#three houses x reader

[claudemblems]

thx for answering my apology post lol! Is it possible if I could choose for the request yuri picking her up request that I sent between the 2? I don't know if u remember the one specifically!

No worries! I’m always happy to get a request for Yuri 🥺 I miss him sm I really need to play through more of Three Hopes lol

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Sweep Me Off My Feet | Yuri Leclerc Headcanons

Summary: Fluff headcanons of Post Timeskip!Yuri with Reader who loves being picked up, spun around, and carried princess style by him

Notes: I did add just a twinge bit of spice but I felt like it fit with the theme of the request. Nothing too crazy tho! I hope that's all right :) Also this is very long but I'm sure that's not a surprise at this point

Yuri’s not really someone that likes to show affection out in the open. There’s too many eyes on him and, as the boss of Abyss, he has to be alert at all times. But mainly he’s just shy (don’t be fooled by his flirty persona). However, if you truly insist for him to dote on you, he can’t possibly refuse you.

That being said, he does like to save romantic gestures for times such as celebration. He will absolutely pick you up after winning a battle, spinning you around with a relieved grin on his face. What can he say? Few things make him happier than knowing he’s kept the people he loves safe. 

And at night time, you’ve noticed that he tends to be more clingy. Perhaps it’s the tiredness talking, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t have to worry about watchful eyes around every corner. But that’s usually when he’ll pick you up by the waist and set you on his lap, silently burying his head into the crook of your neck. He’s just so precious. 

He also loves picking you up princess style as much as you do. You joke about him being your knight in shining armor, leaving him playfully rolling his eyes at you. But he does get satisfaction in knowing that you see him as your protector. He’ll swear an oath to you if you have any doubts. 

The affection he gives you increases tenfold after the two of you have married. He practically won’t let your feet touch the ground after your wedding night. It’s the perfect chance for him to lavish you in love, so let him enjoy it as much as he can. 

Or when it’s just the two of you alone at night, perhaps in the old Ashen Wolves classroom or in a dimly lit hallway in Abyss, clinging onto each other and sharing passionate kisses, he’ll get this unmistakable mischievous glint in his eyes. Next thing you know, he’s swept you off your feet, carrying you to his room. Don’t worry. He’ll make sure you know just how loved and cherished you are by morning.

He just likes to have you all to himself. Sometimes he doesn’t initiate romantic gestures in public not because he’s shy, but because he's incredibly jealous. He won’t tell you that, but it’s not hard to put the pieces together. 

Though Yuri’s more inclined to be lovey with you if it’s just the Ashen Wolves around. He’ll pull you onto his lap, lock his fingers with yours, or even pick you up by the waist to help you reach something. Sure, he could just get it for you, but you look so determined and he may or may not like taking every chance he gets to feel your touch. It often leaves Hapi and Constance audibly groaning or Balthus sending teasing jokes his way, but seeing the smile on your face is all that matters.

Yuri may not show it outwardly, but he really is a hopeless romantic. Ask him for anything and he’ll give it to you without hesitation. Best of all, he will never grow tired of doing things that make you happy. As long as you’re safe and smiling, what more could he ask for?

With you by his side, he has everything he needs. 

[frickingnerd]

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[yanderelovlies]

Note: me: I wanna write about dimitri!

Also me: *writes and unrequited love about him* .....oh

Fandom(s): Fire Emblem Three Houses

Character(s): Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and Sylvain Gautier

Sylvain raised his glass facing the couple in the front. “I think we have all talked enough. Now I think it's time for toast from the maid of honor!’ Sylvain turned to you with a grin on his “y/n!” The crowd cheered as they all turned to you. Putting on your best smile you raised your glass to them “A toast! To the new King of Faerghus, and his lovely queen…My dear sister.” An adoring smile crossed both of their faces as Dimitri gently took her hand. “May your kingdom stay forever prosperous, and the two of you forever satisfied.” Your sister mouths a thank you to you before turning to Dimitri and kissing him.

As the people cheered and gather closer to the newlyweds you squeezed your way out of the crowd, and out to the balcony outside. Leaning over the rail you let out a sigh. You thought after the war everything would be as it once was, but that was a childish way of thinking. Dimitri always loved your sister you just hoped if you tried hard enough he would finally look at you.

Instead, you were the best maid at their wedding wishing it was you standing by his side.

“You know…you should take up acting classes y/n”

Startled you turned to face Sylvain himself. “You scared me, Sylvain! You should announce yourself when approaching someone!”

Sylvain scoffed walking to your side, resting his arms on the railing of the balcony “what afraid Hubert is gonna come back to get you .”

You rolled your eyes making a little space between the two of you. “Not funny Gautier…”

He shrugs keeping his eyes on the sky. It was quiet for a little bit before Sylvain finally spoke again “You know….you aren't the only one…”

You looked over to Sylvain raising an eyebrow “You like Dimitri too?”

He quickly turned you let out a surprised noise “What? No!” he hung his head his shoulders shaking slightly as he breathlessly chuckled. “I guess I should have clarified better. No, what I mean is I loved someone who didn't love me back…..they even married someone else.”

You stared at him shocked. Feeling your eyes on his he turns his head to look at you “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I-Im sorry it just-”

“Didin’t think that would be me?” you simply nodded making him smile sadly at you “Yeah me either.” He turned back to the sky leaning against the railing. “I tried not, but somehow I still ended up falling for them….Then before I knew it they were married to someone else leaving me behind.”

Your gaze moved back to the sky as well as you got a little closer too “Well…. At least we aren't alone.”

“Yeah…”

The two of you stood in silence watching the sky before you sighed stepping away from the railing “Come Mr. Gautier let's get back to the party before our friends miss us.” You hold out your hand to him as he turns to face you.

He smirks taking your hand “Ah you are right my dear friend, and hopefully they felt some of the good wine for us.” The two of you walked back into the room chatting and laughing pushing aside the heartbreak of the evening.

It is never easy to move one, but at least you weren't alone. That you were thankful for.

[songsofadelaide]

Suncatcher

You've heard tales of the former Duke Riegan's daughter, Lady Tiana von Riegan, and her sudden disappearance from the Alliance. Many theorised she was spirited away to another country— Almyra, to be exact. Claude bore a resemblance to her, the beauty that bewitched a foreign dignitary enough to steal her out of the continent.

Sometimes you wondered if he felt like leaving Fodlan with you, too, even if it was just a silly little flight of fancy.

He never gave voice to the extent of his feelings for you, but it never really bothered you. You were comfortable around Claude and he was comfortable around you, very much so that he left most, if not all of his favourite poisons in his own lodging. He never felt the need to protect himself from you. If that wasn't love, then…

Spoilers for the Golden Wildfire route. Reader is not My Unit.

[A Claude von Riegan x Reader one-shot]

[yanderehsr]

Imagine being in a relationship with a yandere and not knowing that they're yandere but you think that they're unhappy in the relationship so you break up with them

Sure, you didn't specify a fandom or characters so I'll mix it up a bit if that's okay

Hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping

Alhaitham: It isn't a surprise that you don't know he's a yandere, he is perfect in hiding his darker thoughts, it isn't a surprise either that you think he doesn't like you, even as a yandere he will be distant most of the time, he just doesn't know how to deal with his strong feelings.

The break up doesn't happen, Alhaitham's studies you so well that he can predict anything you do before you do it, he is like an akasha terminal with only information about you. He will admit that knowing that you think he hates you actually hurt him a bit, but it's all okay, all missunderstandings are cleared now, and you wont leave him again.

"Why would you think I'm unhappy, I'm never happier than when I am with you, remove such silly thoughts from your mind, dear"

Signora: It's not hard to imagine why you would think she is unhappy, she views herself as above you, that you should feel honored to be with her. No matter what she does or what she says, she never feels unhappy being with you.

Signora's reaction to you trying to break up is rage, how dare you leave her, it will take a while for her to calm down and hear you out. After hearing you think she is unhappy, she will start to be softer towards you, she doesn't want this to happen again. You will recieve more compliments even if she isn't the best at them.

"You aren't allowed to leave me, how could you ever think that I'm unhappy after all I've done for you"

Jingliu: She acts cold even to you, sure she may keep an arm around you at all time but it wouldn't be a surprise if you think she is forcing it for you, her face barely ever changes even to you and her blindfold always stay on, she gives a lot of mixed signals.

A break up with Jingliu would never end well, she wouldn't hesitate to remove a few limbs to make you stay, even if you explain it to her that she seems unhappy with the relationship she will still remove the limbs, she loves you so much, she can't risk you ever leaving her, you can't leave her if you don't have any legs now can you.

"Stop crying, you brought this upon yourself... did you really think I didn't like you, I guess I need to show you just how much you mean to me"

Hubert: He places his loyalty to Edelgard above even you, even as a yandere that wont change, Edelgard has been his whole life and sure he may love you but to put you above the empress is something he would find hard to do.

But it hurts Hubert however much he tries to hide it when you tell him he looks unhappy in the relationship, it hurts him even more when you tell him you wanna break up. He isn't unhappy, far from it, you are someone he wishes to spend the rest of his life with. You will feel a cloth over your mouth and nose as you start to black out, the last thing you see before waking up the next time is Hubert's eerie smile.

"Did you sleep well, my apologies if you feel any side effects, that wouldn't be my intention, now lay down again, I'll be back in a short while, have to make sure there isn't any way out"

[lauraneedstochill]

Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face. 

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious. 

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.”

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and — 

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue 

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[ghouljams]

I do love the mental image you supplied of Price being out there with a broom trying to shoo the Mimic away, like-

Price: Get out of here, shoo!

Mimic: :((

Price: No! Go find another witch to snack on! *whacks*

Mimic: :(((((

You watch from your window as Price leaves your garden. The not-moose moves from one side of the wall towards Price. You aren't sure why that makes your stomach twist. You grip your chest, twisting your shirt in your hand, feeling that warm magic buzz at the tips of your finger again. Price can take care of himself, you're sure of it.

Price feels his tethers pull tight as the mimic walks towards him. The overgrown beast doesn't even have the common courtesy to pretend to be a regular animal. It stares right at him, it's eyes moving in different directions as it attempts to keep its focus on you as well as the new threat. Price cracks his knuckles, moves towards the mimic with the same predatory intent that it had been.

"Fuck off," Price advises the mimic, "kindly."

The mimic stops, shakes it's head. It's lips pull back in what Price is sure is supposed to be a terrifying display. He will admit that the noise it makes is downright unsettling, the sobbing wail that seems to broadcast from the mimic. It's face doesn't move at all, the sound just shakes out of it. Price raises a brow.

"You don't look starving."

Another wail from the mimic, the moose turns and butts its horns against the threshold. The twist of horn against your wards makes even Price grimace. It unhinges its jaw to press the full extent of its teeth against the garden's barrier. Price growls, leaning to reach over the wall to grab your watering can.

The iron burns.

Price twitches, his jaw clenched as his head pulls to one side. The unnatural sting of metal against his skin is almost as unpleasant as the scream the mimic lets out upon seeing it. The glassy eyes of it roll to look at him, it slides its teeth off the threshold like dragging knives through molasses. It gives another wail, almost bargaining. Price weighs the sentiment against the iron in his grasp before swinging the can hard at the mimic.

The creature flinches, stumbling back away from him. It drops its head low, menacing. Price doesn't move except to raise his free hand and make a shoo-ing motion.

"If you're not going to leave on your own I have no qualms makin' you."

The mimics eyes roll between Price and the house. It's lips curl, tongue lolling out over its razor sharp teeth. The menacing posturing doesn't let up, in fact the mimic almost seems to be challenging that assertion.

"Price," it sobs in your voice. Price's eyes narrow, his grip on the iron watering can tightening. The burn of it bites into his flesh.

"Now you're tryin' to make me mad." He growls, the mimic takes a half step back, "I'm tryin' to be civil, bet you can't even remember that part of yourself."

A step forward, the mimic attempts another show of aggression only to be caught by the swing of cold iron. The metal scrapes fur and flesh from its muzzle, oily blood sloughing off it into the snow before it can pull its skin back together. It scrambles back away from Price, away from your property. The mimic tries another sobbing voice, aiming for sympathy over threats. Isn't it pathetic? Cursed with only might and the decaying sense it once had as a human. If it could just get enough magic...

"Then find another witch to snack on, this one's mine." Though Price imagines any witch it finds will yield the exact same results. Well, maybe not exactly the same. He can't think of a single other fae that would- That would be eager to help? Have the tethers to be called on? The conviction to grab Iron in defense of their- of a witch. God help him this is getting out of hand.

The mimic seems to ponder this for a moment. It's neck twisting its head one way then another, its horns scraping the snowy ground as it does. It lets out an agreeable is terrified scream, before turning and making its way back into the thicket of trees. Price watches it go for a moment before tossing the watering can back towards the fence with a pained swear.

He grips his wrist, staring at the consumed flesh, the sinew revealed by the acidic burn of the iron. His fingers clench and shake, the muscles pulled tight with pain. Behind him the house door opens and closes, the iron back gate creaks, the sound of rapid footsteps through snow reaches him. He turns in time for you to throw your arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," You squeeze your arms tightly around his shoulders. Price wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you more securely against his chest. You pull away too quickly to cup his face graciously, briefly, between your hands. He can feel his tethers singing for you as you leave his hold, eager to have you close again. His fingers still drag along your waist, reluctant to stop touching you as you turn to grab his injured hand.

Your fingers are so gentle as they graze the outer edges of the wound. Your expression pained, it makes him want to rip his hand from your hold. Instead he lets you finish your exam, his fingers tightening on your waist when you prod a little too hard. You mumble a quiet apology and release his hand, crouching to pick up a handful of snow.

"This might feel a little strange," You tell him, without actually telling him what exactly it is that's going to feel strange. You press the snow against his hand, careful to spread the ice down his fingers as well. Sort of weird that you'd think he'd never iced a burn before.

You lean over his hand, your face close to the snow, close enough he can feel the brush of your breath as you exhale. Then your lips move, and he feels it. The soft shift of the wind, the ringing in his ears, the lacing of his skin knitting back together under rapidly melting ice, the magic that races up his arm and circulates through his heart like a shot of ecstasy. Your grip on his wrist is far flung from the light touches it was, and he sees why now.

Your magic makes him want to jerk away, an involuntary reaction that he tries to steady as soon as it happens. It's hot and molten, it rustles past his ears like a sea breeze, and it is a foreign body invading his own. Price's pulse races, instinct keyed to the highest settings, and you are mouthwatering. All potential power and pretty packaging. He brushes your hair off your neck with his uninjured hand. You're so trusting. He can feel the itch in his teeth, and smell blood.

Price grips your shoulder hard enough to bruise, and leans down to press his teeth to your neck. He can feel your pulse rushing under his tongue, smell your scent under all those lovely herbs. You drop his hand and he's quick to thread it through your hair, to hold your neck long for his consumption. There's no pain, and the tethers between you are so brilliantly warm. No pain. Price blinks. The ringing is gone, the sea breeze gone, you're not holding his hand. You're finished.

He pull back, looks at how you've squeezed your eyes shut, lips thin with fear. That's not right. Fuck.

"Fuck," Price clears his throat, it feels like he hasn't had anything to drink in days, "I'm not gonna hurt you, that's-" He takes his hands off you, as a show of sincerity. Tension bleeds out of you as you open your eyes.

"I told you, it'll feel weird." You tell him, turning quickly to go and grab your watering can. Weird is not how he'd describe it, nor is that how he would've warned about it. But it's done now.

"That was real magic," Price swallows, flexes his fingers now miraculously, magically, healed. You don't miss a step in your quick pace back to your garden.

"It's all real magic," You call over your shoulder, "I just didn't use a buffer this time."

You only turn to look at him when you're closing your garden gate, your smile a little shy and your cheeks pink. You mouth a last 'thank you' and disappear into your house. It's strange. There should be a new tether between you, something solid, something the weight of unfiltered magical expertise, but there's nothing. Even done out of just the kindness of your heart he should have some evidence that you'd done him a service, nobody gives themselves that freely. Even those that do, a recipient would never accept such a gift without a debt; save maybe the few foolish enough to think they're in love.

Fuck.

Fuck.

[thattargboy]

Imagine…

Being Aegon’s sister-wife and he tries to get you and your children to run away with him across the Narrow Sea to avoid being crowned King.

“You need to get up,” You awoke to your husband frantic, and presumably drunk, shaking your shoulder. You shrugged him off and rolled over but it did not sway him.

“Darling, get up,” Aegon said frantically. “We have to go.”

“My love,” you said as you sat up, yawning and wiping the sleep dust from your eyes. “‘Tis the hour of the owl, let me sleep. What could be so important?”

“Our father is dead,” Aegon said solemnly, his words like ice water over you. “Mother and Grandsire mean to name me king. I already have our dragons prepared for flight.”

Your eyes shot open. Whatever state you expected to see your husband in, fully dressed, somewhat sober and dry-eyed, holding your babe with a panicked wet nurse and your two sleepy toddlers on his tail was certainly not it.

“Seven Hells,” you said and rose from bed, running both your hands down your face. You always knew this day would come, and yet even as your father’s health deteriorated, you did not expect it so soon. Perhaps you were blinding yourself, not wanting to face what will, what is, coming after. “How do you even know? I’ve heard nothing of this.”

“When I was… in the city, I had heard Mother’s handmaiden talking with someone; she said Father supposedly named me his heir on his deathbed. With only Mother as a witness. I do not want to stay.” Uprooting our lives over gossip he heard while he was out whoring?

“Are we going somewhere?” Aemon, your eldest, asked. His sister sniffled but he held her hand. You did not know what to say. This was all too much to process. “Is Grandsire dead?”

Your children held no love for their inattentive grandsire, nor did you for your father, but the information clearly distressed all of them. Or perhaps it was their father’s clear panic that was scaring them. Aegon held your little Daerion on his hip, who clearly did not want to be awake, and looked like he was on the verge of wailing.

Aemon and Elaena stood behind him with the nursemaid. The twins were still in their sleep-clothes and held the toy dragons they cannot sleep without. The very picture of innocence and confusion.

You took Daerion from his father’s arms and cradled the small boy. Aegon took your hand, eyes pleading.

“What is it you mean to do?” You asked, trying to keep your voice down. “Take off on Sunfyre and Moonborne to find Saera Targaryen and live in her pillow house for the rest of our days?”

“That sounds lovely to me,” he said.

“Be serious, Aegon!” You chided as you bounced your son. “We cannot run away from our duty, from our family.”

“I am serious, we cannot stay. Being King is the last thing I want, I will hardly be good at it,” Aegon said, taking your face in his hands and pressing his forehead against yours. “My duty is to protect you and our children, and leaving will do that, you know what crowning me will cause. The wet nurse may go wherever she wishes after Daerion is weaned.”

He was serious, that was the bad part. And he was right, which was even worse— whether or not your father truly did name Aegon heir mattered little. Any attempt to put Aegon on the throne will be seen by your half-sister and her supporters as an act of war, putting you and your children in danger.

“We must act swiftly, just say the word.” Aegon kissed you, once, twice, tears finally filling his eyes. “Please, Y/N. Do this for me, out of the love you have for me as a wife, as a twin.”

Most husbands would demand this of you, tearing you and your children from all you have ever known, yours is begging. You kissed your son’s forehead and contemplated, unsure of your next move. Unsure of the future and safety of your family, scared and confused.

Notes: I gave you and Aegon the same amount of children as Aegon and Helaena (twin son and daughter and a younger son) but I didn’t want them to be the same so I changed the names. All their children are named in honor of their siblings. Please tell me what you think, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Ao3 repost if you want to read it there instead

[astrae03]

Captain’s log: It’s been almost 2 hours since AO3 went down I’m not coping well to the point my introverted ass has finally decided to actually post something on tumblr for the first time; but in these dark times desperate measures must be taken. Stay strong everyone we will get through this. 🥲😭

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hey, a while back you did a bunch of Genshingirls walking in on their S/O with a body pillow of them. Why don’t we flip the script this time? S/O walks in to see the girls (or guys!) with a body pillow of *them*!

One character I do ask for is Bernadetta.

(Genshin Impact/FE3H) Furina, Ayaka, Yae, Shenhe, Kokomi, Bernadetta, Edelgard, and Marianne with a body pillow of their S/O

The implications of someone making a body pillow of yourself is both hilarious and terrifying.

Furina's eyes go wide once the door opens, leading her to rush something underneath the blanket seeing her S/O.

(S/O) "Hey, I'm ba-...Furina?"

She has her usual smug expression as she dramatically blew a kiss to them.

(Furina) "Ah, welcome back dear! I must say you are home far earlier than I expected!"

(S/O) "Is everything alright? You're sweating a lot."

(Furina) "Ah? This? I just summoned one of my little friends to cool me off is all!"

(S/O) "On our bed?"

...

S/O walked over to them and immediately put their hand on her forehead, stunning her for a moment.

(S/O) "Your face is burning hot! Jeez, no wonder you needed them. Let's get you a change of clothes-"

(Furina) "W-WAIT!"

S/O ripped off the blanket and saw themselves on a pillow, forcing them to make sure they weren't going insane.

Furina for her part was doing her best impression of a tomato, with her two fingers awkwardly tapping the blanket and doing everything in her power to not look them in the eyes.

(S/O) "Why do you...H-How...?!"

(Furina) "L-LISTEN! YOU WEREN'T HOME AND..."

Furina began pouting as she put the blanket up to her face, probably about to explode from embarassment.

S/O was flattered at least, but...who even gave this to her?

(S/O) "Where have you been hiding this whenever I have been home?"

(Furina) "...Closet."

Her muffled voice responded.

Ayaka felt that having a body pillow of her S/O felt so...strange.

It was so weird, who even has this kind of thing of their significant other?!

But...it was not too dissimilar from keeping a picture of them, so maybe....?

Ayaka hides the pillow from everyone, and not a single soul besides her knows about it.

Whenever she was missing them, Ayaka would hold onto the pillow, counting the days until S/O could return.

...Until her door slid open.

(S/O) "Surprise! I'm here early-"

Ayaka's absolutely mortified expression speaks for itself as its inches away from a picture of S/O, pasted onto the pillow.

The two said nothing as they kept unblinking eye contact.

(Ayaka) "...Please don't tell anyone about this."

Yae commissioned an artist that she knows to put S/O onto a pillow.

There was something similar going on with Ei, which gave her this idea to begin with.

Yae put the pillow right smack in the middle of the bedroom and waited for S/O's arrival that night.

She could already imagine their reaction, but why imagine it when you can just see it?

Finally, Yae could hear the door creak open, and her smirk increased tenfold.

(S/O) "Yae, I'm home. Hm, what's that on-"

Yae bursts out laughing when S/O pauses and their face scrunches up upon seeing themselves.

Wiping away a tear from her eye, she greets S/O.

(Yae) "Is something the matter, I thought you'd appreciate me always thinking of you."

(S/O) "Why is it so well drawn?"

(Yae) "I paid someone a substantial amount of Mora to get your likeliness down well, little one.~"

She starts laughing again seeing their exasperated sighing.

Shenhe was gifted a body pillow of S/O, strangely enough by Cloud Retainer.

(Cloud Retainer) "One believes that you would appreciate a reminder of your loved one in physical form. At least, that is what the Traveler has spoken."

And Shenhe not really knowing how ANY human interaction works, took it at face value as well.

After all, Shenhe does feel that strange longing in her heart for S/O, there was at least this nice picture of them to keep her satisfied until now.

S/O eventually comes home to find Shenhe hugging the pillow of themselves in the living room, making them do a double take.

(S/O) "...Shenhe?"

(Shenhe) "S/O. It's good to see you again."

Her eyes slightly narrow.

(Shenhe) "Is something wrong? Your expression is changed."

(S/O) "Is...that a pillow of myself?"

(Shenhe) "Yes. It was a gift from master."

S/O noticed how tightly Shenhe was holding onto the pillow, before they came in, and she proceeded to hug them just as tight.

(Shenhe) "It brings...some comfort when you are not here."

S/O sighed, but gave her a smile.

(S/O) "That's touching...in a weird way."

(Shenhe) "How is a pillow of you weird?"

(S/O) "Hoo boy..."

Kokomi's body pillow of S/O: +1000 Energy

It embarrasses her to no end that the pillow actually boosts her energy.

But if she couldn't cuddle with her S/O, then there was the next best thing!

At least, that was the plan until the real one walked into her hideaway.

(S/O) "Kokomi, I brought some sna-"

She was so tired that she didn't even notice them.

Kokomi has a soft smile, hugging the pillow of them tightly as her shoulders relaxed.

S/O walked up to Kokomi, unsure to call her name again or tap her in the shoulder.

Both would equally startle her, considering.

They would have to do neither, as Kokomi opened her eyes and saw them standing in front of her.

(Kokomi) "AAAGH?! S-S/O?!"

She quickly tried to hide the body pillow behind her before giving up and sighing.

(Kokomi) "I'm...s-sorry."

S/O gave her a smile before hugging her, letting her relax into their embrace.

All the while, respectfully not looking at themselves.

(S/O) "...How long have you had that pillow, Kokomi?"

(Kokomi) "Please don't tease me about that, dear."

Okay, even Bernadetta could admit that having a pillow of her boyfriend/girlfriend was weird.

But...it brought her comfort, and no one really entered her room anyway, so who cares?

It's not like anyone was gonna see it.

She holds onto the pillow like a lifeline, sighing in content.

(Bernadetta) "Oh, Pillow S/O, thank you for bringing me comfort in my times of need..."

(S/O) "...I don't do that?"

(Bernadetta) "Of course you do! Like nothing el-"

She realized that it spoke up, and slowly turned behind her.

(S/O) "...H-Hi."

Bernadetta was completely frozen in place, eyes widened in absolute terror.

(S/O) "Please tell me you didn't get Ignatz to draw that for you-"

(Bernadetta) "I-IT WAS A GIFT, I SWEAR!"

(S/O) "I'm...not sure that's any better, sweetie..."

It was absolutely disgraceful to Edelgard to have a pillow of her S/O!

The Emperor of Adrestia needs to have more tact than...whatever the hell this was.

But at the same time...she didn't have the heart to throw it away.

She instead keeps it, but WELL out of sight of anyone that could find it.

Honestly, Edelgard would rather a thief find her gold than this pillow.

Unfortunately for her, someone worse found it.

(S/O) "Edelgard, is my clothes in the closet? I can't seem to find my jacket."

(Edelgard) "Hm? Oh yes, it should be-"

Her eyes shoot wide open as she quickly spins around, and rushes to the closet door.

She slammed it shut, giving S/O a panicked look.

(S/O) "WOAH! W-What's gotten int-"

(Edelgard) "B-BY THE EMPEROR'S DECREE, I FORBID YOU FROM OPENING THAT DOOR!"

As if on cue, the door instead fell over to the side from Edelgard's strength, and out flopped the body pillow of S/O onto the ground.

(S/O) "..."

(Edelgard) "..."

Marianne truthfully didn't even want this body pillow.

It was gifted to her by Raphael, and she couldn't say no.

The picture portraying S/O was tasteful and quite well drawn, but who keeps a picture of someone they love on a pillow?

It just felt extremely awkward, and Marianne did not want to deal with it.

She was in her room with Hilda, not sure what to do.

(Hilda) "Wow, okay that's kinda creepy. But sweet too, in a weird way!"

(Marianne) "I suppose, but it seems rude to throw it away if it's so well crafted."

(Hilda) "Iunno. Maybe hang it on a wall? It is a picture after all!"

The door to her bedroom opened, and both of them saw S/O enter.

(S/O) "Hey Mari-...Oh, Hilda! What are you doing in here?"

(Hilda) "Heya. Just trying to figure out what to do with this gift."

(S/O) "What gi-....Oh."

All three of them stared at the picture, unsure what to do.

(S/O) "Um...did you?-"

(Marianne) "I did not make this..."

(S/O) "O-Okay good..."

(Hilda) "Well whatever you guys decide to do, just don't let Claude se it!"

Marianne and S/O gave each other an awkward glance, putting it gently into their closet and deciding it'd be best to figure that out later.

They forgot about it, and Marianne gets jumpscared by the pillow of S/O sometimes.

A/N: OH MY GOOOOD IT'S SO NOSTALGIC WRITING FOR 3H AGAIN

[claudemblems]

Tickles and Dimples | Claude von Riegan

Summary: Post Timeskip Claude tickles you in order to see your dimples

Format: Headcanons

Notes: Do I even have to announce that my headcanons are always long at this point ahsdkjjaks

This request was sent in by @sparklycupcake56 :) I hope you enjoy it!

Tickling you is one of Claude’s favorite pastimes. He gets to hear your adorable laughter and see you smiling, all because of him? Yeah, he loves it a bit too much.

Unfortunately for you, though, Claude always has to enact his plans when you least expect them.

He scares you when he pops out from literally nowhere and starts relentlessly tickling you, even if there’s a crowd of students watching. Like where did you come from??? How is he so quiet???

You can’t stay mad at him long, though. One kiss of apology makes everything right again (as usual)

Claude argues that tickling is good for you, a way for you to laugh in the midst of the war raging on. Surprising you seems to be the only way he can effectively pull you out of your thoughts

It’s just hard for him to watch you—someone who’s always been sunny and cheerful—wearing such a troubled expression. It worries him immensely. But he always worries about you.

He deems his mission successful when you break out into smiles and laughter. He can’t help but playfully poke at your dimples while he’s at it, remarking at how cute and darling they are on you.

He always finds a way to be smooth even when he’s testing his schemes out on you, huh?

It’s become a sort of competition where the two of you try to surprise each other with a tickle fight. Except Claude always seems to know when you’re lurking nearby. Right when you run out from behind the corner, he’s caught you by the waist, tickling you instead.

He’s not trying to catch you every time; he’s just acutely aware of his surroundings. He’s very good at sneaking around undetected. He has his years of pranking to thank for that.

Every once in a while he pretends that he doesn’t notice you’re there, just to let you have the satisfaction of winning. The smile you wear when you “catch” him makes his heart go all warm and fuzzy. He never grows tired of seeing your beautiful smile.

Perhaps Claude’s tickling really is a good distraction, and it’s a welcome one, too. If it means you get to be in his arms, even for a moment, it’s worth the aching of your sides that your laughter soon brings.

[pix3lplays]

I don’t even have words. Thank you all so much!!

Masterlist VI

-Honkai star rail-

Luocha sings religious songs

Luocha x reader: the Abundance Abomination Pt 2

Lying about being reader’s husband

Reader gets wasted at a party

Jing Yuan and Dan Feng: Status

Reader is a figment of their imagination

Player singing affects

Playing with their toddler

As dad things

Reader takes off the mask

Giving them flowers

Sampo’s little sister is in love with Luka

Jing Yuan’s child gets marastruck

Reader is as meek as a sheep

Rainy day fluff with Imbibitor Lunae and Blade

Reader pretends to be married to them

Reader loses a baby

Would they go to get milk and never come back if you got pregnant?

Clumsy reader

Jing Yuan’s child is a part of the ten lords commission

With a deaf reader

Arranged marriage trope

Miscellaneous Luocha x reader

x baker reader

Reader is shy about singing

Sampo’s little sister goes on a date with Gepard

Toxic relationship with Dan Feng Pt 2

Reader compliments them

Borrowing their clothes

Dan Heng x reader who loves dancing

Dan Feng relationship hcs

Daughter says: I hate you

Jealous Dr. Ratio

Argenti x reader who wears a mask

Argenti comforting reader

Shopping for engagement rings with Argenti

Arranged marriage: Argenti

Dating Argenti hcs

Argenti with a short s/o

Reader is too stubborn to go to a doctor

Trying on Argenti’s clothes

Argenti as a father

Reader is manipulative

Dan Feng: Stay with me

Reader gets emotional on period

Sister tries to steal your Xianzhou man

Yanqing accidentally calls you ‘Mom’

Dragons when you have a jealous best friend

Yanqing’s older sibling dating HSR men

Pregnant!reader won’t stay in bed

Gepard and Welt with an s/o who works too hard

Reader is RICH

Covering them in lipstick marks

Reader flirts like Kafka

Reader tries to scare them with uncanny valley makeup

Astral express reaction to reader dating Dan Heng

HSR men scents

Dr. Ratio x Smart!reader

Dr. Ratio x gamer!reader

Dr. Ratio as a dad

-Genshin Impact-

Reader is like Senku Ishigami

Tighnari and Wriothesley as fathers

Wriothesley x fem!reader: right and wrong

Genshin men when reader wants to start a family

Would they go get milk and never come back if you got pregnant?

Diluc x reader who likes wine

x baker reader

Reader is shy about singing

As dads

Kaeya’s lover gets injured in a fight

When their usually smart s/o does something stupid

Asking Neuvillette and Wriothesley if they want to have a baby

Self-aware!Venti and gamer!reader

Genshin men abandoned by the reader

Dragons when you have a jealous best friend

Pregnant!reader won’t stay in bed

Reader writes fanfiction for them

Taking care of drunk reader

-Fire Emblem Three Houses-

Jeritza x reader

Dimitri x reader

-One Piece-

Sir Crocodile x reader who’s shy around him

Sanji x baker!reader

Reader is shy about singing

Sanji x reader who loves hugs

Mihawk x clingy reader

Sanji x reader: midnight snack

Pregnant!reader won’t stay in bed

-Dr. Stone-

Cuddling with Stanley

Ryusui and Tsukasa with Oblivious reader

Stanley realizing he has a crush on reader

Dr Xeno and Stanley with pregnant s/o

Dr. Xeno x dead astronaut Reader

Stanley x rockstar reader

Dr. Xeno x reader who loves listening to his science talk

Stanley and his escape artist baby

Xeno and Stanley sleeping habits

Stanley Snyder fluff hcs

Reader is meek

-Hades-

Thanatos has a nightmare

Zagreus accidentally kills reader

[frickingnerd]

dimitri's s/o being experimented on by those who slither in the dark

pairing: dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x gn!reader

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

you didn't tell dimitri about you being kidnapped and experimented on as a child by those who slither in the dark, until about five years into the war

still, dimitri had always noticed some similarities between edelgard, lysithea and yourself and the way the three of you seemed to be oddly close…

when you finally opened up to dimitri about those who slither in the dark and their experiments on you, it was worse than anything he could've imagined

dimitri began to understand that you weren't their only victim and that they are responsible for most of the conflict in fodlan

dimitri wants to take them down. he needs to take them down! for your sake and for fodlan! 

and he's willing to do whatever it takes to achieve that goal! even ally with claude and edelgard, if those are willing to help him…

dimitri makes it his goal to kill every last one of those who slither in the dark, with his focus being solely on them

it takes him a while to realize that instead of annihilating them, he'd help you more if he'd just be there for you, supporting and comforting you

dimitri struggles a bit with helping you emotionally, well aware that he's more skilled with his lance than his words

still, he's doing all of this for you. and if you need him to be by your side and comfort you after a nightmare or a panic attack, then he'll be there! 

[axelsagewrites]

Lemon Cakes and Marriage Plans

Pairing: Aemond x F!Strong!Reader

Summary: Aemond begins to discuss marriage plans when the rumours finally reach the queen.

Part three to Lemon Cakes and Other Gifts T

W: talks of whores but that's it

Word Count: 2534

Masterlist here

Part one here - Part two here

The sight of a lord walking a lady through the castle was not shocking so no one questioned the princely escort you were receiving however servants averted their gazes when they saw the prince enter your chambers. Despite Aemond’s frequent visits they were perfectly timed to avoid prying eyes and all eyes in this castle pried.

“Go get your jewels,” Aemond kissed your forehead as he closed the door behind himself. You did as you were instructed, bringing the jewellery set to him for him to put on you. Aemond brushed your hair to the side and rested the chain and gem against your neck as he fastened the clasp. As he did so he left a trail of kisses beginning with your earlobe, moving to just below, then down your neck,

“There,” he said as the clasp finally fastened. Aemond grabbed you by your shoulders and spun you to face him. You weren’t able to stop your giggles or your balance stumbling, but Aemond was there to catch you by your waist and pull you closer. “Beautiful,” he said gazing down at you.

Your hand reached for the necklace and you held it while grinning up at him, “You have great taste,”

“Not just in jewellery,” He said kissing you once more on the lips. Your hands dropped from the stone to lazily drape over his shoulders. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip and suddenly you felt the need to deepen the kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair, careful not to move the strap of his patch.

His hand travelled up your back before pushing you closer to him while the other fell lower than your waist to squeeze your hip. You felt your lungs scream so reluctantly you brought your lips away “We could do this forever,” you panted.

“A good life that would be,” he said as he dropped his hand from your back and reached over for the ring, “I almost forgot about this,”

You lowered your hands from his hair and let him slide the ring over your finger. Aemond’s hands returned to rest on your hips, gentler this time however, “I’ll let you do the earrings yourself. I don’t want to hurt you,”

You laughed but complied and began to put the stones in your ears, “You wouldn’t hurt me. They’re just earrings silly,”

“You’re essentially stabbing your ears with gemstones,”

“It’s not like…stabbing stabbing. There’s already a hole,” you tried to explain, “Its like you stab it the first time then it scars and leaves a whole so im just putting the metal in the scar,”

Aemond’s smile faltered, “Like this,” he said as his fingers ghosted his eyepatch.

You smiled softly and raised your hand to trace around the eyepatch before resting it on his cheek, “Somewhat yes,” his smile grew surer and you leant up to press a kiss to his smile, “but yours is far more beautiful,” he had shown you his sapphire eye once when he’d accidentally fallen asleep on your chest and the patch slipped in his sleep. Despite knowing the trauma behind it the sapphire was beautiful but not as beautiful as him.

“When we marry we shall have sapphire wedding rings,” Aemond declared and your face broke into a wide cheesy smile, “What?” he laughed.

“You’ve thought about us being married?”

“Everyday,” Aemond pulled you tighter into his arms, “I dream about the dress you will wear. How you’ll wear your hair. I love seeing it down in your chambers, but I always imagine my mother will have it braided into some ridiculous updo that you’ll pretend to hate,” you laughed knowing it was exactly the kind of thing Alicent would do, “but you’ll secretly love it because I know what you’re like.”

“I imagine dancing with you,” Aemond continued, and he stepped back from you taking one of your hands in his to spin you, “Twirling you in front of all the lords and lady’s so I can show you off,” he pulled you closer and began to waltz with you. You both moved in sync not even noticing the lack of music, “And all the little girls will awe at your dress and want to dance with you. And you’ll abandon me to do just that,”

“It sounds almost magical,” you said.

“It will feel magical. Have you thought about it?”

“I never thought I could ever be lucky enough to marry you,” you confessed, “It all sounds like a dream, but I fear it will be just that. Your mother will never allow it,”

“My mother loves you. You’re her favourite child and she never even birthed you,” it was true. Alicent had always been so kind to you seeing how you treated her daughter with such affection. She enjoyed having you at family dinners despite the lack of blood and conversation flowed easily with her despite your vastly different lives.

But Aemond was a prince, “I’m hardly a royal match. Your mother may love me and I may love you but we both know you wont end up marrying for love,”

Your dancing had stopped and you felt your dream life fall away and needed to sit on your bed. Aemond joined you, “We should at least try. And if she was to say no then we’ll have a different kind of wedding,”

“What kind of wedding?” you asked, “A fake ‘will you be my one and only whore for life’ wedding?”

Aemond’s face hardened “You are not a whore. I will not take a mistress I will only take you for my wife. Id rather fling myself from the tallest window in the keep than have you embarrassed like that. My family cannot stop us wedding,”

“They could- “

“Not if we leave,” he interrupted, “I was being serious earlier,”

“We can’t just leave. You can’t just leave. You’re a prince for gods sake Aemond,”

“I am nothing,” Aemond said taking your hands and holding them to his chest, “If I do not have you. I love you (Y/N). whatever it takes I will have you. I would give this all up in a heartbeat because my life is nothing without you in it,”

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at the man you would marry sitting next to you confessing his love. “I love you too,” you told him, and his eye began to water as well, “Future husband,”

“Future wife,” he grinned.

The following days at court whispers grew rapidly as people saw the prince with you nearly every waking moment apart from your dinners with Heleana. You ate together, drank together, walked together, and some even wondered if you bathed together.

You were  walking through the halls with Aemond, his arm linked around yours, when Aegon approached you both, “Brother. (Y/N). I need to ask you something,” he looked hesitant and for a second you were worried.

“What’s wrong Aegon?” you asked.

“Nothing’s wrong…” he drew out the words, “there’s just some questions people are wondering about,”

“Questions?” Aemond asked.

“You can’t be mad,” Aegon said.

Aemond looked at you before turning back to his brother “Try me. What is it?”

Aegon sighed and glanced behind him. There was only guards in these corridors but you’d never be alone unless you went to one of your chambers but that would look even worse. “Are you too fucking or what?”

“Excuse me?!” you said.

But Aemond said “Not yet,” at the same time. He gave you a look, “Why are you so offended at the idea?”

“I’m not offended at the idea,” you said pulling back from him and facing the green brothers, “but you don’t just ask a lady if she’s well you know being a whore,”

“Technically you’re only a whore if I pay you,”

Aegon looked between you both before pointing at your necklace that Aemond had gave you, “You’re not helping your case.” He said and you rolled your eyes, “Look I don’t care if you do. Gods id actually be proud of you for once,” Aegon said as he went to pinch Aemond’s cheek just to have his hands slapped away, “But mothers just finished interrogating me about it and probably half the castle so either figure out a story or confess cause she did not look happy when I saw her,”

Aemond and you turned to each other and your face paled as you heard shoes clicking on stones and the faint sound of guards saying “your grace,”

“Shit,” you said all blood drained from your face. “She’s gonna kill me,”

“She won’t-“ suddenly Alicent turned a corner and Aemond’s mouth was silent but hung over at the look on her face.

Aegon’s head snapped the other way, avoiding his mothers gaze, “I never said a thing. Bye!” he said before scurrying away.

You curtseyed as the queen approached, wishing with every bone that she’d walk past. But she never did. Instead, she stood right in front of you both. “Your grace,” you whispered still in your curtsey.

“Mother,” Aemond said, quickly pulling you back to stand before kissing his mother’s check. “Your dress is stunning today,”

“I know,” she said before turning to you with a smile before her face contorted in concern, “Dear are you alright? You look as sick as a ghost?” she pressed her hand against your forehead like a doting mother caring for a sick child.

“I’m well my queen. I think my lunch didn’t agree with me,” In a way it was true because you could feel the bubbling of your stomach as you tried not to throw up. Despite Aemond’s promises of marriage you never expected to be confronted like this. Aemond was waiting for a day when his mother was in a particularly good mood before dropping the idea over dinner. This was not dinner.

“Too many lemon cakes perhaps,” She said, and you nodded, “I did not come here to discuss cakes, however. Not yet at least,” Alicent said as she looked to Larys who always seemed to follow her. She nodded and he scurried off which you were thankful for.

“Take a walk with me in the gardens. Never quite know who will hear you in these halls.” Alicent said and Aemond and you shared a look before nodding and following her steps. “You should hear the rumours I’ve been told. Some well,” she laughed, “can come as quite a shock as you can imagine.”

“This is why I don’t believe in gossiping,” Aemond said to break the silence that had fallen. “It’s a frivolous pass time,”

Alicent chuckled as you were now approaching the gardens, “Not frivolous at all dear. They’re quite useful actually. Even if they’re not true it’s good to know what people are thinking. Its even better to know if it is true,” she stopped in front a lavender bush, “Though in a way you’re right I suppose. After all it can be quite the sting to find out important news, especially perhaps about ones children, from a gaggle of bitchy court ladies who like to pretend to be your friends,”

At this point Aemond sighed and you crossed your arms attempting to hug yourself as a comfort. Aemond averted his mums gaze “You know…”

Alicent rolled her eyes, “Of course I bloody well know you idiot you’ve been parading her around like you won a prize,” she snapped. “Let’s sit over hear and…discuss this shall we?” Alicent said and ushered you to sit on a bench.

You’d expected her to sit beside you, but she stood standing over you both. “Well?” Aemond said.

“Don’t well me,” Alicent said slapping the side of his head, “You know why this is a problem. Come on Aemond I taught you better than this,” Aemond hung his head in shame and it was difficult for you not to do the shame. Alicent began pacing, “I mean you’re a prince after all Aemond. You know etiquette surely. After all those lessons. That you took with him might I add,” she turned to you, “You know as well as he does what you did,”

“We haven’t done anything like that-“ you tried to say but Alicent held her hands up.

“You’re a smart girl (Y/N). I know you are. I trust you. But do not for a second trust anyone else at this court,” she approached you, holding your necklace in her hand, “This is beautiful I admit,” you smiled but it quickly disappeared, “However with the way you too handled this people will think it’s payment for…services,” Alicent’s face contorted and you felt her cheeks go warm.

Aegon was right apparently. For once. “We’re sorry mother but we love- “

“I’m not done,” She cut Aemond off and he quickly hung his head in shame, “Look what you’ve done. The damage control I will need to do. Larys is already on it but still. Not the point. There’s ways in which we do things in our family,”

“I know mother im sorry,”

“I mean do you really want people thinking your future wife is a whore?” Your heads both snapped up, “or that you only married because she was with child?”

“Future wife?” Aemond asked standing up, “So we can marry?”

“Of course you can,” Alicent took her sons hands into her own, “I only wish for you to be happy. As well as you dear,” she smiled down at you, “but you wont be happy when you hear the things they say about you too,”

“I don’t care what they say. Just you mother,” Aemond’s face must’ve hurt from the size of his smile, “That we can marry. Will father approve it?”

“That man barely knows what day it is,” Alicent rolled her eyes. Her love for her children was strong but for her husband it had never even started, “I don’t want you to have a marriage like mine. Besides it’s not like there’s any other real contenders?”

“Excuse me?” Aemond said.

You stood up, “Excuse me why are you offended?”

“The Velaryon girls are betrothed to your sisters children. Heleana and Aegon are wed. there’s no other Targaryen or Velaryon children of age so either way you would be marrying outside of your own,” it made your skin crawl at the amount of incest in their family, “So the only other reason you would be married off is for allies but I have no intention of shipping you off,” she said as rested her hands on Aemond’s shoulders, “At least one of us should marry the one we love. If you truly do love her, I will make the arrangements,”

“I do,” Aemond said “Thank you mother this means the world to me,”

“And you,” Alicent said, taking your hands, “do you want this? Do you love my son?”

“With all my heart,” you said and Alicent finally smiled and took you into her arms.

The queen hugged you tight, “It will be so good to have you officially in the family,” she pulled back looking between you both, “Right well we have work to do. Shall we discuss our plans over some lemon cakes and tea?”

A/N: Posted this 4 days ago and for some reason no one saw it. It got one note over 4 days and part 1 and 2 got over a hundred each. Idk why Tumblrs like this so here's a full repost

A/N: This took me longer than expected. School is stress but this was actually a nice break from the work.

[yanderehsr]

What's up doc? 🥕. For this time may I reguest with something suprise? Basically, you can choose any four fem characters that would be the most unsettling, creepy, and controlling yandere for their yandere. Plus, which Ines would most likely break their darling?

Aight then, Hope you'll enjoy😁

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Murder

Ruan Mei: She is increadibly controlling and she can be real creepy as well, before you get kidnapped by her she kinda just stares at you... all of the time, she doesn't even look away when you catch her in the act.

It is Ruan Mei's way to study you, what if you do something when she isn't looking, she could miss important details about you, detail she can use to control you better. I would rank her 3rd on this list most likely to break her darling, she actually will try to make sure you stay sane.

"I think you need to calm down, do so before I lose my patience as well, If you just do as I tell you we could skip all this"

Edelgard: She isn't the most controlling of yanderes but she's pretty high up there, but it would be rather unsettling to have her as your yandere, she tends to force herself into any conversation you have with others and isolates you from everyone else, she also tends to be rather touchy even if you aren't in a relationship, not like you can stop the future empress from doing what she wants.

Edelgard's controlling side is that she chooses who you can hang out with, she gets really mad if you ignore her commands, Hubert is fine but people like Hilda or Sylvain... yeah no, if they ever get near you their heads will be detached from their bodies, I will rank her as the 4th on how likely she is to break her darling, it's more likely for you to get stockholm syndrome with her than to break.

"It feels nice spending moments alone with you like this... I just have to ask, did I see you speak with Sylvain earlier, I hope not, that would be... tragic"

Junko Enoshima: Unsettling and Creepy to the max, she isn't very controlling tho if at all, she will openly talk with you about murder, torture and any subject you might find horrible, hell she might even kill someone in front of you to see your reaction, she loves seeing you squirm and look afraid. She makes sure you will never feel comfortable with her all so she can see your delicious despair.

Junko isn't afraid either of you telling others anout what she does, why would they believe you over her, it's almost laughable how easy it is to keep you around even with how abusive she is. Very much the most likely to break you, she might even kill you just so she herself can feel despair.

"Did you really try to rat me out, it's almost adorable, tho if you do that again I might just need to kill some of your friends, don't make me too mad darling"

Cocolia: Yup, controlling as all hell, you would also have this unsettling fear every time she looks at you, like you are a possession rather than a human, like you are hers. The sad part is that no one can deny it, you are hers and no one can help you.

Cocolia isn't afraid to get physical with you if you step out of line, she can't have you breaking her rules thats she sets for you, and in her opinion pain is the best way to learn, she doesn't really care if you break as well, if she can't get an obedient lover she would rather have a broken one. Second to most likely to break her darling due to all the physical abuse and uncare towards your feelings

"You are really testing my nerves here you know. It shouldn't be that hard to listen yet you always defy me, such stupidity needs to be punished"