sending vibrations throughout his cock “shit “ he cursed under his breath, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going, he was getting closer by the second.

He pulled back, freeing you, allowing you to breathe. His one hand gripped his cock jerking himself off while the other moved up to your face, his thumb placing it against your lips, forcefully opening your mouth. His thumb pressed down on your tongue holding your mouth open. Rex was on the edge getting ready to release, in a few quick movements he placed his cock just above your mouth. “Stick your tongue out for me baby” he asked you softly and that you did. Sticking your tongue out, watching as he gave his cock a few more pumps feeling his hot cum fall onto your tongue. Rex let out a few loose pants before his hands gripped your hair, pulling your head back to get a better view of your face. “swallow” closing your mouth you did what you were told and swallowed his cum. A smirk coming across his face, releasing your hair and gripping your face squishing your cheeks together “good girl” he pushed your face away from his hands.

Rex was swift to clean himself up, putting the bottom half of his armour back on. He looked down at you, still there on your knees. “Get cleaned up, we have a meeting to attend” and just like that, he opened the storage closet door, slipping out and leaving you there in your own thoughts

@allicat0 signing off . .

#starwars the last jedi #starwars the clone wars #star wars #captain rex #captain Rex Star Wars #fanfiction #starwars fanfic #captain rex x reader #captain Rex x reader smut #captain Rex x reader fanfic #sw #captain Rex clone wars

85 notes · View notes

kakushino · 1 year

Text

The Fanboy

Tumblr writer fanboy! Tomioka Giyuu x isekai! fem! Reader

He was not ready.

Tags: fluff, Giyuu being a silly fanboy, suggestive (1 filth mention), minor KNY spoilers from manga, isekai Word count: 1,1k

Masterlist

AN: The blog mentioned is purely fictional. Reader is Giyuu's blorbo uwu

Giyuu was used to being disliked by his coworkers. He kept to himself and didn’t attend any of the group events, the only one who liked him was the janitor, Urokodaki-san. Urokodaki Sakonji and Giyuu shared many lunches together, in silence or talking - it didn’t matter.

It was thanks to those lunches that Giyuu found out their shared passion - Kimetsu no Yaiba manga. The mangaka was a mystery, working under an alias, and the series was nearly finished, the infinity castle arc coming to an end. He was excited to read the last volume - an extra long one - which was rumored to feature his favorite character, [Name].

Oh [Name]... he’d been treated with an entire volume about her background and daily duties as a kakushi before the last arc, though she’d appeared in glimpses throughout the series. He had an embarrassing memory of spilling his admiration to Urokodaki-san at one time - years ago - but it was fate, for the volume about her came out three months afterwards.

It was also fate that he discovered tumblr not long after. He’d been scrolling through [Name]’s wiki page when something caught his eye - a trivia about her that he hadn’t noticed. Of course he had to try to find the truth on the deep dark web. Instead, he found a treasure trove full of fanfictions of characters from Kimetsu no Yaiba being shipped with readers.

Giyuu devoured the total number of three fanfictions about [Name] that evening. Only three… because there weren’t any more. It wasn’t right… She should have been appreciated more. Sure, she was not a fighter, but she was a part of crucial infrastructure, often taking on unpleasant roles to support the protagonists of the series - the demon slayers. Perhaps it reminded him of himself and Urokodaki, but the fact stood he absolutely adored [Name], and she deserved more love.

So he would give her that love.

That was two years ago.

Now, he had a blog of his own, blue-depresso, which he centered around his fav - he had posted various moodboards and headcanons he had about her at the start, but soon moved onto writing ‘x reader’ fanfictions of his own. It was a challenge to put his hidden artistic bone to work, but it was worth it. At times, Giyuu felt like a cult leader, his following quickly growing once he started to post those fanfics.

The few filthy fics he posted had him going long into the night, thinking how [Name] would feel under his hands, how he would take care of all her needs, and fuck her senseless.

Giyuu kept the blog and his dirty thoughts far away from Urokodaki-san.

He didn’t want the old man to know just how much of a loser he was.

The last volume came out on one (un)remarkable Friday. Giyuu had pre-ordered it, making him excited to rush to the designated pick-up manga store.

The end of the school day could not come soon enough. He raced through his duties, the usual neat stacks of sport equipment haphazard piles when he locked the equipment room; his rush made him leave the school before Kyojuro, who was usually one of the first teachers to leave due to Friday sales at his favorite bakery. The blonde sent him a bewildered look as Giyuu passed him at the gates.

Once home, he put the sacred item (the manga) on the table gently before he yanked his tracksuit off, quickly getting into shower. He wanted to get comfortable before he read it.

Less than ten minutes later, he was ready.

…he wasn’t ready.

But he needed to read it! He had to know what would happen to his [Name]! (And to the protagonists as well-)

Okay, okay, no. Giyuu took a deep breath and opened the book.

He had to put it down halfway through. His dearest [Name]... died. She’d driven a car at the main antagonist to stop him from moving, and she died in the line of duty. Her death was honorable, and she would have wanted that.

Why did he feel so empty then?

Before he knew it, he’d opened the tumblr app on his phone and started typing.

blue-depresso She isn’t dead. She is not dead. #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #what the fuck is this @ G.K.????

blue-depresso This just did not happen. I refuse to accept this. #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #dying rn #[Name] is alive

blue-depresso Someone give me G.K.’s location rq because I’m ready to fight #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #fight me G.K.

blue-depresso Okay but maybe it wasn’t her in the car. Hear me out, maybe she jumped out before the car got destroyed??? #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #[Name] is alive

blue-depresso What is even the point of living on if she isn’t alive? What is the point??? #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #im crying #send help

blue-depresso Okay but in my heart, she lives on. You bet your asses I will write that [Name] lives AU once I’m done devouring this volume #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #I won’t abandon my girl in her time of need #she’s my wife #she will live

blue-depresso I’m okay (I’m not). I need to finish this manga. #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #ran out of tissues #i need a drink

Wiping the one tear that left his eye - the tissue tag an exaggeration of the truth, though his throat did get clogged up - he got to reading the rest of the story.

It felt like he was afloat. What was he gonna do with himself now? His mind wandered to the singular bottle of beer in the fridge his sister gave him - some fancy brand he couldn’t care less about, as he wasn’t a drinker. His body acted before his brain caught up and he drank it, the bitterness a companion to the one in his heart.

He would write that ‘[Name] lives AU’ tomorrow. Today, he had to bury himself in comfort. There was a fluffy blanket he received from his sister last birthday. Perhaps he should give her a call. It wasn’t that late yet.

In the end he’d fallen asleep on his futon, the blankets under him and his phone laying next to his face. His face flushed, realizing his sister must have talked him to sleep. He would have to make it up to her later.

Giyuu rolled over on his other side to check the time on his clock hanging on the wall, but came face-to-face with a woman instead.

What the fu-

He scrambled back, trying to create distance from this stranger. Who was it? What was she doing in his flat? What was-?!

Hold on a moment…

His mind ran circles, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. I couldn’t be, could it? But how? This had to be a prank…

The woman stirred, kakushi mask shifting a little. Then, her eyes opened, and it was confirmed.

It was [Name].

dividers made by the amazing @benkeibear

AN: Will this be an one-shot series? IDK but it was fun to write hehe

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #giyuu x you #giyuu x y/n #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kakushino

280 notes · View notes

zeciex · 7 months

Text

A Vow of Blood - 68

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 68: The Tempest of a Woman

AO3 - Masterlist

The early hours of dawn approached swiftly, jolting Daenera awake from her restless slumber. She was led, still groggy, to the dresser and seated in front of the mirror. Outside the windows, the sky was still cloaked in darkness, on the cusp of brightening as the sun edged closer to the horizon.

Daenera’s reflection stared back at her, almost unrecognizable. Her complexion was ghostly pale, underscored by dark circles that bore testimony to a night of fitful sleep. Her lips were dry, mirroring the parched feeling in her throat as she swallowed, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Her stomach turned uncomfortably, roiling as though they were on a ship caught in a storm with the swells breaking over the bow.

Edelin, with a soft smile, placed a warm cup of tea before Daenera, a small gesture of kindness in the midst of her ordeal. However, her attempt at comfort was short-lived as she was briskly directed away to prepare Daenera’s attire for the day. Meanwhile, Mertha set about undoing the carefully braided hair, removing the delicate silk woven amidst the locks in an attempt to lessen the unruliness Daenera knew would come due to the crude way her hair had been washed. Her touch was rough, nails scraping uncomfortably against Daenera’s scalp as her fingers struggled through the tangled hair.

Daenera commented with a profound dryness, “Using my one soaps and oils would have been preferable – my hair wouldn’t be so… obstinate,” as she picked up the tea and gently blew across its surface before taking a soothing sip. The mint flavor was a small relief to her parched mouth.

Mertha let out a derisive scoff, and muttered something along the lines of ‘a bastards hair’ as she picked up the hairbrush to work through Daenera’s tresses, only to encounter further resistance. The brush snagged a third of the way down, exacerbating Mertha’s already deep scowl. She gritted her teeth in frustration and started to brush from the ends, laboriously working her way upwards.

At one particularly forceful and spiteful yank, Daenera couldn’t suppress a hiss of pain, glaring at Mertha through the mirror’s reflection.

The process of arranging Daenera’s hair was lengthy and arduous. In the midst of it, Edelin returned with a plate of food – buttered bread, two sausages, chunks of cheese and a cut out apple. Daenera ate in silence as Mertha meticulously styled the front portion of her hair into two braids, letting the remainder cascade down her back, securing it in an intricate yet graceful style that echoed the Queen’s own fashion.

Daenera was then adorned with a pair of golden earrings and a simple golden necklace, neither of which were hers.

Before she could finish her meal, she was ushered towards a small dias surrounded by three mirrors arranged in a semi-circle. Outside, the sky was awash with a deep, crimson hue, reminiscent of a bleeding wound. The nightgown was replaced with an undergown, followed by a corset and then another underlayer that added fullness to the dress.

Laid out for her was a gown of delicate green fabric, a subtle shade tinged with an undertone of earthy brown. It was simple, designed not to overshadow, yet it made a statement in its own right simply by the coloring.

“I refuse to wear that,” Daenera declared spitefully, feeling the strain in her neck muscles from the previous night’s harsh treatment. The muscles were taut and aching, but she maintained a posture of defiance, head held high.

“It is not for you to choose what to wear,” Mertha retorted, her tone devoid of sympathy. “The Queen has selected this dress specifically for you, do not insult her by refusing.”

Daenera noticed a fleeting expression of incredulousness flicker across Edelin’s face, her brows furrowing as she made a face. Her eyes met Daenera’s and she quickly lost the expression, eyes darting away.

“I am in mourning for my King and grandsire, as well as my oldest friend,” Daenera stated firmly, turning towards Mertha, towering above the old hag as she remained on the dias. “Inform the Queen if you must, but I shall don a black gown. Otherwise, you can tell her they will need to drag me out of this room, kicking and screaming.”

Mertha met her gaze evenly. “You will wear what the Queen has chosen for you, and nothing else. Should you defy this, be warned that I have orders to report your insolence, which will result in your men being punished. Wear the dress.”

Aemond walked through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast with a silence that matched the early morning’s stillness. Before he entered her chambers, he spared a brief, dismissive glance at the weary guard stationed outside – a silent sentinel tasked with ensuring the princess remained confined within her chambers. He slipped inside, closing the heavy doors behind him before turning around to face the room.

His gaze immediately met Daenera’s through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were sharp with fury, her lips pressed together in evident displeasure. She stood poised upon a dias, the center of the servants' meticulous attentions as they busied themselves with the final adjustments to her appearance.

The chamber itself was bathed in the gentle glow of candlelight that belided the tension in the room. Beyond the windows, the sky was a tapestry of dark blue, the edges tinged with the first hints of dawn’s approach. Strokes of deep purples and vibrant blues painted the horizon, heralding the sun’s imminent ascent.

In contrast to the soft beauty of the morning, Daenera’s expression was a foreboding promise of the tempest yet to be unleashed.

The servants fluttered around her, their hands expertly putting the finishing touches on her skirts. The gown, though understated in its shade of green, was crafted with exquisite detail.

The room, charged with an undercurrent of anticipation, was held in a delicate balance of silence, a quietude he found himself reluctant to break. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, taking in the quiet before the storm. His eye remained on her reflection, watching her with curiosity. Her eyes narrowed at him, her jaw clenching as she seemed to bite back her words.

With a measured tone, Aemond commanded, “Leave us.”

Lady Mertha, her expression a blend of obedience and caution, hummed a response. She cast a lingering, reproachful glance at Daenera as she headed towards the doors, ushering the young serving girl along with her.

Aemond’s gaze never wavered from Daenera, as she bent down as if to adjust her shoes, gathering her skirts in her hand to get to them. The moment the door clicked shut, sealing their privacy, she straightened up, spun around, and hurled an object directly at his head. Aemond instinctively dodged, the shoe narrowly missing as it whizzed past his head, the air humming with its passage, his hair tickling against his face caught in the whirl of the object.

Daenera’s voice was laced with venom, her second shoe thrown with equal force but this time finding its mark against his chest. He caught it deftly, a slight flinch betraying the impact. “You one-eyed, long-faced, big-chinned son of a whore!”

“Would you just calm down,” Aemond retorted, brandishing the captured shoe with an accusatory point as Daenera’s eyes blazed with anger, her cheeks flushed red with fury. She stepped off the dias and moved swiftly towards the table adorned with a decorative bowl of fruit.

“Calm down?! Calm down?!” Daenera echoed incredulously, her arm tensing in preparation to launch another projectile. “You craven, half-blind, cock-sucking twat!”

“Don’t–” Aemond cautioned, wielding the shoe in a threatening fashion. His attempt at deterrence, however, fell on deaf ears as Daenera hurled an orange towards him with enough force to make her grunt.

Aemond evaded the incoming assault, parrying the fruit with a calculated swipe of the shoe. Undeterred, Daenera sent another orange hurling through the air, quickly followed by a banana that skimmed past his head and striking against the wall behind him. A cluster of grapes was her next weapon, striking him squarely on the chest. The impact caused several grapes to detach from their vine, scattering across the floor in a haphazard spray.

“How dare you tell me to calm down! Calm down?! Calm down?! I have a right to be furious!” Daenera exclaimed, her voice shrill and raw with rage as she seized another orange, launching it with precision. Her barrage continued, a pomegranate next, which, though missing Aemond, collided with the shelves behind him, causing a resonant crash. Fruits scattered, and an ornate metal place fell with a clatter, contributing to the room’s growing tumult.

Aemond advanced on Daenera, determined to put space between her and the fruit bowl. His pulse quickened, a blend of vexation and a begrudging sense of amusement stirring within him. He couldn’t help but ponder if his mother had foreseen Daenera’s creative employment of fruit as armaments, perhaps those too would have been removed, just as her poisons had been.

“You’re usurping my mother!” Daenera hissed, brandishing an apple in one hand and a peach in the other as if they were mighty weapons of war. She retreated from the fruit bowl as he approached, reaching for her only to catch empty air as she twisted her body to elude his grasp.

“No! No! You’re usurping my mother, you treacherous-one-eyed-cunt! You’re stealing her crown–Stay away from me,” she snapped at him, avoiding another attempt at catching her.

“Enough with the fruit, put it down,” Aemond insisted sternly, deliberately placing the shoe on the table to free his hand. He advanced towards her, undeterred as Daenera retreaded backwards, wielding the apple as though it were a stone meant for slinging.

When she launched the apple towards him, Aemond’s quick reflexes, sharpened by endless training, allowed him to pluck it from the air effortlessly. The peach, on the other hand, met its mark on his forehead with a soft impact before tumbling to the ground. Annoyance flickered across his face as he regarded her with a look of sheer exasperation.

Daenera’s chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, her intense gaze never breaking from Aemond’s, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly. Anger burned in her eyes, yet beneath that fierce exterior lay a hint of something more fragile – a flicker of tears yet to fall, exposing a vulnerability Aemond hadn’t anticipated.

Daenera’s eyebrows drew closer together, a tumult of emotions playing across her face before she found her voice. “Do you have any idea of the indignity I’ve endured?”

Aemond, placing the apple gently on a table nearby, regarded her with both exasperation and frustration. He struggled to understand her perspective, questioning internally what she deemed reasonable under these circumstances. Her confinement had been a necessary measure.

“My freedom robbed–”

“You must understand why you were confined,” Aemond cut in.

“You need me as a hostage,” Daenera said, her eyes darkening with resentment as her hands balled into fists at her sides. “But my men… killed, the others imprisoned in the dungeons! And Joyce… Joyce was murdered. She was still breathing when they forced me into my chambers and imprisoned me!”

Aemond responded with a sardonic edge, “A confinement from which you managed to escape.”

“You must understand why I had to escape,” Daenera bit back, throwing his own words at his face. He felt an uncomfortable twist in his chest, knowing how close he was to losing her, to have her slip away through the secret passageways and disappear like smoke through his fingers.

“You should have remained there until I had a chance to see you–”

“And what then?” Daenera interrupted with biting sarcasm, her expression twisting into a derisive sneer. “Would you have held me in your arms as I cried? Would you have lent an ear to my pleas for freedom? Or perhaps you’d have permitted me to send word to my mother?”

She shook her head, “Escape was my only recourse.”

The grim reality of their predicament hung heavily between them. Aemond, for all his might, had no intention of deviating from the path laid before them. There was no instance where he would have facilitated her escape or allowed her to alert her mother. Though he might have been a source of comfort in another life, the truth was Daenera was more inclined to express her sorrow and rage through the hurling of objects, as evidenced by their earlier exchange and the fruit that lay strewn throughout the room. What comfort he could offer in the aftermath of this storm was minimal.

And in truth, he cared little about Joyce and even less about her men, so what solace could he really offer?

“What alternative did I have other than to grasp at the chance for freedom?” Daenera challenged, her voice tinged with desperation and defiance.

“Did you genuinely believe that the Lord Confessor would assist you?” Aemond questioned sharply, his skepticism slicing through the air. “Did you expect him to forsake his loyalties and commit treason for what? Because of the blood you share?”

“Don’t fucking mock me!” Daenera exclaimed, her fury manifesting in a forceful shove against his chest. “Do you have any idea what he put me through? He had the power to summon the guards and have me dragged out of his chambers and imprisoned. But no, instead he deceived me, lured me into a room like an animal lured into a trap. He gave me hope only to take it away.”

Daenera’s voice faltered, a visible struggle against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her lips trembled, the rawness in her eyes speaking volumes of her inner turmoil, tears brimming the edge of her vision.

Aemond felt an unexpected twinge of compassion for her as he witnessed her distress. The sight of her tears, barely held at bay, stirred the instinct to draw her close, to offer solace in the warmth of his embrace. Yet, he resisted, remaining motionless, his hands aching with the restraint of not reaching out to comfort her.

“He ordered his men to search me – they put their filthy hands everywhere,” Daenera’s voice broke, resonating with outrage and shame. “They stripped me down to my undergarments…”

Aemond could hear the strain in her words, the difficulty she had even in voicing such an act of humiliation. The raw vulnerability in her voice and the violated expression in her eyes resonated deeply within Aemond. His fist clenched involuntarily, the muscles in his arms tensing as a wave of anger washed over him. He felt a knot forming in his throat, fighting to keep his composure as he processed her words. The realization that he had entrusted Larys with care–a decision made in haste while his attention was diverted to locating Aegon–now gnawing at him with regret. At that critical juncture, his priority had been to secure Aegon, to ensure he didn’t fall into the wrong hands. He couldn’t be in two places at once, a fact he bitterly acknowledged.

“He left me there in nothing but my underdress with only a cloak for modesty–it was humiliating,” Daenera’s voice broke.

Aemond felt a restless surge of fury, a raw itch in his fingertips born of the urge to lash out at Larys for the indignity forced upon Daenera. Yet, reality tethered his impulses. Larys Strong was one of their most crucial allies making any thoughts of retribution against him not just impractical but was perilously close to folly. Even with this knowledge, it did little to dampen the storm of anger raging within Aemond. He still longed to wrap his fingers around his throat and squeeze until his windpipe caved in.

Daenera’s accusation sliced through the air, her question laced with a bitter edge. “Is this what awaits me, even in marriage to you? Will I endure such treatment as your wife?”

Aemond asserted with unwavering certainty, his resolve as steadfast as the steel of his blade, “No one shall treat you this way. As my wife I won’t let anyone humiliate or degrade you.”

He extended a hand towards her, a gesture meant to bridge the gulf of apprehension between them. However, she swiftly rejected his advance, her swift motion to deflect his touch underscored by a storm of emotions reflected in her eyes–tears brimming on the brink, yet her gaze hardened with a deep-seated pain and wariness.

“Such promises are beyond your power,” she retorted, her voice wavering with bitterness and a poignant sense of resignation. It was evident she had little faith in his ability to shield her from further indignities.

This skepticism wounded him, gnawing at him like a festering sore. His pride was stung, pained by her apparent lack of faith in his protection and the diminished regard in which she seemed to hold him.

Aemond decided to reinforce his promise, his tone imbued with a steadfast assurance, “As my wife, you will be accorded all the respect and privileges that come with that position.”

“I am a hostage, Aemond. Any pretense of respect or freedom extended to me is as ephemeral as morning mist, easily dispelled at your mother’s whim. I’d be nothing but a pawn, a means to bend my mother to your family’s will. A title changes nothing; I will still be a hostage.” Daenera responded, her words steeped in scorn and accusation. They bore into him, revealing not just her indignation but also the underlying current of fear that permeated her defiance.

“You are my wife!” Aemond declared, his tone imbued with unwavering conviction as he bridged the gap between them, his determination rendering her attempts at maintaining distance futile. His hand gently slid up her neck, fingers tenderly cradling her face, the soft brush of his thumb beneath her jaw coaxing her gaze to meet his. “In my eyes, you are already my wife, our souls bound by vows made in blood.”

Daenera’s reply was a sharp, icy arrow to his chest, “It’s easy to mistake such claim with only one eye to see the truth of it.”

“Then it is fortunate that our union will be witnessed under the gaze of many, not just my own,” Aemond countered, his voice carrying a steely undertone. The contact of his skin against hers seemed to ignite a fire, his heart thrumming within him, vulnerable to her words. The openness she demanded of him was a battle against the fortitude he had cultivated over years. And he detested how weak she made him feel. “The realm shall be our witness.”

Daenera’s eyes, sharp and relentless, penetrated Aemond’s defenses as though she aimed to lay him bare and rip open his chest, to leave him exposed and pathetically vulnerable. It was as if a blade, cold and precise, hovered at the cusp of his heart, poised to pierce through the delicate fabric of his composure. Her intense scrutiny sought to remove the fortress of armor he had meticulously constructed for himself over years–armor donned to repel precisely this kind of emotional assault and vulnerability.

“This is your doing,” she asserted, her voice cutting through the air, a statement of fact rather than a question, acknowledging a truth she had discerned. “And you make no attempt to conceal it.”

“Why should I deny it? It’s the truth, I proposed this union – I set it in motion, I asked for it,” Aemond confessed, feeling the rabbit beat of her pulse against his fingertips, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the cool resolve of his own intentions. His eye briefly lingered on her lips, a silent testament to his desire. “My wish is for you to stand by my side as my wife–”

“To serve as nothing more than to warm your bed,” Daenera accused, her words slicing through the tension, igniting a spark of irritation within him.

Aemond struggled to comprehend Daenera’s perception of their forthcoming union as a form of punishment. From his perspective, he was offering her security and a semblance of comfort. As his wife, she would be spared the same level of imprisonment as the rest of the captives. She’d enjoy a modicum of freedom within the castle’s walls, though under vigilant supervision–a condition decidedly more favorable than her prior isolation.

By entering into a marriage union with him, she would reclaim a sense of status and privilege, accompanied by certain liberties, albeit within the boundaries dictated by her particular circumstance. She would gain some autonomy over her own life, a marked step up from her current state. This new role would afford her the opportunities to exert some influence over her own comfort, which should be considered a significant improvement.

The marriage was meant to offer her a measure of protection and comfort, contrary to her apprehension of it being another form of confinement.

“I am offering you protection–”

“You’re pursuing your own ambitions!” Daenera retorted vehemently. “This revolves around what you want – your desires. You’re forcing me into a gilded cage. Yet, even gilded, a cage remains just that. I remain a hostage, regardless of the status you bestow upon me.”

“You seek a choice?” Aemond’s voice dripped with scorn, his words edge with a mocking bitterness. “Remain a prisoner, confined as a hostage, or elevate your circumstances by consenting to be my wife.”

The retort form Daenera was suffused with deep-seated resignation, her demeanor shadowed by a crestfallen air. Her gaze towards him wove an intricate blend of feelings – a mingling of indignation with sadness, a streak of apprehension, and a deep-seated sense of treachery. Each emotion seemed to pierce Aemond’s heart with its own unique sharpness.

“It isn’t a choice. You’ve already decided for me,” she stated, her voice a low murmur.

In that moment, Aemond’s grip loosened, his hand retreating to his side as their gazes locked in a silent confrontation. An oppressive silence enveloped them, thich and foreboding, creeping in like a beast, ready to feed on the void left by unspoken words. Daenera took a step back, her expression momentarily revealing the struggle to regain her composure, to piece back together the facade that concealed her emotions. Aemond, however, stood immovable, his stance as resolute as ever.

He supposed she was right then, it was about his own desires – both seeking to protect her and possess her. Was it truly so reprehensible to desire her as his wife? Why couldn’t she see that his actions were motivated as much by concern for her well-being as by his own interests? Was it wrong for him to want to declare her as his own in every conceivable way? His mind framed his actions as protective measures, yet beneath the surface, a more raw, instinctive part of him acknowledged a different motive. This drive was not purely about protecting her; it was equally about satisfying his own desires, and what he believed was owed to him. They had been bound in matrimony months ago, the physical evidence of which lingered as scars on their palms – a permanent reminder of the vows they made. Despite Daenera’s defiance, he considered her his wife, a status he believed he had every right to proclaim to the world.

It was protection and possession, neither absent of the other.

“They intend to crown Aegon as King.” Her words hung heavily in the quiet.

Aemond’s reply was terse, an acknowledgement of the fact, “Yes.”

Turning her back to him, Daenera’s gown created a soft rustle as she moved to retrieve the shoe that had barely missed striking Aemond in the head. Moving around the furniture, Aemond picked up her other shoe from atop the table, anticipating her search for it. As he closed the distance between them, her eyes scanned the floor for it, but her search halted when he offered her the shoe, her gaze then ascending to meet his.

“You’re making a mistake in crowning Aegon,” she stated, accepting the shue. She lightly grasped his bicep for support while slipping her foot into the shoe, prompting him to instinctively stiffen his arm, lending her stability by placing his hand on her elbow.

“Aegon is the firstborn son of our father and the legitimate successor to the throne,” Aemond declared, his voice devoid of emotion, “It is his natural birthright.”

With her shoe securely on, Daenera let her skirt fall back into place, her fingers grazing the fabric as she found her balance. “That might have held true if Viserys hadn’t declared my mother his heir. You, alongside the council, are well aware of this, which explains why I’m made a hostage, why Rhaenys is imprisoned, and why the King’s death remains a secret. You’re denying my mother her rightful claim. The rush to crown Aegon, concealing these events from the public and my mother, only confirms this.”

“We’re not discussing this,” Aemond stated sharply, annoyance flickering in his chest. “The coronation will proceed as planned. There’s nothing you can do or say to change it.”

A look of dissatisfaction crossed Daenera’s face as her lips pursed slightly, but with a slight nod she conceded.

The beast that resided within his chest, laying beside the beating of his heart, seemed to stir as Aemond watched her intently. It filled him with a sense of restlessness – prickled at his fingertips with a need to touch her, to draw her close and drink in that poison of hers. Daenera seemed to sense this, her eyes darkening as she took on a new guise, one of calm calculation, her eyebrows forming a gentle, thoughtful curve. She drew closer to him, placed a hand on his chest, just above his heart.

“It should be you,” she murmured, her voice carrying a softness that belied the poisonous nature of her words. “You possess the qualities that make a good king. It should be you they crown, not Aegon.”

Aemond stood transfixed as though turned to stone under the weight of her words. When Daenera’s hand brushed upwards, her touch was unexpectedly soft, her thumb grazing his cheek with a tenderness that belied the power of her presence. His gaze locked on to hers, the beast within him tearing at his insides with vicious claws, as her voice whispered the very sentiments he longed to hear.

As he closed his eye, Aemond struggled with the storm of feelings she conjured within him, torn between the seductive sway of her words and the turmoil they unleashed in his heart. The most troubling aspect for Aemond was that he found himself drawn in two opposing directions: one by the call of his own ambition, aided by the deceptive sweetness of Daenera’s words, and the other by duty.

He was acutely aware of the cruel nature of her words – and of her. Her allure was like a cunningly laid trap, one that he recognized as being just that, a trap – yet he still felt the pull towards.

Aemond wrestled with the discomforting sense of vulnerability that Daenera’s touch sparked within him, despising the power she wielded over his emotions and how easily she attempted to use them against him. In his repulsion, he found his resolve. He opened his eye, a steeliness taking root. “Do fool yourself into thinking your contrived displays of affections will have any effect on me. I refuse to be misled by such gestures.”

His fingers wrapped around her wrist to peel her hand from his face. “I will not forsake my brother’s claim to the throne, nor will I betray him.”

The crown rightfully belonged to Aegon, and Aemond had no intention of taking it from him, regardless of his own ambitions. Despite Aemond’s reservations about Aegon’s competence as a ruler, the throne was undeniably his by birthright. They might have had their differences, countless arguments, and moments when Aemond wished things were different, but the fact remained: Aegon was his brother, his blood. This was not a bond Aemond could simply cast aside. It was his responsibility to stand by his brother, to fight for his claim to the throne–even if it meant opposing her.

“I will be the King’s brother,” Aemond said, releasing her wrist as she withdrew her hand. “It is my duty to stand by his side.”

Daenera averted her eyes, seemingly unable to bear his gaze, her lips quivering slightly in frustration. “I suppose that will be the closest you’ll ever come to wearing the crown and sitting the throne. Brother to the king.”

Aemond felt the sting of Daenera’s words as though they were physical blows, each syllable cutting into him sharply and without mercy. He stood motionless, fixing her with a glare, feeling the chill of silence seep into his very bones. His fingers twitched restlessly at his side, betraying his agitation as it burned within his chest. Their eyes met again, each holding the other’s gaze in a silent refusal of surrender.

The abrupt sound of a knock at the door shattered the tense silence between them, a deep voice somewhat muffled by the barrier of the wood, announcing, “The litter has been prepared and is ready to depart soon.”

Without saying anything, Aemond made his way towards the door. As he passed her, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Daenera’s eyes closing in what seemed like resignation–perhaps even regret. With each step he took, the weighty sense of finally enveloped him, the air thick with unspoken tensions,echoing in the charged stillness.

“Wait,” her voice unexpectedly called out, tinged with a plea. “Just… wait.”

Pausing just short of the door, Aemond hesitated. He began to turn but before he could face her, he felt the gentle pressure of her forehead against his back, resting right between his shoulder blades. Her fingers lightly grasped the edge of his doublet, as though seeking support – as though seeking something tangible. In that delicate, unexpected touch, he couldn’t help but wonder if she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

“I am…” Daenera’s voice wavered, laden with an exhaustion that seemed to seep into her very words. “I am afraid, Aemond.”

Aemond drew air into his lungs, his fingertips prickling with the urge to hold her.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” she confessed, her voice fragile, a mere whisper that nonetheless conveyed the depths of her fear. “I don’t want to be trapped… to be a hostage…”

Aemond felt his heart constrict in response to her words. He swallowed thickly, feeling as though he was swallowing a blade, each word cutting him up from the inside. The stark truth loomed over them–no utterance of his could promise her that no more lives would be lost. The grim reality was that lives would be lost, that was the way of war. There was no reassurance he could offer that wouldn’t be a lie. She would be a hostage even as his wife – all he could offer her was comfort and protection.

“I… I wanted to say ‘yes’...” Daenera whispered with vulnerability that seemed to fill the space between them. “I wanted to become your wife but I couldn’t…”

Aemond’s gaze sought to the heavens, silently pleading for a strength that seemed beyond his grasp. Her confession–that she had considered accepting his proposal–wretched at him. Each beat of his heart echoed with the pain and bittersweet torment of what could have been. This confession–this acknowledgement– was both a comfort and a torment in equal measure.

Aemond yearned to gaze upon her, to see the truth of her words in her eyes, to witness the formation of them upon her lips, yet he feared that even the slightest movement might shatter the fragile truce they found themselves in. Perhaps, there was a strange sort of solace to be found in the distance–a solace in the absence of directly facing one another.

“I love my family, I couldn’t go against them–just as you can’t go against yours,” she continued, her voice wavering in a way that made him wonder if she were crying, “And because I feared this…”

“You are my wife,” Aemond stated, a declaration meant as much for his own conviction as it was a reminder to her.

“I am but a bird trapped within a gilded cage,” she countered, her words painting a vivid picture of her perceived imprisonment.

“You can still say yes,” Aemond entreated, his tone laced with a desperation he despised in himself. “You can still make it a choice of your own making.”

“I would, if we didn’t end up right where we stand,” she responded, her words a bittersweet twist in his already aching heart. “I wanted to marry you, I would have… I did…”

At that moment, Aemond’s solitary eye opened, his gaze locking onto the stark, unfeeling juncture where the stone ceiling coldly met the wall, as she finally acknowledged their union. It was as though he could again sense the biting edge of the dragonglass against his flesh, its cruel caress etching a lasting memory into his being. His fingers instinctively tightened, the fingertips brushing against the faint scar that mirrored the mark upon her own hand–a silent testament to the vows they had made to each other.

Driven by a blend of dread and yearning, he found the courage to pose the question that had been haunting him. “Do you regret it?”

Her grip on his doublet tightened imperceptibly as she struggled with her response. Her silence stretched, the air heavy with anticipation and with each passing moment, with each heartbeat, he felt an eternity pass.

“No… I–no…” She stammered. “Yet, a part of me wishes I had never sought you out. It would be simpler then, to be enemies. It would be easier to hate you…”

Aemond gnawed on the tender inside of his cheek, drawing blood that mingled with the bitterness of his thoughts. He couldn’t counter her sentiment; in the silent prayers he whispered to the gods, he begged for liberation from the intoxicating poison of her influence.

Within him, a realization dawned–this moment was the nearest he would ever come to hearing the confession he so deeply carved. In this sliver of understanding, there was a semblance of solace. He could weave an illusion where she wielded no dagger against his vulnerabilities, where her power to unravel him stitch by stitch lay dormant. It allowed him to believe, if only for the span of a heartbeat, that her influence wasn’t the poison coursing through his veins, to which he had become unwittingly dependent on.

Yet, beneath this fragile veneer of acceptance, there pulsed a raw desire, a yearning that bled into the fabric of his being–a hunger to have her desires mirror his own, tangled and twisted in the same intricate dance of longing and despair.

“But I did come to you, and… I cut my palm, I said the vows…” she whispered, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “Please, Aemond, don’t do this.”

His response was a murmur laden with an inevitable resignation, “It is my duty.”

Her acceptance was tinged with a profound melancholy, yet within it, a glimmer of understanding. “I know…”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“That we wed that night,” Aemond urged, craving the affirmation. “That it was real.”

With a tender solemnity, she affirmed, “It was real. Iksan bound naejot ao hae iksā naejot nyke. Hae ābrazȳrys se valzȳrys.”

I am bound to you, as you are to me. As wife and husband.

Aemond struggles a lot with what is proaction and what is possession. He doesn't want to trap her, but at the same time, he can't let her go. He loves her--and he can't get himself to say it, because saying it puts him even more at a disadvantage, and he already despise feeling weak and vulnerable. But he also longs to hear her say it, to acknowledge that there's something, that they did marry--and she did. Duty is such a hard thing to struggle with, and it's something we will see him deal with for a good while. Daenera is also struggling with being a hostage with little to no say over her own life, and for a moment, she attempts to play the game, to manipulate Aemond, but they both know it, and it leads nowhere. But she had to try, just as she had to try and escape. There's a shared understanding between them, they understand the other person and why they're doing what they're doing; Aemond and his duty to his family, of keeping her hostage, of the marriage--and Daenera digging in her heels, tearing at her confines and shackles as a hostage, her attempts at escaping and her general disdain for the proceedings. They understand that it's something the other has to do, and I think it's in that understanding that they're able to find some common ground. It's with that understanding that they can seek solace from one another, just for a moment--a moment where they're together and not opponents.

#a vow of blood #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc

60 notes · View notes