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softersinned-arc · 1 year

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@xfindingtrouble said: [ GLANCE ]: cassandra glances at astoria while in a public setting to assure them they aren’t alone, and ground them in doing so.

Age and experience mean little, she has learned. Death is still death, and a wound will still bleed.

It might have been easier to bear if she could remember how to pray, but she has nothing to offer except the shamelessness of grief. Bargaining. Begging. As if the gods care what she has to say, or what she's willing to give. Death is still death. The wound keeps bleeding.

She feels sick and sore, all too aware of the earth beneath her, cold and hard and silent. How cruel, she thinks, how hateful. All the decades she's spent learning how to hear, learning how to understand, but the only sound to decipher now is the nervous movement within the temple. She hears the thunder of Pike's footsteps as though she were there with them. She hears the tremor in Keyleth's voice. She hears the rustle of wings.

And she still doesn't hear him.

Astoria draws her knees to her chest and bows her head. (Give him back, she wants to demand, give him back to me, to us, but the only god she knows how to address wouldn't listen.) The sun continues its climb through the sky, casting the world in a warm golden glow, and she pulls the hood of her coat up to protect her from its light.

She has no place here, so near to holy ground. Her back burns against the outer wall of the temple, and she wonders if her own death is a rot infecting the stone, the soil. If he won't have enough of a foothold to return because he's been touched so tenderly by a dead thing already. Trembling, gloved fingers interlace behind her head, elbows tucked in around her as if to create more of a shield.

"He's in there?"

The question startles her from her stillness; Astoria lifts her head, squinting in the early morning's light. She could recognize Cassandra by sound, by scent, before sight, and she notes belatedly that there are others here, too. Yennen. Guards.

Four in total, and she somehow missed their arrival.

Better things to listen for.

"Yes."

"Is he—?" Cassandra chokes before she can get the last word out, and Astoria aches.

"Yes."

"Oh." She swallows, hard, then looks towards the closed door. "Oh."

Astoria waits for her to scream, to wail, to collapse, but she only stands still, opening both hands as wide as she can before clenching her fists tightly enough to pierce the skin of both palms. The sweet smell of blood hits the air, and Astoria hardly notices.

When Cassandra speaks again, her voice is hoarse. "You didn't—?"

"I tried. I wanted to. I couldn't go through with it. He wanted to die human."

"Oh."

Say something else, Astoria wants to demand, hate me, blame me, scream at me, do something besides this, but Cassandra is every inch a leader. What space is there for grief in a crisis? It takes her a moment to realize that she wants the anger because she wants the absolution that follows.

"It wasn't my death to take away from him," Astoria says quietly, a little desperately, and when she lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight, Cassandra wears an expression of absolute understanding.

How does that make it worse?

"Thank you," she says, so softly, so gently that Astoria thinks she might break.

The rising sun beats against her. She hasn't yet shaken the pain from crossing the temple's threshold to lay his body out on the table, and there are smears of blood dried and flaking under her eyes. (Take me instead, she wants to offer, but the only god she knows how to reach would never trade for something she's already deemed worthless.)

Thank you? For what? What has Astoria done worthy of thanks?

I didn't save them. I didn't avenge them. I didn't fulfill my promise to them. I held them while they grew cold. I smelled the decay in their body. Do you know what that's like? Smelling the person you love most in the world rotting in your arms? And I couldn't move. Couldn't cry out. I didn't save them. I can't even be in there with them now.

The sun still rises. Time still passes. The world doesn't have the decency to end when hers has. She closes her eyes, tips her head back against the wall, feels the unpleasant itch where the sun's light hits her face, albeit indirectly. Cassandra hesitates, then closes the distance between them, reaches down just enough to brush her fingers over Astoria's shoulder.

"I know." She's stepped away by the time Astoria opens her eyes, back towards Yennen and the guards, and for once Astoria doesn't want to be alone.

I have nothing to offer. She isn't even sure who she's addressing, only that she has to address someone. I have nothing worth so much.

In the temple, she hears Keyleth's voice quivering.

But Whitestone needs him and Cassandra needs him and Vox Machina needs him and all the world needs him.

Under one of the trees, she hears Cassandra let out a quiet, shaking breath.

I need him.

The light burns against her skin and she addresses the dawn, the creeping sun, the unseasonable warmth. What else is there to beg but this? Him? In Whitestone, where he planted the tree? In Whitestone, where Percy was born and changed and reborn again?

Please. She swears that for a moment the sunlight feels almost like a caress on her battered skin. I hadn't felt the sun without pain for years. Not until that night in my library. My laboratory. Drinking wine. Hearing him laugh. I felt so warm.

She hears panic in the temple but still she cannot hear the sound of his heart. She hears a soft cry from Cassandra but still she cannot hear the sound of his breath.

I'm so cold. I need them. I can't bear to lose them. I can't bear to be so cold. I'm not ready. Bring them home. Bring them back. Please. I need them. They're the sun, to me. They're summer. They're home.

She listens for an answer. She hears only silence. For several long minutes she doesn't move, and then she hears it.

The sound, fainter than any she's ever heard, the most beautiful thing in the world.

The warming of his blood.

The quiet and pained beating of his heart.

She lets out a strangled sound, inhuman and pained, and she covers her face with her gloved hands and she gives in to the dry, wracking sobs that shudder through her. At once Cassandra is moving, and she kneels in front of Astoria, fingers curling around her wrists, trying to pry her hands away from her face.

"What is it?" Cassandra pleads, and Astoria rests her hands against the girl's gaunt cheeks, meets her eyes, listens.

"His heart just beat." There is a breath, shallow and rattling. There are sighs and sobs of relief, and laughter, and Astoria closes her eyes for a moment. "He's breathing. Go. Go."

Cassandra scrambles to her feet and moves towards the door to the temple; she's about to throw the door open when she stops, takes several long breaths, tries to compose herself. She is the leader Percy knew she would be. She is the leader this place needs. She is the leader they all need. She will enter the temple composed (as much as she can manage). She will contain herself until she is alone, so that Percy needn't bear the weight of her grief. The moments pass, and she squares her shoulders, nods as if to herself, and Astoria feels herself pulled to her feet, hood falling as she stands.

They're speaking, inside, though Astoria finds she can't make out the words just yet, overwhelmed as she is, and she stands stock-still, stares at the wooden door, tries to quell the shaking in her hands.

The door opens. Cassandra bursts forward, and the heavy tangle of her emotions pushes at the limits of her control. Astoria swears, as she steps as close to the open door as she can without feeling as though she's about to be torn limb from limb, that for a moment the sunlight on her skin feels like a kiss to her temple.

"Where is he?" Cassandra speaks with one voice, though she speaks for the both of them. "Is he alright?"

And then, his voice: "I'm going to throw up."

Astoria presses a hand to her lips to silence a desperate laugh. Cassandra, ever the younger sister, answers at once: "Oh, he's alright."

Her legs shake beneath her. She sees a vague shape moving—Cassandra, her footsteps clear, walking towards a smaller shadow. Pike. She looks at her, first, then back over her shoulder, and even through the painful morning light Astoria knows that Cassandra is looking at her. She feels them make eye contact. She feels so much less alone. After a beat, Cassandra looks back at Pike. "Thank you."

It takes what little is left of her strength to keep herself upright. The voices blend together; all she cares about now is the stuttering beat of his heart. After a moment she realizes that Casandra is leaving the temple, no doubt to give them a measure of privacy, and she stops in the doorway.

For a long moment, they simply look at each other. Astoria is a frightful sight, hair tangled from her own fingers, streaks of blood drying against her skin, inhuman eyes shining with unshed tears. Cassandra is regal, and fragile, and terribly young. Astoria feels the most absurd urge to wrap her in her arms and call her sister and promise her a moment's reprieve.

The moment passes—but Cassandra slows as she passes her, catches one of Astoria's hands in her own and squeezes, much in the way a sister would.

#xfindingtrouble #xfindingtrouble ( cassandra de rolo )#i. here's the truth from my red lips. ( answers )#(utter fucking wreck)#(i may write another version of this more focused on cass?? this was simply Stuck In My Brain and if i didn't put it somewhere)#(well. i would simply have perished.)#(also i know she's not yennen in the stream but idk what they're doing given the [redacted] reveal in-show so. idk man.)#(lmk if i should change anything!!!)#(and for organization purposes)#iii. when i feel this cold you're like the fucking sun. ( percy x astoria )

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nehts · 2 years

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H. huh

#You know. perhaps. eating an unknown quantity of various pills was not the best choice that I could have made.#I refuse to scroll to find the ufcking. current post when I'm on PC and can't do much of anything coherently/with. any form of grace/intent #My limbs feel. fucked up. like they're heavier than they should be when I'm not even. that drunk really #<- ''not even that drunk'' I am not unconscious. I have had too much alcohol probably in additio nto the other shit #I am . not alright................... I've been Better than before. I'm not. drowning in Guilt/Regret #Well . I am. but not in the way from before #It's just. yearning for what used to be and a. terrible terrible dread at what currently is #etc etc. I can't really . explain in depth simply due to the facy that I would rather perish than show Weakness/Vulnerability but.#It's. it's fine. I think tonight is just a. numb numb numb and numb even more night #I can't deal. with. any of this currently therefore. I simply will not

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 7 months

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Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #long fic #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #may add a dirty part two here #dirty sweet

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ponderingmoonlight · 15 days

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Chapter 1: From Tradegy to Fantasy - Awakening in Another World

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

Next Chapter ->

„Are you reading those strange stuff again…What was it called? Manga?”

“I’m only watching the anime because of that hot blindfolded guy.”

You don’t even try to look up from your phone, currently reading the newest publication of the Jujutsu Kaisen manga over some sketchy site online. That hot blindfolded guy…You’ll never understand why some girls are only watching Jujutsu Kaisen because of him, Gojo Satoru. This world has so much more to offer, so much more than this overpowered character not even Gege himself likes.

“It’s not exactly reading”, you mutter, so sunken into the drawn fight in front of your eyes that you simply can’t look away.

“(y/n), come back to reality. We have some classes to attend.”

Out of instinct, you roll your eyes. You’ll probably have to listen to that one professor who always talks about himself and simply reads through his presentation for three hours straight, not even allowed to look at your phone and do something useful instead. Urgh, being an uni student sucks.

“Give me a minute, I’m just finishing this chapter.”

When your friends start walking, you follow them without paying attention. This is it, the fight you’ve been waiting for. Maybe this time someone is able to defeat Sukuna, maybe this will be the day you’ve been waiting for. Fuck plot armour, fuck all the horrible things that happened last, all the beloved characters that had to die. Damn, you still miss Geto to this day. If they would have noticed sooner, he might be still alive-

“(Y/N), WATCH OUT!”

You always wondered about how death must feel like. Getting consumed by darkness, getting dragged into sheer empty space. Does it hurt? Will you die right on the spot and feel absolutely nothing? What about that myth about reminiscing your own life shortly before your death?

The second you looked into those blinding car lights, you knew exactly that you are next, that there is no way you’ll survive the hit that will sweep you off your feet, that throws your body into the air like a plastic bag.

How pathetic to die like this. Getting hit by a car while being glued to the sketches of fictional characters on your phone. What will your parents say, your family, your friends? You don’t want to die like this, but still…

You allow your eyes to rest against your harsh light, your phone dropping to the phone. You can’t escape the hit. Maybe, just maybe, you will wake up in a better world.

If stuff like that even exists.

When you open your eyes again, you brace yourself for an immense wave of pain hunting down your body, for getting greeted by those way too harsh hospital lights. But instead, your eyes open with ease. Instead, you get greeted by the dim light of a golden chandelier in and a well-painted ceiling in all different shades of purple.

“Where on earth…Am I?”, you mutter to yourself.

The second you look down on you, your heart drops to the floor. You aren’t wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized tee like you always do. No, you are covered in the softest white fabric you ever felt from head to toe, an elegant lavendel ribbon tied around your waist. And that delicate jewellery...

Immediately, you yank out of bed and almost trip over the hem of the white dress, coming to a stand in front of a mirror.

This isn’t possible. No, this has to be a feverish dream. Maybe they put you into coma after…

You swallow hard, reality hitting you with full force. You died. As soon as the car hit you, you were dead right on the spot and you knew it instantly. But why does everything feel so damn real? Frantically, your hands wander around the sweaty face that looks back at you in sheer horror through the mirror, stare at the lavendel eyes that don’t look like yours at all. But those facial features, the way your hair falls.

Is it…you?

A violent scream escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it, guts turning so uncomfortably that you feel like puking every minute. This can’t be true. This can’t be your reality now…Just before your feet give in, you grab the cool golden frame of the mirror, allow your spinning head to rest for a second.

“Lady Zenin, are you alright!?”

That distant voice, who is it talking to? Lady Zenin…Like Toji, Mai and Maki Zenin? Maybe you didn’t die but got kidnapped into a pervert cosplay party. Slowly, you turn around, face sticky in cold sweat.

But the man standing in front of you doesn’t look like a creep at all. No, he’s a truly elegant man. Maybe in his 50s, but it is clear that he’s taking care of himself. His eyes look at you worried, his gloved hands stretched out in order to help if you fall.

“Where…Where am I?”, you press out.

This isn’t your hometown. Fuck, this isn’t even your home country, not even your timeline. The stuff in this room looks so old and somehow magical, let alone that dress you’re wearing.

“I don’t understand, Lady Zenin. You are in your room”, the man replies visibly worried.

“What country?”, you probe.

“My lady, we are still in Avaloria…Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call the doctor-“

“In Avaloria. And I’m Lady Zenin…”, you mumble to yourself.

This doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t pay that much attention to geography, but you know for a fact that Avaloria isn’t a real country and that your last name definitely isn’t Zenin. But oh that last name is definitely familiar to you, so familiar that it’s frightening. Suddenly a shiver runs down your spine, dark foreshadowing letting your fingertips shake.

“What is my father’s name?”

You don’t want this answer. No, all you want to do is waking up from this dream, from this nightmare. You aren’t a lady, you aren’t a Zenin. You are nothing but plain (y/n) who adores anime and manga a little too much and still goes to university. You are nothing but a normal young woman.

“Your lordship…Your lordship is called Naobito Zenin, my Lady”, he stutters.

“And my brother’s name is Naoya, huh?”, you huff out.

This has to be a bad joke, right? What is this man, a stand-up comedian, maybe? You cross your arms in front of your chest, force your body to stop shaking. You need to put this madness to an end right now.

“Yes, exactly my Lady!”, the man in front of you literally cries out in relief while the ground is pulled underneath your feet.

No, nothing about this is right. These men, their names…They are nothing but an invention by Gege Akutami, nothing but drawn figures in a book adapted into an anime. They are nothing but fantasy, nothing but fiction.

“B-But…”

Your voice fails as your mind can’t process anymore. Is it really possible that…You were reincarnated into a world like this?

“Are you causing a scene again, sister?”

You don’t recognize the voice speaking behind you, but something inside you tells you that if you turn around, you will be greeted by…

Cold, sharp brown eyes.

Your very own orbs widen in sheer horror. Those dark green roots, the annoyed look on his face, his tall muscular frame. He looks exactly like the manga made him appear. But instead of wearing a kimono, he is dressed in a black uniform with golden and purple details.

“You’re looking like a fucking prince…”, you breathe out.

“Are you trying to upset me, (y/n)?”

“Master Naoya, the lady doesn’t appear like herself today. Shall I call the doctor?”, the older man speaks with low voice.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

He grabs your chin before you’re able to stop him, his cold glare hitting you with full force.

Naoya just touched you. Fucking Naoya Zenin is standing in front of your very own self, his fingers wrapped around your chin, staring at you so intensely that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“Don’t you dare to mess today’s meeting up because of your weird acting. It took father and I months to arrange a meeting with that lousy prince. Let’s hope that he finds liking in you or else I’ll marry you below your status”, he hisses into your face.

“You can’t just arrange my wedding. Who the hell do you think you are?”, you spit into his face out of instinct.

“All the attention must have gone to your head, (y/n). Who do I think I am? I am your big brother, father’s right hand. And you are nothing but a woman. Your only worth is to marry into a wealthy and influential family. I will never understand why the prince of our country found a liking in you. Apart from a pretty face, you have nothing to offer.”

He yanks your chin away roughly, forces you to take a few steps back and almost sends you onto the floor with the sheer force of his fingertips. Your body quivers in anger, hands balled into fists so tight that your knuckles stand out white.

“I don’t need a prince, I know my own worth you fool!”, you demand.

“Who taught you to talk like this? You are a lady, (y/n). Finally start to act like one or I will tell father about your behaviour. Maybe a venesection will cause your mouth to finally shut, what do you think?”

“A vene-what?”

“Urgh, just be quiet and get yourself ready. You will meet the prince as soon as you are presentable. And don’t you dare to disappoint us”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

And then he’s gone in the wind while you stand in the middle of the room, still unable to catch your shaky breath. Who the hell does this guy think he his? Where exactly are you, what world is this? Your head begins to spin so violently that you fear to lose your balance, your whole life crashing down on you like a house of cards.

This isn’t 2024 on mother earth anymore. This…this is something completely different. And that man who introduced himself as your brother made it all too clear that there’s no way you’ll survive here if you don’t play along. Maybe it’s like in that anime you just watched, the one with the girl names Raeliana. If that’s the case…

“Please call in my maids. I wish to be dressed”, you speak out monotone.

“Of course, Lady (y/n).”

You will play along. But there is no way in hell you’ll let him force you into a marriage with some strange prince you don’t even know. Your eyes are fixated on themselves, the new lavender color gleaming back at you being so unknown as well as all those women who scurry around you.

Who is this prince, anyway? If you’re really in some strange jujutsu kaisen verse, it must be another character. Maybe Geto…Oh, that would be nice. But what if it’s Sukuna? You shake your head, haunt away your stinging imagination. No, you won’t marry the king of curses. Actually, there aren’t many men you’d like as your husband.

How is this supposed to turn out good?

-at the salon-

You feel like fainting any given minute, heart pounding so roughly against your well-dressed ribcage that every beat sends a shiver down your spine. If the man standing in front of you isn’t called Geto or Nanami, you don’t want him. And apart from that…Aren’t you too young to marry anyway? Why does your family want to get rid of you so badly?

“It is so nice to finally meet you in person, Lady (y/n).”

Your heart drops to the floor.

That voice.

Fuck. It’s no doubt that it’s him.

“Let me introduce myself properly: I’m Prince Satoru, the future king of Avaloria.”

The second your brother steps aside, you get greeted by bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin.

This is Gojo Satoru, that “hot guy with the blindfold”, one of the last men you’d like to marry even if he’s dressed in a fine suit with red and blue details. Out of instinct, you cross your arms in front of your chest, narrow eyes staring him into the ground. You will never understand the hype behind his smile and eyes when it’s all too clear that he’s a player, a womanizer. A man like Gojo Satoru isn’t the husband you were imagining, not the man you were looking for since you were a child.

“I’m not marrying that man”, you announce into the silence of the room.

Soo, this was the very first chapter of my new series and it makes me beyond excited! So please, if you enjoyed it, it would make me beyond happy if you like/comment/reblog that work of mine and let me know what you think. Thank you guys so much for your constant support, it means the world 🤍

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren @sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls

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stars-and-clouds · 23 days

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Xavier Romance Headcanons 🌟

SFW:

Spoiler warning: spoils the myths and side stories for Xavier.

in a nutshell: soft, smitten, possessive, romantic, horny, playful and needy.

he'd be very observant, I think. Despite his drowsy disposition, Xavier tends to be very alert. Especially when it comes to noticing your little reactions, what you did and didn't, what you said or not.

he'd mention these observations the next day, about how nice your hair looked with a different partition, or what he thought of a new bracelet you wore. You'd be left wondering how sweet he is but to him noticing little things about you is second nature.

in the begining though, he'd be distant and slightly cold because he's terrified

he is scared of losing you again and he doesn't think he's good enough for you

but that is the irony- he feels so ill-deserving of you but he still wants you

Xavier is a mix of mild-yandere and kuudere imo.

once you're together it won't take him long to take the plunge and open up more because he wants it so bad. he craves the intimacy and companionship after decades of loneliness and yearning

he will rarely hide his feelings from you unless they can cause issues in some way to his ultimate plan

his cool and calm demeanor will rarely break, even when he makes embarrassing confessions to you

he'd really say the most outrageous things with a straight face

"I love how you smell." he'd blurt out loud enough for everyone in the grocery aisle to hear, his face nearing the crook of your neck. "Xavier! We're in public!" to which he'd simply shrug.

possessive. he's very possessive and jealous.

he literally pulled the "you know other men?" card in the Succumb memory lmao

jokes aside, he's waited for you for so long and he's wanted you so bad

I can imagine him beating himself up about how easily he gets jealous once you're in a serious relationship. he doesn't want to be this easily jealous but it's so hard.

he loves you so much and he never wants to restrict you or hold you back but he's so fucking scared

Xavier has lost you once, probably more times, before. you died in his arms. that kind of pain becomes all consuming

is it any wonder he is so possessive of you? so scared to lose you?

if not to death, to someone else?

he travelled so far, he waited so long, he fought so hard to find you again and now you're here and he's terrified

what if you don't love him back? what if he's not good enough? what if you find someone else better than him? what if he can't save you again?

yet as you spend more and more time together, he'd sleep less often.

"On a night like this sleeping feels like a waste of time." he'd take you out to watch the stars

when he'd really be looking at you, to be honest

there would be no side glances with this man. he'd stare at you unabashedly.

no secret nudging to touch your fingers as you walk, he'd simply hold your hand if he wants to

he'd be huge into skinship, I feel

he has just wanted you to be here for so long as now you are and he missed you and he wants to feel you all the time

he'd love to cook for you as well (as well as he can) and when he messes up he'd pout in the cutest way and be clingy all day because he's sad about it but doesn't want to show it

did I mention he'd be clingy? a lot

it won't be too often but when he's bored or free he'd be pining for your attention a lot

as relaxed as he looks he isn't ever off his guard, that's why he doesn't panic

he'd be very protective of you, having seen you perish so many times

he won't show you outright nor would he panic because being on the look out for your safety is just his priority, he would be on it without another thought

Going to release an NSFW part too :eyes:

#xavier #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #lnds #lads #xavier lads #lnds xavier #xavier x mc #mc x xavier #xavier fluff #love and deepspace fluff #xavier romance #headcanons love and deepspace #xavier headcanons #xavier one shots

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autistichalsin · 2 months

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youtube

Some of my favorite voice lines (either because of the lines themselves or because of Dave's delivery) from this collection of every line Halsin had in the game (and some he technically didn't because they weren't Halsin lines at all, but lines other characters have that they had Dave record for some reason):

5:07 "Fancy a b-oink? Indeed, you'll be hard-pressed to find a joke I haven't."

8:26 "I am Halsin. First Druid of the Emerald Grove. And I am here to VISIT NATURE'S FURY UPON YOU!" (From his revenge scene if the grove is raided- just, brilliant acting, gives me the chills every time. Give Dave an award please)

10:10 "Karlach. I am glad you can enjoy the touch of another once again. And I hope you are afforded much more time than you've been told. A lifetime and more, if I have a say in it."

17:33 "Lae'zel could not have wished for a finer companion by her side. You truly love her, I can tell. Just... keep each other safe, please."

25:05 (Tav or Durge line) "Yeah, she's not coming back."

27:44 "Shadowheart. These truths that have been revealed to you... I know they must be painful. But Oak Father as my witness, I know you are strong enough to bear them. You need not walk this path alone."

34:08 "I am sorry, Gale. You tried. Mystra was wrong to turn on you, no matter what mistakes you made in the past."

35:57 "Time can prove to be a trickster on one's recollections. What would be multiple lifetimes for others now separate me from my captivity. Perhaps I have lost perspective on what happened to me."

39:06 "Re-education. As if this sect has not mangled poor Shadowheart's mind enough already."

41:59 "I need you!"

47:08 (Shadowheart line) "Let's see what comfort we can offer a grieving mother."

47:57 "You have carried this burden for too long already. I simply do not believe that ceremorphosis is the only course left to you! Orpheus must help us." (He is so protective of the player 😭 )

52:03 "We need to be gone from here- now!"

53:10 (Tav/Dark urge line) "In my name." (Amazing acting for that line, makes me wish SO BAD we could have Origin Halsin)

1:04:13 "A mindflayer?! What foul trickery is this?"

1:04:20 "I am no stranger to the Underdark. Cruelty comes to Lolth's followers as naturally as breathing. I have seen it- experienced it." (You can tell he still holds so much grief and anger over what happened to him in the Underdark.)

1:04:32 "Do not yield, Karlach. The world has need for you yet. I have need for you yet. Please." (The way his voice breaks here just wrecks me.)

1:10:13 "Let our enemies' corpses nourish the ground!"

1:13:20 "Gale, what's troubling you? We're nearly at the end, I know it."

1:14:52 (Tav/Dark Urge line) "That's what was in there? Those little shits."

1:21:26 "You have upended nature's balance. Only your death can restore it!" (From the Halsin revenge scene.)

1:24:31 "Last Light fell because you could not control the violence in your heart. All those people perished because of what you did to Isobel. You must try harder. You must be better."

1:24:26 "There must be no more Yennas."

1:25:39 "No, it's wooden. Um. I suppose it burns if you find yourself in dire need of kindling, but I hope it does not come to that." (Referring to his whittled duck)

1:35:12 (Karlach line) "Rest in peace, Astarion. You may have been a bloodthirsty murderer, but I liked you all the same."

1:37:03 "Death is nature's final slumber. It awaits us all. Do not punish yourself over those lost, or give in to despair. Not while there are folks in need of your help."

1:40:57 "Do not yield, Karlach. Stay with us. Stay with the ones who love you." (Just breaks my heart. 😭 )

1:43:28 "You deserve so much better, but alas... I understand. Do as you must."

1:57:27 "You seem to be mumbling to yourself- aren't I enough company for you?" (To Shadowheart)

2:08:57 "GLORY?! There's no glory here! Now there's nothing here. Only shadows, and the total absence of hope!"

2:09:37 "I see. Well. Perhaps not all friendships are destined to be balanced and reciprocal. But I remain eternally grateful for having met you, all the same. Rest well."

2:13:27 "We are. Yet there is a burden to being the survivor, the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time."

2:16:26 "You worship Shar?! That umbral witch unleashed a plague of darkness on nature! Her followers slew many of my fellow Druids!" (So much pain and anger here.)

2:20:41 "It wasn't just power this needed! It was wisdom, understanding! I suffered along with this place for years trying to understand the curse! And it seems I will continue to do so."

2:21:46 Maniacal laughter (I can only imagine this happens if you get hit with Tasha's Hideous Laughter, and this one was incredible in that it SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME LMFAO I was so creeped out. HUGE props to Dave Jones for that one.)

2:26:15 (Dark Urge line) "In Bhaal's name."

2:33:13 "Poor creature! Locked in a cage, denied her true nature. Civilization would cause her a monstrosity, yet it treats her like this?!"

2:34:54 "What are you doing?! No!"

2:39:01 "Ah, but the glory can be found in the telling! The children love tales of underdogs, facing odds most unlikely! They shall appreciate your story, trust me."

2:40:20 "The Rite of Thorns? No..."

2:42:09 "I was not here to guide them. Now they rest forever, while I carry the weight of my failings."

2:52:35 "Nature cares little for nobility- it is pure artifice. But I can still hold some respect for Wyll's accomplishment. He shall be a fine duke, I am sure."

2:53:50 "Please. Don't sully the gratitude I feel towards you by making excuses for Kagha. My choice was clear."

2:56:01 (Orin-as-Halsin) "Please, wait. I did not want this. I could not stop it."

3:19:56 "Hmm. Perhaps I can substitute the bloodlust and, well, general lust for cuddles and animals in the retelling. The children will be confused, but no matter- they will soon be asleep."

3:23:38 "I am glad to have Gale back with us. The group would be poorer without his insights- and his company."

3:27:00 "That was no killing blow- far from it. What happened?"

3:27:49 "Silvanus guard us- what have you done?!"

3:29:58 "If this is what you truly want, I shall respect your wishes. But know that you shall not die, not truly. Nature's realm shall be yours- in the air, the trees, the waters."

3:32:27 "Don't do this! Your life!" (When a mind flayer character commits suicide in the ending)

3:34:47 Pained groaning (IDK it just sounded so damn real here, I could just imagine Halsin with a giant gaping wound or something here)

3:38:53 "The machine! It's going to blow!"

3:41:12 "Come on, you useless turnip!"

3:46:43 "You can still save yourself, Karlach. You can return to Avernus- it need not be forever. Just long enough to give yourself a chance..." (His voice sounds so small and pleading here 😭 )

3:48:12 (Dark Urge line) "In Bhaal's name." (Just a really good delivery)

3:48:54 "But... friendship is no consolation trophy. I cherish the bond we have forged. Whether it should grow into something else is... not for me to predict."

3:49:20 "Vampire spawn assailing us in the night? I thought we had ample troubles as it was. At least you are safe, Astarion."

3:51:00 "I was never afforded a chance to start a family of my own- serving nature always had to come first."

3:51:07 "You thought she was an imposter- a threat. This was a trap of Orin's creation. Yenna's death is on her hands, not yours."

3:51:22 "Your rage is most impressive, Karlach. If the lesson is not to provoke your temper, consider it well-learned."

3:59:04 "Ha! I suppose I did, didn't I? I was so focused on helping Thaniel that my sense of decorum was neglected."

4:06:02 "Truly? I thought you felt the same way as me. There was a connection, I-I was sure!" (Oh my god he sounds like he's fucking CRYING here and this legitimately made me whimper out loud and hide my face. I have NEVER needed to hug a character THIS BADLY before oh my god give Dave Jones all of the awards please)

4:17:03 "Oak Father, what did I do to deserve such allies?!"

4:18:03 "This... orb. Gale carries a most dire burden. I wish he had shared it with us sooner."

4:18:58 "Time for blood!" (In bear form)

4:19:31 "Karlach has had her mortality defined to her in most cruel terms. I do not know if we can help her, but perhaps we can at least be there for her."

4:23:19 "FINE!" (He just sounds so done lmfao)

4:23:20 "And yet, she fears there are none to inherit her work, so she goes on. Long life can be a burden at times- I know that well."

4:24:45 "You shall live on. And wherever I go, I shall feel your presence, and you mine." (To Origin Karlach in the ending- this whole scene would be really beautiful if they would just fix a few things)

4:27:55 "Your power is buoyed by a sea of innocent blood! I hope you are pleased."

4:28:26 (Tav/Dark Urge line) "In my name." (Gave me chills)

4:30:59 (Tav/Dark Urge line) "What in the hells, Astarion?! You bit me!"

4:32:39 "Remember, whatever evil is trying to control you, I know you are stronger. Resist."

4:35:08 Pained groaning and cries (They just sounded so real and painful)

4:37:11 "Dominate the brain! Do it now, or all is lost!"

4:47:46 "I will not go on without you!"

4:49:18 "Perhaps try attacking the enemy!" (He sounds so done lmfao)

4:49:25 "That contraption looks set to kill you, not save you! Get clear of it at once!"

4:50:27 "A cruel blow. Astarion loved feeling the caress of the sun, only now it gouges him with its claws. Perhaps we shall meet again, beneath the shield of darkness."

4:53:23 Maniacal laughter (Truly terrifying just like the other one)

4:58:49 (Yenna line [yes really]) "Where am I? I don't like this dream!"

4:59:04 "Nature bows to none. It will fight on and survive, no matter what madness your god has inspired you to undertake."

5:03:51 "Stuck, eh? Straight out of bawdy literature."

5:09:57 "Killing Orin won't bring Yenna back, but it may give her some peace, and me... a great deal of satisfaction."

5:11:26 "No! Have you taken leave of your senses?!"

5:15:27 "This may keep the city safe, but to seal all those unfortunates away forever? Death would have been more merciful."

5:16:44 "Stay your hand, Astarion! To sacrifice so many is a tyrant's ambition!"

5:16:52 "I... cannot imagine how you are feeling, Gale. For a goddess to ask a mortal to pay such a price... I am sorry for... for your burden."

5:19:44 "Immortal... and angered. What have I done...?"

5:20:43 "The power of the bear lies within me!"

5:22:47 "In that case, nothing more needs to be said. Farewell." (Said if a player who has low approval with Halsin at the epilogue party says they have no interest in taking the olive branch Halsin extended; I like this one because he sounds like a strange combination of sad and relieved at the same time, which is such a realistic combination of feelings!)

5:26:14 "Slain and stuffed. I would like to do the same to whoever's handiwork this is." (About a taxidermy baby bear)

5:26:19 "My heart grows heavy for Karlach. She can touch once more, yet is her remaining time to truly be so short? I shall pray to Silvanus that it does not come to pass."

5:32:10 "I... cannot imagine how you are feeling, Gale. For a goddess to ask a mortal to pay such a price... I am sorry for... for your burden. Though I wish you had told us of your predicament before."

5:36:33 (Orin-as-Halsin) "I lost control. I felt the bear take over, blood-crazed. And she forced me into a cage, along with... *sobs* with children, taken from the streets." (I think this one is a slightly different version than what ended up used? The sobbing is definitely more prominent if nothing else.)

5:39:28 "I hoped my friends would save me..." (Dave manages to make Halsin's body sound dead-corpse-emotionless and yet sad at the same time.)

5:39:45 "I hoped my loved would save me..." (Same as above)

5:41:08 "Your gold and your loins. Not for me to dictate what you do with either."

5:41:20 "You were not even born when Shar's followers slew my fellow Druids, or when her shadow curse tainted the land. I can get past those... but I truly wish you had trusted me sooner."

5:52:36 "No matter how long I live, I will never get used to the cruelty that infests our world. That such evil is allowed to breathe the same air as us is an abomination."

5:57:33 (Tav/Durge line) "In my name."

6:02:56 "Of course... somehow I'd hoped for a miracle, but of course... the only miracles are those we make ourselves." (He's talking about Karlach/her engine here)

6:03:57 "I was all too eager to surrender my responsibilities towards the Grove, and now it has been sealed away from the world! Perhaps I was never meant to be Archdruid... to be a leader."

6:08:29 "NO! Cease now, before you doom us all!"

6:09:22 (Dark Urge line) "In Bhaal's name."

6:20:05 "I shall endeavor to be more tactful when trying to make friends in future."

6:22:06 "You are afraid because you are alive, and you have something to lose. Hold onto that."

6:26:58 "You will not desecrate this grove! Not while I draw breath!"

6:33:00 "This need not be a parting, so long as you fight on. You and I can each roam apart, until nature compels our paths to cross once again."

6:41:42 "I shall miss him, though I hope he proves to be a kindly god. I've had my fill of the tyrannical sort."

6:42:29 "Do as you must, as shall I. We shall meet again. It is as sure as the break of dawn, or the spring thaw."

6:44:49 "And I have been evicted from the very place I was charged to safeguard. A telling summary of my time as Archdruid, perhaps."

6:45:47 "Stay with me, my love."

6:50:36 "Do not falter, I am here!"

6:51:15 "Karlach. I am sorry. I shall not try to soothe you with gilded words, but... know that I am here for you."

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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wave2tyun · 3 months

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make your heart stop | ☆

pairing: yeonjun x reader

genre: friends to lovers, fluff<3

prompts: - “are you jealous?”

- “you’re blushing”

- “stop looking at me like that”

warnings: mentions of alcohol

word count: 1.1k

a/n: comforting kitty anon THIS ONE actually goes out to you!!!!😼😼💖 i don't know if you had a chance to see my silly little mishap- i think my brain was just not working properly in the morning asbdhjab i was looking through my old docs trying to find something when the realisation hit and my face dropped.......😭😭

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

you don’t know how, or when, but late-night karaoke with the tubatu boys somehow became a regular friday thing. ordering unreasonably priced alcohol, sharing food, screaming your lungs out as you sang trot songs together- it was possibly the best activity to shake off all the stress accumulated throughout the week.

the owners already recognised you as regulars; every week, they would make sure to have at least one booth free for the six of you, catering to all your needs. it was heaven- and you could barely bring yourselves to leave.

this time though, you ended up parting ways quite early, the reason being beomgyu drinking one can of beer too much, falling down to his knees whenever he tried to take a step. he insisted on singing to you all one last song, despite stumbling over each and every word he said even in casual speech. soobin and taehyun were the ones to carry him out, shily apologising as they exited through the door. meanwhile, kai took videos of the drunken boy, the joy of teasing him in the morning already bubbling up in his chest.

yeonjun, however, remained with you and walked you home. he ended up staying over at your place, as neither the singing nor the alcohol were enough to tire you out. turning on the tv, you decided to end the day by watching a movie together, hoping, that at some point, the two of you would doze off.

slumping onto the couch, you searched for the movie you agreed on as yeonjun took care of preparing the caramel popcorn.

“taehyun killed it tonight” you exclaimed, eyes gleaming as you reminisced the earlier events “like seriously- his voice suits that song even better than the original singer. and that high note at the end? how are his vocal chords even able to do that?”

yeonjun stared at his reflection in the microwave, shifting his focus to the popping sound coming from it rather than your voice. he loved hearing you talk- but now? his left eye was twitching, and he didn’t get why.

a mixture of anger and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint was spreading throughout his chest, starting from the heart, then all the way down to his stomach, creating an almost nauseating feeling. was it jealousy? hm, no. he knew very well himself that his fellow members were great singers, their capabilities were definitely worth praising- he just wished that you’d have paid more attention to the way he, too, sang his heart out in that tiny karaoke room. okay- maybe yeonjun was, indeed, jealous. maybe, just slightly- actually more than slightly, he was quite very jealous.

yeonjun seemed a bit out of it ever since he returned to the living room with the popcorn bowl, his lips were stuck in a pout even while talking or eating. at first, you didn’t give it much thought, assuming that the exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on him.

15 minutes further into the movie, he still had that same absent-minded expression on his face, now combined with a frown. it was clear as day that his attention towards the plot had simply perished, eyes preferring to watch his own fingers fidget with the blanket on his lap.

did you say something out of pocket? it was never your intention to make him feel bad in any way. you backtracked a little bit, thinking about your earlier conversation. you got to your apartment, picked a movie and snacks, then waited for the popcorn to be ready. did you talk about anything else during that time? hm- you scratched your head, trying to concentrate better. then, it was like a lightbulb had been turned on inside your head.

“are you jealous?” you said, almost shouting the question. (how discreet-) the realisation hit you like a truck, and you spoke without thinking. the chances of finding out the truth from him could be close to zero now.

“no” yeonjun was quick to give you the answer you expected. he jolted out of his seat, like a cat taken by surprise. for a second there, he actually wondered whether you were able to hear his thoughts, or whether he had been unknowingly speaking out loud this entire time.

unconvinced, you continued to stare down at him. that ��no’ was a pitch higher than his usual voice and it was only adding more to your suspicions “i’m not jealous-” he spoke again in that same tone “y/n, come on- stop looking at me like that” he whined, giving your shoulder a slight push as he sat back down on the couch.

“jun? you sure you’re not jealous?” you inched your face closer to his, yeonjun moving his head back at the same time. he was unaware of his surroundings, too focused on keeping some sort of distance. you cupped his cheeks to stop him from slipping away any further, afraid that, at some point, he would fall off the couch. his cheeks were squishy, and you pinched and stretched them like a kid playing with pizza dough. his constant yearning for your attention was becoming -somehow- fulfilled, and he didn't know how to handle it.

as his heart felt close to jumping out of his chest at any given moment, he placed his hands over yours, muttering a quiet “stop that” before breaking eye contact with you.

“you’re blushing” you chuckled, your fingertips brushed against his soft, reddened cheeks. yeonjun wasn’t one to easily get flustered. he wasn’t a great liar either- not in front of you, at least.

“you were sitting too close to me- it was suffocating me” he attempted to defend himself.

“oh?” you tilted your head, as you reduced the gap between the two of you once again, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips “since when does me sitting close bother you?” his chest was beginning to raise up and down more rapidly underneath you. yeonjun gulped, the audible sound giving away his sheer nervousness. it didn’t bother him- he liked it. in fact, he was more bothered by the fact that he didn’t have the guts all night to just hold you in his arms.

your tongue darted out to wet your lips, taking away all of his focus. he couldn’t take it anymore- it was getting too much, too overwhelming: the scent of your perfume, the warm breath on his face, the rosy lips sitting just a few centimeters away from his. sighing, he gave in, his hand coming to the back of your neck as he closed the gap that kept on tormenting him. your eyelids fluttered shut, taking in the slow rhythm of his kiss, indulging in the way your lips felt against his.

and once he parted away, he admitted, completely out of breath:

“okay. maybe i was a bit jealous”

taglist: @huekalover3000

#wave2tyun #txt #txt fluff #txt x reader #txt fic #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt smau #txt headcanons #txt yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fic #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun headcanons

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goqmir · 3 months

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if you want to be a chef in this day and age you have to want to fuck the food. it used to be that you could get away with just desiring food-related sex-- in western saloons in the late 1800s, for instance, there were often gouges in the floorboards leading from the cook's favorite lovemaking bedroom in the inn to the nightly spot laid out for the salad bar trolley. Now, though, you have to have sexual urges about the food itself. If you don't, you will be easily outclassed by those overworked bakers who stop for condoms on the way home after they score some extra jelly-filled pastries from work, or the Michelin star chefs who have hours of mac and cheese stirring ASMR saved in a YouTube playlist. They simply want the food more than you do. Every chef with a decent career in the fine dining world has that not-so-hidden secret. If you can afford it, expensive dishes usually have wonderful texture-- just ask Gordon Ramsey and his fridge full of crab puffs-- but if you can't, I would recommend first starting out with something affordable you can easily keep on hand, with little preparation time and a decent texture. Of course, not all beginning chefs follow this advice-- a lot of dedicated chefs attempt to start fucking the food after learning about this subculture, leading to an alarming number of juice fetishists in the sous chef workforce. Unfortunately, many learn too late that you need substance in your food-- some decent texture to rub against-- or you won't get the same experience with food you need in the industry. By that time, of course, the juice kink has set in-- if you see a sous chef pouring apple cider into a pot of mac and cheese, you don't have to ask what it's adding to the flavor profile. A lot of popular picks are easy to reheat in the microwave, not quick to perish, and give a decent enough texture to be satisfying. A common pick is simply bread; filled donuts offer a pleasant pocket and satisfying orgasms; muffins are thick enough where working a hole from its bottom to its top is not only possible, but expected; almost all of the kitchen staff at Red Lobster leaves for the night with a few extra-soft biscuits in their bags. Others have more interesting taste: melty cheeses, the pointiest carrots and pineapples, the claws of lobsters, the most decadent helpings of whipped-cream topped parfaits. This all works fine for a number of years, until you notice your skill as a chef starting to plateau. Many chefs simply stay in this zone, as well enough preparers living happy lives at good jobs. But the best chefs, the headliners, those who prepare the best meals the world has to offer... they take it to the next level. They spend a good, long time preparing the dish they are covering in their cum up to four nights a week. Hours of baking, broiling, dirtied pots and pans. The food preparation is like foreplay, one of the most creative parts of sex and cooking alike. A good chef gets hotter with the pasta in the pot, sizzles along with the eggs in the pan, finds themselves on edge with each slice of the potato into the crock. Until finally, hours into the night, cock hard like a lamppost, after dicking down that beautifully prepared pasta frittata since the sun was still up, they orgasm all across its gorgeous pasta fillings and creamy cheesey insides and finally Understand food. After learning all of this, you may be tempted to go down to your neighborhood spot and ask the chef what they do to deepen the connection between themselves and their meals. Of course, if the neighborhood spot happens to be a bar, you'll probably actually have a line cook-- where instead, you should probably ask what they like most about putting their cigarettes out on twinks.

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cultofdixon · 7 months

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In a past life it was yours, the present is mine

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • At the line up it was revealed your family history, in the future it won’t be used against you, but for now? You have to change the problem from the inside out or all those you love will perish • ANGST/SFW • TW: Past Mental Abuse / PTSD / Trauma / Anxiety / Canon Violence / Depression • Canon re-written

Requested by: Anon

“Well, let’s meet the man shall we?” The right hand to the mystery man says with a smirk as he approaches the RV.

The archer turns to his other half seeing her keep a calm exterior even if the inner feelings spilled in tears.

I’ll always keep you safe Y/N Daryl mouths to her watching her nod smiling through the tears as both of their attention snapped back to what’s in front of them.

As the tension grew in the woods and the creek of the RV door opens followed by whistling that drove chills down their backs. The man stepped out and instantly locked eyes with the archer’s partner, standing there for too long as neither of them said a word. Until a smirk brought itself on his face as he grabs his right hand by the collar pulling him close to tell him something.

Then you know the rest…

As Negan drags Rick into the RV after killing two of their own. Abraham and Glenn. The right hand that is named Simon approaches the group as the vehicle disappears.

“Take the girl” Simon states watching two saviors come up behind Y/N grabbing her by the arms. “Take the hits and scratches, guys. She’s just a little thing anyway”

“Wait WAIT!” Maggie yells watching her friend getting taken as Daryl tried rising to his feet again when Dwight hit him in the back of the head with the blunt end of his crossbow.

Y/N froze watching such as it made it easier to drag her body to one of the trucks. The bigger man out of the two practically tossed her into the back of the van and was immediately pistol whipped by Simon.

“Best I do somethin’ before boss man puts a bullet in your head” Simon scoffs shutting the doors after pushing the guy of the way. “Take her back to the Sanctuary. She don’t need to see what else the man’s gotta do”

And with that the van left, leaving the group confused…Maggie hurt even further and Daryl livid. They didn’t understand why Negan ordered such to happen. Hell they don’t even know when that was ordered. His hushed side conversations were so short because he had other business to attend to.

How…how could he

How could he do this

To me

The drive was long, at least it felt like such. Y/N didn’t know where she was going or who else she would be dealing with but during the unknown period she simply cried. Cried over her deceased family and over the fear of losing the man she loves.

Soon the doors to the back opened and no one was forcing her out of the vehicle until a blond woman came. She grabbed Y/N by the arm and let the girl scratch at her or try to pull away but the grip she had on her? Good luck.

“Where are you taking me?!”

Nothing

“I demand to know!”

Again, nothing

“What is he going to do to my family?!” Y/N snaps before getting shoved in a room as the woman stood at the door a second.

“Family? This is your family, dollface” and the door shut, locking from the other side.

Y/N immediately went toward the door and started pounding against it, screaming out for anyone to let her out. Then she started to look for something to pick the lock with but as she searched the room she was in…it took a second to realize it was a room and not a cell. She decided to look around in hopes she’d find something to help her escape.

Instead she was met with her past.

How come yea never talk about your old life?

I told you a lot. What specifically?

Everybody’s got a family. You never said anythin’ bout that

Guess I’m just. Never ready to talk about it

I don’t think I’ll ever be, even now Y/N frowns holding a picture frame in her hands and the sound of keys jingling startled her to grab something heavy.

When the door opened and Negan stepped through, he quickly dodged the jar of pickles Y/N had grabbed as it hit one of his saviors behind him instead of him.

“Still got a hell of a throw”

Nothing

“How long have yea been with these people?” Negan asks watching her tense and retract at every step he took, inevitably stopping. “You have no idea how long I’ve been lookin’ for you” he snapped for one of his own to close the door to give them more privacy as Y/N immediately shoved him away.

“Why”

“Listen—-“

“WHY!” She yelled loud enough for those standing outside the door, even if the walls were thick. “WHY DID YOU BECOME THIS MONSTER?!”

“Princess, please—-“

“No! You killed my best friend. You don’t get to ‘princess’ me, dad. You took me away from my family…you killed those of MY FAMILY”

“IM YOUR FUCKING FAMILY” Negan finally yells back in her face watching her cower, making him step back taking in the sight to memory. “I’m your blood. You’re my daughter and my family. At least what’s left of it”

“I was your bastard child when you were a teenager…you only cared cuz I got stuck in your care. Then you met Lucille and I was already out of the house…you cut the line there. You moved on but even then…you still went back to your old ways.” Y/N frowns feeling the tears roll off her cheeks. “Now you’re just worse. A monster that put the woman you loved’s name on a bat that killed those important to me…where do you get off”

Before Negan could say another word, Dwight opened the door abruptly which was a big no-no on his part.

“Hey we got Daryl in one of the cells. What’s the next—-“

“What? WHAT” Y/N pushed Negan out of the way as he quickly grabbed at her arm only for her to pull with all her force. He tightened too hard that he heard a crack and instantly let go resulting in her shoving Dwight over like it was nothing and going through the halls.

No one was touching her

Or at least weren’t allowed to intervene

Unless she tried to escape…or help someone escape.

The banging on his cell door gave his position away as Y/N was stopped by the brute guarding his door. But she had about enough in the moment.

“Move out of my way”

“I can’t do that princess”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Or Wha—-“ He was instantly cut off by her leg swung right in between the legs hitting the family jewels hard enough for him to drop. Giving her a window to go for his knife and threaten to cut his throat open the second those chasing her approached.

“Jesus Christ. This is your blood?” Dwight scoffs stepping back every second their eyes locked.

“She’s definitely Negan’s daughter” Laura laughs at the sight watching Negan step closer not giving a single fuck if Y/N took the man’s life.

“It’s best to let him go. Wouldn’t want to be like me right?”

Y/N felt instant regret for her actions after he said such. She slowly released the knife as the guy quickly pulls away bringing himself behind Negan.

The man stood there for a while staring down at his child while his people stand behind him in fear of both Smiths. Then a pain brought itself in his chest watching her cower when he tried to simply step forward and help her up.

A small child took her place sitting there on the floor as he stood before her in his early twenties with a suitcase in one hand and a ticket in the other.

The two locked eyes and he turned around closing the door behind him. Never turning back.

“You get five minutes. But I’m not letting either of you go” Negan frowns opening the door to Daryl cell as he was about to fight whoever opened it when he saw Y/N and Negan on the other side.

The two were soon closed in the cell for privacy with a lantern for the light. Y/N frowns looking at Daryl after just telling him about who her father is and why she hasn’t told him or anybody. It’s not like she knew about his dictatorship in the old world, just knew the man as someone who wanted nothing to do with her as a child and when she became an adult he had already moved on.

“He…we gotta get out of this shithole”

“I don’t think that could happen without a window…or a bullet in one of us”

“From how he wanted yea at the line up, doubt he’d hurt yea”

“I’m not going to let him hurt you” Y/N frowns bringing herself close expecting Daryl to reject her after finding out of her bloodline.

But the archer carefully took her face into his hands wiping away the tears that suddenly sprung from her waterline.

“He may not hurt yea sunshine, but he can still break you”

Before another word could be shared, the door sprung open and Y/N was suddenly grabbed pulling her out of the cell as Daryl tried to use that as a window but was met with his own crossbow aimed at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare hurt him” Y/N thrashed against the grasp two saviors had on her as they lessen their grip when Negan glared at them. “You lay a hand on him and I will make you fucking regret taking me too”

Negan glared at his daughter before turning back to the archer and his people keep him in. He shoved Dwight back before shutting the door and locking Daryl in there. No more words were exchanged but all he did was grab Y/N by the bicep leading her to the rooms and locking her in a new one.

________

“How come yea never talked about your family?” Daryl frowns joining Y/N on the porch of their new home. “Ever since we got here you’ve been extra quiet so I’m just assumin’ what the subject matter is”

“I just. Never experienced this niceness before. Like when y’all found me in the woods outside the prison? I had just gotten lost after seeing where my dad had lived all my life without me”

The sadness grew in his expression as he noticed hers barely shift, she’s accepted it a long time ago…but the pain will always be there.

“He had me as a teenager and my mom just gave me to him then fucked off. So he struggled for four years with the help of grandma, then one day I was seated on the carpet watching him pick up a suitcase and walk out the door.” Y/N frowns hugging herself as she kept her gaze to the floor. “It’s a mess of a story. Raised by my grandma, left at 18, heard years later he remarried and didn’t care about my existence further, his wife found out about me and met me in private…then the outbreak happened later and I went to see if they were alive because I had their address for the longest time…and all there was was a house in ruins”

“I’m sorry, sunshine”

“If he’s…still out there and our paths cross…I don’t think I’d want to be on this rock anymore”

________

Daryl kept banging on his cell door for what felt like days. Granted…it was. To be real with what’s going on in Daryl’s mind, he thought he would be beaten to a pulp at this point. Or put through even worse, mental abuse of some kind.

They’ve been treating him well?

His wound

Keeping him fed

He doesn’t quite understand it until Dwight opened the cell one night to give him a sandwich and decided to talk.

“Your woman almost ripped me a new one when I tried to feed yea dog food. She’s takin’ everything like a champ though…with a dad like that.” Dwight laughs. “Everything I had of yours, she almost killed me for. But daddy will do anythin’ to get her to smile. Even if she cries most nights”

“Why the fuck are you telling me this”

“You ain’t dead because she’s doing everything Negan asks of her. Her reward? We don’t hurt you” Dwight states before making his leave and shutting the door forcefully behind him.

Y/N laid in the bed given to her, in the room made just for her. She kept staring at the ceiling dressed in a black dress that someone pointed out was made for pointing out Negan’s wives. But that was shot down by Simon who was assigned to keep her at the Sanctuary and to be honest? Neither of them were happy about it.

“Yo! Princess, boss man wants yea” Simon knocks on the door as Y/N sighs bringing herself to the edge of her bed slipping her boots on before leaving the room.

The two walked to the conference like room and found a head on the table, an anxious Dwight, and an angry Negan.

“Good luck princess” Simon whispers to Y/N, leaving the room laughing.

The annoyance on her face grew, but immediately changed to anger and worry.

“Daryl escaped” Negan snapped the second he locked eyes with his kid. “Who did it.”

“I’ve been with you and in my room almost every hour of every day. Your GOON here doesn’t let me anywhere near Daryl’s fucking cell. Even when he’s not on watch” Y/N gave back the same energy her dad was producing. “You’re always so controlling of everyone around here but what happens when your eyes aren’t glued on your fucking prisoner. He escapes on his GODDAMN OWN”

In a split second, with no thinking before actions made, Negan grabbed her by the throat and forced her against the wall as the thud echoed in the room but the alarming sound was the crack that came from her skull when she made contact. Tears instantly started to stream down her cheeks as she held onto his wrist feeling his grip loosen while her eyes slowly fluttered open after the impact made them shut tight.

Daddy please don’t go

The leader of the saviors suddenly pulled away making her drop to her knees as she instantly pressed her hand to the back of her head noticing the blood on her hand when she retracted.

“You’re just…the same fucking monster…I’ve always known” Y/N sobbed through broken words as Negan towered her unable to move or breathe for the matter. Dwight looked at him a bit confused but a wave of concern came over him as he brought himself to Y/N not caring if she protested.

“Come on. We’ve got a doc” Dwight helped her to her feet directing her out of the room, glancing back to see Negan in his frozen state.

“Daddy please don’t go” The four year old cried hugging onto her father’s leg as Negan drags her agaisnt the carpet before forcefully shaking his leg to get her to fall on her butt.

The tears broke out as she sat on the carpet right in front of the main door.

“I…I can’t do this” Negan frowns picking up his suitcase after slipping on his jacket. “I never should’ve had you”

The pout that grew on the little one’s face as the tears streamed down her cheeks while no more sound escaped her.

“I never should’ve left you…” Negan whispers to himself while his own tears rolled off his cheeks.

It’s been days with nothing going on…nothing…not even a visit from his saviors to communities they have under their thumbs. If you were new to one? You wouldn’t be able to tell they were controlled by someone unless somebody told you. But even then, they didn’t collect every other week. Didn’t threaten anymore people.

Nothing happened. Then the radio gave off receiving static.

“Rick. We gotta talk”

Rick looks at his radio with concern before looking across the table at his partner as Michonne shared the same concern but was also littered with confusion and doubt. This could be a trap of some sorts.

While Negan may have done nothing. The group had gotten to work on lessen the Savior population (once Daryl returned) by attacking more outposts with the help of the Kingdom, the Hilltop, and few Oceanside…it was top priority while certain few wanted to get their person back.

“He could’ve killed her by now” Daryl frowns sitting with Maggie on the steps of the Barrington House as they all decided it be smart for him to stay there in case if they did look for him.

“She’s his daughter. He wanted her, I doubt he would’ve killed her…but something still could’ve happened” Maggie didn’t mean to plant anything in Daryl’s mind, granted he was already thinking of such, but it was overwhelming. When Daryl returned and Negan’s first visit to Alexandria, everyone Y/N was close to found out that she’s Negan’s daughter. It brought a lot of mix feelings but even with certain negative ones, everyone collectively agreed they wanted to get her back safely.

“Daryl…you think that Rick would hurt her?”

“What.” Daryl says sternly noticing how calm and collected Maggie presented herself after saying such.

“From what you’ve told me, Y/N and her father are estranged. He didn’t raise her. She’s nothing like him. It’s just…instead of running with fear, Rick is turning back to that scary version of himself when we first came to Alexandria.” Maggie frowns her finger tips gently brushing her barely showing pregnant belly. “I’m afraid of him hurting her indirectly. To be fair…when I found out, I wanted to do exactly that. But then I remember she’s this outgoing person who’s super smart and an amazing listener to every single concern a person may have…she doesn’t even have to know you long to care so deeply about you…she’s nothing like this monster but he will hurt her and Rick will break some part of her”

While all of such happened, the Sanctuary sort of collapsed within itself once Negan disappeared. He just left without a word and Simon tried taking his place but then the people that Negan tortured under his boot for so long, started to fight back finally. Y/N watched it all unfold while packing up her stuff and planning her route out but it came clear to those die hard followers that she’s something that can bring him back.

Which he was planning to do while he stood in the old outpost, the first one the group attacked that led to their deaths. Negan sighed when Rick didn’t immediately come into view but once he did, he wasn’t alone. He didn’t have the whole group or those who’ve lost their partners. All he needed was Michonne and his son Carl. Knowing they’d keep him centered.

“If this is a trap, the others know to come rain hellfire on—-“

“The Sanctuary is currently imploding. None of’em like Simon and won’t follow him. Whatever you want to do to me, I’ll let yea do. As long as you don’t punish her for my actions”

Carl’s expression softened hearing such as he didn’t think about that. His dad was just mad and terrified of what else could happen since Negan hasn’t done anything to them. Little do they know the shit he’s been putting his kid through mentally, and the few times physically that one would think she endured it all for her family.

“Dad. This seems…like the truth, but we still need to be careful”

“You should listen to the kid.” Negan states only for Rick to take that moment and right hook him making him stumble a bit as Michonne quickly pulled Rick back knowing he was about to do more. “I deserved that”

“You deserve a whole lot worse”

“And I’m telling you…” The man straightens himself up brushing the blood from his busted lip on the back of his hand. “Do whatever you want to me”

Before Rick could get to say his response, Carl stepped in front of him to physically cut him off.

“Why? Why are you rolling over on your back now? After you killed Glenn…killed Abraham…killed all those people just to gain superiority but we just…” Carl couldn’t connect the dots, even if they were right there, guess part of him wanted him to say it.

“I hurt her.” Negan stated watching all of them tense. “I hurt my daughter. I tried so hard to get some fuckin’ relationship back after what I’ve done in the past. But the present was never mine. Then I really hurt her…for something someone else did, and I could’ve killed her…I’ll do whatever yea want me to do, and let you do whatever you want to me…for her promised safety”

________

Daryl sat on the porch checking his bike after they had gotten it back from the outpost. He felt her presence and felt it when Y/N brought her arms around his waist.

“You alright?”

“You know, whatever happens with whatever comes next…I’d always choose you”

The archer brought himself to turn toward her so he could wrap his arms around her kissing the top of her head whispering again asking if she was okay. She was.

________

She will always want to be in his arms.

Y/N stood outside the Sanctuary or what it used to be as people left…communities took people in, die hard followers were skeptical but given a second chance, Simon ran off, and she stayed at the place that kept her mentally beaten. But with her father, the Grimes (minus Jude), Daryl, Maggie, the king Ezekiel, Cyndie from Oceanside, and those who wanted to witness Negan get punished.

People wanted him dead. Rick wanted him to rot. So a bit of both happened. Y/N watched Rick put all his anger out on Negan and every punch made her flinch. She felt the tears come but no sound escaped her. Maggie brought herself to the other side of her friend while Daryl was on the other. She carefully took her hand into hers feeling her squeeze.

He’s a monster. He did all this horrible things and even with a good like…getting rid of it all…the pain was still there but so was the child from before the hell.

Michonne grabbed Rick’s shoulder when she thought Negan had enough but she also had enough of her friend watching her partner beat up her father.

“Patch’em up” Rick scoffs turning away from Y/N knowing if he looked at her, the regret will build. The new doc that his son found on a walk in the woods, Siddiq, took care of patching up Negan while Gabriel and Aaron tied him up taking him back to the cell that Morgan had made.

It was late in the night when Daryl felt the emptiness beside him and decided to get up looking for his partner who simply sat on the steps leading to the main floor. Her tired eyes said it all as he wished she had woken him to the nightmare she endured alone. He brought himself to sit beside Y/N as she flinched when he tried to check the bandage that was on the back of her head. The doc at the Sanctuary had to shave a part to get stitches in there after…yknow.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah…”

“No…I mean, does it still hurt” Daryl frowns watching her tears build up as she continued to hug her knees to her chest hiding her face feeling him bring his arm around her. “You should’ve never had to deal with that shit, and shouldn’t have seen what happen”

“I couldn’t…let him hurt you or my family…I just…the words won’t come out clear in my mind…I just couldn’t lose anymore”

Daryl watched her unravel as he didn’t let her go bringing her into his embrace and into his lap. Holding her desperately close as Y/N latched onto his person afraid they’d fall apart if she let go.

________

“You can have everythin’ and you still choose him?”

Y/N frowns looking at her father after she was forced to put on the outfit given to her. She looks around at the room surrounding her before locking eyes with the man that helped bring her into this world.

“He fixed what you broke” She states crossing her arms and holding her ground. “He didn’t have to, hell I did my best to keep my past to myself. But he loves me, protects me, makes me feel wanted…”

Negan wanted to speak but watched her hold her hand up to shut him up.

“I will always choose Daryl Dixon, over every man on this god forsaken planet”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #that took a while #four more after this then requests will be open #after a break ofc…#hope you enjoy this one

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nyveris · 1 year

Text

i spoke to the stars of you.

neteyam (avatar) x female reader

in whereas you grew as a figure to become the right hand woman of the heir to the omaticayan’s olo’eyktan, a mentor to neteyam. however are you really simply a mentor to him?

(if people are interested then i will continue a slice of life series, perhaps! btw sorry if it’s kind of stagnant, got rusty hehe)

“become my partner,” he demanded, with a tone trained to reign the battlefield — rigid and stern. however, many have realized, over the years, on the battlefield or outside of it — he has reserved a certain tone to speak to you with.

you, the right-hand woman of the omaticayan’s heir, neteyam.

he would speak in hushed whispers as if your voice was a tune only his ears can listen to, body crowding over you — towering over your figure so no one could see your expression when you are speaking with him. his eyes would trace over the marks on your face, a sight that would make him tremble and fall to his knees. constellation, you were his star — his universe. he’d stare at the eclipse with a croaked throat, and the firstborn of toruk makto would lose all purpose and yearn for his oasis. even if it was there. even if you were beside him, laughing carelessly.

he’d still kneel and plead for more.

it was never enough.

tsahey, if he lost you then he might as well burn the world, what is the purpose of his existence if the only world— universe he had worshipped on had perished?

“nete you fool, why worry about such trivial subjects?” you asked him with genuine confusion, eyes staring at him with wonder.

his breath always hitched when his eyes met yours. terrible. it was too terrible. he had always felt like ash when he was gazed upon with your eyes. your caresses were like the slithering of a snake crawling up his neck, holding him in a gentle chokehold.

“i promised your father from the moment i crawled out from my mother's cradle. i promised him that i would become your right-hand woman,” you exaggerated in a sing-song tone, all the while you sharpened your arrow, “i have always been by your side during battles, haven’t i?” you batted your eyelashes at him, a teasing grin adorning your face.

he’d always question himself. what, what did he do during his past lives to be worshipped and looked at by those irises with such gaze? it was impossible to forget you. your figure was an extended version of himself. your hands were something he would bury his face into and peck every morning, kissing every scar that adorned it. the space in between your shoulders was the backstage of the heir, ripping all of his masks as he would exhale in relief and inhale the scent of flora tingling. he’d think that maybe when he would caress his nose in between your shoulder, he would recognize this as love long before he even learned the definition of it.

arms crossed, neteyam chuckled, eyes crinkling to a figure too similar to his mother's and a grin too charming like his father, he walked towards you with leisure and confidence. alluring eyes towering over you as he entrapped your chin in between his fingers, tilting your head up with gentle force — you realized, eyes blinking, he has grown well.

“mmhm,” he replied to you with fondness, breaths mingling, pitch black irises contracting as the both of you saw the reflections of yourself in each other's eyes. it was terrifying to see such a faceless expression on your face, knowing your insides are molten lava in turmoil, about to erupt.

it was a game between the two of you, you admitted.

closing his eyes respite, neteyam pressed his forehead towards yours, engulfing your head with a sense of fondness, “you have done a wonderful job by being my partner...” neteyam whispered with his eyes closed as if those sentences were meant to be heard by only you.

“in battle.” neteyam cackled and opened his eyes.

you groaned, he has grown too well.

and it seems like neteyam won this round as well.

#neteyam #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #loak #x reader #aged up #neteyam imagine #na’vi x reader #na’vi #neteyam x reader

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bucknastysbabe · 4 months

Note

Hi, could you write something that deals with this? ......

https://www.tumblr.com/mhsdatgo/737617577019408384/gorgeous-little-piece-of-shit-king-that-lives-in

So at first I was like lmfaooooo but then I was like wait I can put this little blonde bitch in the WORST situation. I shall do my best, thanks for the request, I hope to get back to my pathetic Aegon roots for this one.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dark divergence from canon, Aegon is more cutthroat, King Aegon, Lannister!Reader, she’s a daughter of Tyland, Tyland is on his king behavior, meanwhile dumbass Jason, Aegon has the wife parade, he’s literally still little baby man, Manipulative and morally gray reader, Aegon Is A Pain Slut, ye olde cock ring, ruined orgasms, Degredation, bratting for like 1s, breeding kink, boobs fixation, overstimmimg, pnv!sex

A/N: Wayyyyyy off canon and just so I can make this guy cry also I try to stray from making oc’s but bc it’s a Lannister reader y’know. Body type/face/skin/hair texture is up to you, just know gold hair and green eyes. Also kinda got into a storyline? Idk smut is here!!!

As Tyland Lannister’s only daughter, he sought to keep you on Casterly Rock. It was rare for a house as proud and mighty as yours not to have their fairest ladies sent to catch a dragon’s eye. Or merely have it chosen for you. Jason would’ve had you wedded and bedded to any of the white haired boys by now. Your father was stated once in a letter, “I’d liken it to a den of snakes rather than dragons.”

From his reports they were strange or downright deviant, controlled heavily by their green side of the family. Rhaenyra’s brood was of a better nature but obviously born from the seed of Harwin Strong. So you went about your duties, becoming a fine educated highborn lady to sit around and pop out babies. Maybe order fancy dresses out of boredom.

Although you childishly dreamt that a handsome white-haired man would take you dragon riding, that was not your future. Fate had other plans. Firstly, you were barred from going to the grand wedding of Prince Aemond to Lady Cassandra Baratheon. Strangely enough, it was to be held at the Hand’s gloomy accursed Harrenhal. You wrote an angry letter to your father and another to Jason, downright distraught over missing another royal wedding. You could find a potential mate at one of these gatherings!

Tyland wrote back simply, “I do not want you in that bewitched place. I have an uneasy feeling about this. I pray for you and love you dear lioness of Lannnister, still roaring her heart away.”

The initial anger faded into fear. Then the news had returned. Your Maester read the report. Dragon against dragon, blood to blood, they would call the failed union the ‘Green Wedding.’ Crown Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, all children dead but her toddling boy and blonde babes on Dragonstone

King Viserys had died the night before. Otto Hightower took matters into his own hands. Some would say it was well executed but not thought out. Princess Helaena had perished, the Blood Wyrm Caraxes attacking her in a fury before she could make it to her own dragon.

Prince Aemond and Aegon had taken to scorching Rhaenyra’s tent and all of her accompanying vassals. Harrenhal was lit aflame again— the Strongs burning up in a sea of smoke. The rest of the Hightowers had been haphazardly thrown into a wheelhouse, Queen Alicent purportedly retching and sobbing, crying for her daughter and late husband. They lay in boxes behind the cart. She had the young Daeron only for comfort.

Your mouth twisted up at the retelling of the scene of kin slaying and wretchedness. Your family had no love for the Blacks but for the Greens to so vilely destroy their own flesh and blood? You idly wondered about all of those dragons without riders. What Corlys and Rhaenys would do? She was fierce yet only had the young Baela and Rhaena.

Tyland had written to stay put, the Westerlands swore to the new King Aegon. War broke out as expected. The dragons saw an end to the strife rather quickly due to the help of Targaryen bastards mounting the riderless beasts. The realm was back under the control of the inept and horrid King Aegon the Second. They called it the half-year’s war. People spoke in hushed tones even at Casterly Rock.

Accursed family, we’re all doomed.

Otto Hightower should be sent to the wall— alas, then we’d have an idiot as a king.

Is the King going to marry soon?

You personally hoped he would marry soon. Jason had requested a portrait of you. There was no hidden reason why— he wanted lion’s blood on the already drenched Iron Throne. Your own father was staunch against that, writing that he had received a proposal from the Reynes of Castamere. You had smiled at that, their heir Ser Lynden was particularly handsome and kind. They had the riches to keep your lifestyle the same.

Not like the Targaryen’s didn’t. King Aegon could maybe see for a Dayne girl with their ashen hair and purple eyes. Or a Celtigar, they still had Valyrian blood. Mayhaps import one from Old Volantis— they claimed strong ancestry.

Alas. The raven came, your father’s anger poorly concealed.

“Even after all of my duties and help to the crown, asking for the Hand to keep my only daughter out of this, you are requested to be shown before the king along with the other highborn ladies of the Realm. I thought about setting my fool brother’s portrait on fire. Regardless, it shall be good to see my young lioness. I will be there every step of the way. Be kind.”

Your stomach sank to your toes before rising back up with anger. If that kinslaying mongrel deviant whore thought for a second he would enjoy your company? He would be sorely mistaken. Dragons may have claws, but so do lions and they are long and sharp. Huffing in anger, you stormed away from the letter.

The trip to the Red Keep was abysmal. It rained the entire way, you had to stop at Deep Den for a night to let the rains up. Their stony, cold castle was damp and you barely slept a wink. You awoke to ride to the Gold Road until the city walls and the Red Keep towered in the distance. You awed at the Dragonpit and the great Sept and it’s crystals.

Regardless of the magnificent buildings, the stench of the city was vile, air putrid with rotting fish and dung heaps. Nasty little peasants ogled your gold and red wheelhouse. Your frown deepened, anger boiling your blood. There was no way one could enjoy living here, fight to be here! King's Landing was a pile of shit with a Castle on top.

You were warmly welcomed by your father, a maid holding your dress aloft so the golden filigree wouldn’t get all mucky. Tyland hugged you and exhaustion fell over your body. You missed him dearly, the singular parent. Although your grandmother was very dear, she too had passed not too long ago.

Heads were still on pikes behind you. The smell of rot was stronger in the courtyard. You said in a miserable warble, “I detest it already, please dress me up ugly, maim me.” The fool Jason patted your back and laughed, “Ah, I missed your acrid tongue. King’s Landing is an acquired taste. Your quarters are facing the Blackwater so you can get some fresh air.”

“Others take you and that damn portrait,” you hissed at your nuncle.

Tyland led you quietly into the huge keep, prying eyes from all around. No pale-haired Targaryens to be seen. You could hear them whisper about the gold of your hair, the wealth oozing from the gown. Yes, like any of you have seen true class since the Conciliator Passed.

Once in the room you snapped at a servant to pour wine, sipping while other’s shuffled in and out to bring your trunks of goods. Tyland even spoke up, “Careful with that dress, please, it is for tomorrow.” You spat, “Tomorrow?”

He held a finger up, exhaustion lacing his face. Swirling the wine around you watched the bay and waited until it was just the two of you in a comfortable silence. Tyland had taught you that— know without speaking, listen when to listen. Tyland looked aged as he sank into the cushioned chair. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, “I thought the Dowager queen would have my back. Her son is much more willful than we thought. Otto wants our coin.”

“Borrow it from a bank and maybe they’ll root these vipers away,” you whispered under a covered hand. You’d been informed of the spies all about under Larys Strong. Tyland hummed a laugh, beckoning you over. Crawling into his lap, you felt as if you were a child again, emotions welling. You began to weep softly.

He rubbed your heaving back and shushed your cries. You hiccuped, “I-If he-he-he ch-chooses me!” Tyland sighed and finished in a quiet murmur, “You will show him that a lion is nothing to play with. King Aegon may be a pandering fool but he is easily swayed. Most of us think he has eyes for the Tyrell cousin.”

“Good,” you heaved. You cried in your father's arms until he put you to sleep at some point, kissing your forehead. Sleep was restless and pointless, you managed to gather some hours before the maidservants came to dress you.

They bathed, scrubbed, and used imported Westerland items. The smell made you homesick. They braided and twisted your hair, pinning a red and gold piece on top. The dress was just as proud— gold, rubies, pearls decorating the sleeves and neckline. Myrish lace was up to your chin, secured by a choker of more exquisite jewels and peridot to bring out your eyes. It cuffed at your wrists too. Maybe it would be too much for the weak-willed king.

The choker represented who you would always belong to— House Lannister, the sigil in solid gold and red enamel. A larger version cinched your waist. He could take the maiden with her tits corseted to her chin. The king merely needed a broodmare. A lingering voice tutted, “He may find holes where he pleases, but the king needs a queen.”

The door opened, Tyland extended an arm, lips in a tight line. He knew what you looked like. A queen.

The hall was full of highborn Ladies as you entered, you instantly recognized most of the sigils and house colors. King Aegon sat on the monstrous throne lazily, sipping wine while Otto ordered around women. A girl in the colors of Rosby didn’t even make a step up before he said, “No chin, next,” he looked down at Otto, “I’ll never believe a portrait. The Lannister girl probably looks like Jason with teats.”

Anger bubbled in your chest at his flippant demeanor and comments. The queen sat next to Otto, chiding Aegon. Thankfully you had a while in line. A while to get rightfully furious with this brat of a king! You had met squires with more dignity than he!

As you neared the imposing throne, you gauged the King’s looks. Definitely Valyrian with his pretty white waves and big violet eyes— hazy with drink and boredom. He was not of a warrior’s build, much to your chagrin. Aegon had shapely thighs but the rest seemed to be softened from his infamous gluttony.

Aegon yawned and pointed, “Redwyne? Not bad, Cole, go put her in the ‘perhaps’ section. Green eyes moved to the score of ladies looking fearful over toward the side. How crass. You could cut his cock off. So embroiled in coming up with torture scenes you blinked suddenly at the boom.

“Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, daughter of Tyland. Aged 19.”

You stepped forward and kept your chin high, holding Aegon’s gaze intently, lips stiff. The king perked up, moving forward to get a look. He laughed, “Your father is on my council and you don’t pay obeisance?” With a grimace, you gave a weak curtsy to the young King.

Jason looked wide eyed from the side, mouthing, “PLAY NICE!”

Aegon hummed, standing up to walk down the throne, crowds gasping. As he drew closer you noticed the burns going down his cheek to curl below his collar. His violet eyes swam with something, a ringed finger tapping your tilted chin. He rasped, “A lioness for sure. Just overjoyed to get yanked from your golden castle. Is that why you out-dressed the entire kingdom?”

“I had to make sure you knew who I would always be, my liege,” you hissed, “Dragons can be tamed.”

“So can lions,” he quipped back, full lips splitting into a grin. He curled burned fingers into the lace guarding your neck. Aegon cooed, “I do wonder what you’ve got hiding under here. I’m guessing you have some nice teats. That’s my favorite game at the brothels.”

“You’re a vile little kinslaying creature.”

Otto and Alicent seemed to panic before Aegon laughed— a shrieking giggle. He stepped back up onto the dais and cheered, “I have chosen! The Lioness shall be mine blushing bride. Cheers!”

There was the sound of more defeated ladies but their fathers were likely inwardly cheering. Tyland looked ghastly grim, nuncle coming to peel him away. You refused to face the crowds, stepping over to the queen and the hand, fully curtsying. The queen grasped your palms and pled, “Please, guide him the best you can. I see a strength in you I haven’t seen since…,” she looked off and grew drawn. Lord Otto smiled, “More Lannister’s the merrier. Maybe Tyland can lighten his load.”

Aegon asked, “Alright, so when do we begin planning?”

You huffed and went to your father, hot tears soaking your cheeks. You misjudged. You thought he would be repulsed by a powerful woman. Instead he plucked you right up and now held you in this cage for a home.

‘A caged lion is still a lion, yes, yes’, you thought.

Tyland stated with a fury you had never seen before, “You will make that spoilt dragon break and bend.”

“Of course father.”

Aegon whined from between your feet, a dainty gold chain clasping his wrists, connected up to a gold collar engraved with rubies. This king you once hated belonged to you- heart and soul. He’d do anything, but you just preferred him to listen and be your pretty fuck toy. You felt love for him, differently, still love.

You wore a lace shift, the fabric barely covering anything, full tits and the gold curls of your cunt showing through. Aegon made to lave at your knee, getting slapped off. The blonde mewled, “Whyyyyy? I’ve been good?” Toeing his flushed cock, the pathetic thing whimpered and his prick oozed on the marble. You asked, “Tell me why you’re in trouble, My King?”

He swallowed around the collar, doe eyes watery and lashes clumped. Aegon’s cheeks turned red and he barked, “I’m the fucking king, I can say what I like!” You picked up the oak paddle and slapped his soft pooch of a belly, Aegon whining and writhing— the freak spurting more cum, hunching over and wheezing at the pain to his tender tummy.

“If you aren’t going to be my special boy, then I’ll just let you sit here and think about your actions.”

“No! No, I’ll be your special boy. I should not have japed at that squire over dinner.”

You cocked your head and leaned closer, “Why is that hm?”

Aegon sobbed sharply, pouty lips blubbering, “Be-be-because Iburnedhisfamilyscastleafterkinslaying.” You smiled and patted his unruly waves, smiling, “Good boy. The Seven may give you a chance. Probably not because you set your sister and uncle aflame, then proceeded to burn half the kingdom. You should be at the Wall with other war criminals.”

He nodded and cried, spreading his creamy thighs out for you. It was vastly amazing how much Aegon loved to be degraded yet praised. Your special boy. Sliding down the chair you perched on the king’s thighs, cradling his head with your sharp nails. You cooed, “Just needed a guiding hand, look how the kingdom has blossomed since you became my special boy? So pathetic and hopeless. My pretty little baby needs his queen."

He whined, arching into your touch, begging for a kiss. You relented, letting the needy little thing lap and press fervently to your own. He drooled, you wiping it away and taking over the lip lock. Nibbling gently at bitten lips, lapping into a tongue that tasted like sweetened wine. Aegon relaxed into your embrace, leaking all over your thin gown.

He began to rut and rut against your cunt, whining into your kisses. You indulged him until he was swelling and stuttering, backing off and fitting the gold ring around his cock. Aegon wailed and fell back pathetically, the ruined orgasm fucking up his senses.

“Noooo, no, no, I apologized!,” he protested meekly.

Shaking your head you shrugged, “I decide when you are absolved, not a thought in that pretty blonde head. Above men, we are gods, pfft.” He grumbled and squirmed, digging his toes down in frustration.

You returned to play with him, massaging his soft belly while suckling on the tip of his purpling prick, fingers rudely shoved up behind his heavy balls. Aegon moaned and shook, calling your name and begging for release. You drank down his bitter cum, leaking from the attention to his sweet spot from below.

You pulled off to thumb around the crown of his cock, cooing, “Oh you’re so gorgeous. My pathetic, soft little dragon. Feels so so good, yes?” He was practically riding your fingers, shying away from the intensity of the stimulation to his cockhead. The blonde keened, “S’good, g-gonna!” He wailed and thrashed harder, tears streaking a blotchy face. Only a thin stream leaked from his second ruined orgasm.

Aegon was babbling apologies now, promising dresses, jewelry, lands, his heart in a box if he could. It was garbled with his heavy tongue and fervent need. Gibberish really, if one didn’t see this side of their pouty king. What the wretch turned into when denied a good release— a snotty, sobbing, wonderfully broken mess.

He heaved sobs now, oversensitive to even the cool air. But his balls were full and swollen. Patting a limp thigh you asked gently, “Do you want to come now? Inside me? Your punishment is over.” Aegon sniffled, “Please my love.” You would keep the ring on for now but take it off once it didn’t seem he may blow on sight.

Aegon whined high in his chest, more tears falling as you eased onto his plump prick, extra swollen and hot. You gasped and grabbed blonde hair, praising, “Mmm- yes my darling precious boy. Filling your queen up good.”

He groaned and feebly arched, grabbing your tits and holding them as you rode his overused cock. Aegon cried and whined for a suck, you allowing him to take off the shift and shudder as plump lips enveloped your tits. He squirmed and lapped eagerly, loving to have a mouthful of your teats. Especially during that first pregnancy.

You were already close from the intensity of the punishment, swirling fingers around your button while unlatching the gold ring from behind. Aegon’s eyes flew open as he moaned vigorously, balls pumping you full immediately as he writhed around, still attached to your full chest. Your lashes fluttered at the warm feeling, cunt sucking and enjoying the heat, slick, and pressure of so much seed..

Hopefully this would take too. Another little one to dote on. Aegon was full on sobbing now, overwhelmed with emotions. You helped him to sit upright, still inside. He mewled, “S’too much.” You hugged his frame and cooed, pressing little kisses to his tender scars, “It’ll numb out, we want this to take do we not? Be good.”

“M’ still your special boy?,” he asked with reddened eyes.

Petting a full cheek you responded, “Knew whether I liked you or not, you would be. Hush now, relax, we’ll get some dinner and a warm bath my sweet. Tomorrow is a busy day.” He nodded and nuzzled between your tits like a babe. You smirked. Who knew this power could be claimed without bloodshed?

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #Lannister!reader #Aegon ii Targaryen x Lannister!reader #sub!aegon #aegon ii imagine #Aegon ii targaryen x reader

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ninchen1909 · 1 year

Text

The wrong groom

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x female reader

Word count: ~ 2.500

Hey,

this is the first time I write for a Vikings character. Also English isn‘t my first language, so I apologize in advance for possible mistakes.

I hope you have a great day!

Warnings: mention of killing disabled children, mention of alcohol, kind of arranged marriage but also not

"How can you ask this of me father?" you turn to him angrily, your dress swinging elegantly around your body. All of your father's advisors look at the floor, not daring to say a word. Even the priest, who always follows your father like a faithful, obedient dog, stands before you with his head bowed.

"How can you ask me to marry one of these barbarians, they stand for all that we despise. How in God's holy name can you ask me to marry one of these sinners?"

Your face is flushed red with rage, your hands clenched into tight fists. You have always been different from all the other princesses you have known. You never let anyone tell you to shut up and you always stood up for your convictions. At some point your parents realized that they could never chastise you and made a deal with you to control your temper at least in front of visitors and other nobles.

"You must do it my beloved daughter, for our kingdom, for our freedom and for our people."

Tears well up in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you can't quite tell yourself. A few days ago, you were simply the princess of one of the smaller kingdoms in England, never attracting the interest of the Northmen until they suddenly and without warning attacked your city. Half of your army have already been killed and it is almost certain that your city could not withstand another attack.

"But why me father, why not Sophie, you've wanted to marry her off for a long time, she's older and wiser than me." Your tone has by now lost its sharpness, desperation winning out over fear.

"Sophie does not have your strength, my child, she would perish in their world, but you can become stronger in it." The look in your father's eyes becomes softer, you even think you can recognize pity in it.

"Do I even have a chance of getting out of this unmarried?" your father shakes his head, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.

"They are already on their way to us, King Ragnar with his sons and some retainers, we will discuss the details at a feast today."

"May I at least know the name of my intended?" you cross your arms stubbornly in front of your chest, a behavior for which other princesses would have experienced great suffering, but your father has to suppress a smirk.

"Prince Sigurd"

A few hours later, the feast is in full swing, together with your sister, your father, and his closest confidants, you sit on a raised table in the back of the Great Hall.

Your appetite has left after a closer observation of the Nordic table manners. Disgusted, your mouth tightens as you see them talking with their mouths full and not seeming to understand the meaning of cutlery at all. The wine flows in streams and soon you realize that they seem to be able to hold more alcohol than the men in your town.

All evening you feel the eyes of one of Ragnar's sons on you, you know from the description your father gave you of your future husband that it is not Sigurd. Crutches are leaning against the wooden bench next to him and his attentive, alert eyes follow your every move. His dark brown hair, like the hair of the other Northmen is worked into beautiful braided hairstyles. Your father seems to be able to interpret your gaze clearly, as unobtrusively as possible, he leans in your direction and whispers to you:

"This is Ivar, he is the youngest son of Ragnar and according to stories also by far the most bloodthirsty and brutal among the brothers. So stay away from him."

A silent nod is your answer, but to your own dismay, your father's words don't repulse you, but rather make the interest in Ivar grow in you. During the whole time, his ice-blue eyes are constantly directed at you, even when you look directly at him, he does not avert his gaze from you, but gives you an arrogant smile, much to your astonishment.

Throughout the evening, your eyes meet again and again, and each time anew goose bumps cover your body, the dangerous aura that surrounds him captivates you, and as if automatically, your hand finds its way to the cross that hangs around your neck, you clasp it tightly with your fist.

The festivity goes on like all the previous ones. Everyone gets drunk and all the noble, God-fearing men, as time passes and alcohol consumption increases, look for a young woman for the night, who in no way resembles their spouse.

With your father's consent, you get up from the table as inconspicuously as you can and leave the hall almost in a hurry. You hold up the skirt of your dress to get ahead faster and so you walk quickly straight towards the stables.

Your entrance is accompanied by the excited neighing and nervous scraping of hooves as you make your way as quietly as possible to the last stall. In it stands your most faithful friend in the kingdom, the only one you don't have to worry about betraying you. Carefully you push the latch aside and enter the box with slow steps. Dark, loyal eyes beam at you as you lovingly bury the flat of your hand on the snow-white fur.

"Greetings, my old friend," you carefully lean your forehead against his and close your eyes, the smell of fresh hay rising to your nostrils, and for the first time this evening, you seem to be able to breathe properly. You tenderly stroke your horse's nostrils as you hear a steady clacking sound in the front of the stable. With a jerk, you turn around, prepared to spot the potential danger and fight back if necessary.

However, you would never have expected to meet the person who is now standing in front of you. You watch as he moves slowly but smoothly toward one of the hay bales and drops onto it, his crutches leaning next to him within reach. Now he looks at you through his thick lashes. The sky-blue of his eyes makes you shiver pleasantly and for a brief moment you think your legs would give out their service and make you fall uncomfortably to the ground. Quickly you try to hide this.

"What are you doing here my prince, shouldn't you be out in the hall getting drunk with the other men and lusting after the women?"

You yourself are taken aback by your direct words, but you don't let this show. Unlike expected, your words do not make him angry, but rather seem to amuse him. For a short time later, a raucous, throaty laugh fills the stables.

"You're different little raven, aren't you? Most of the other princesses I know are obedient and well-behaved, but you carry the fire of Freya in you." An arrogant but also admiring smile spreads on Ivar's face.

"You are also different from most people I know, because most people I know have two functioning legs and can actually walk of their own free will."

no sooner have you said these words than you regret them. You never wanted to be someone who limited others only to physical attributes. His smile begins to stiffen and the playful spark has also disappeared from his eyes.

"I guess you're right about that little raven" you notice him reach for his crutch and tense his upper body to hoist himself up. You hurry to place a hand on his forearm, an apologetic expression coming to your face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just you they don't get many people like you, most of you are..." you dare not finish the sentence, which Ivar takes from you though.

".... Killed or left for dead. I know."

Under your hand you notice how his muscles relax again and Ivar seems to loosen up again. An uncomfortable silence spreads over you, only the scraping of hooves and the flaring of nostrils can be heard around you.

"You said before that I had the fire of Freya in me."

With a nod, Ivar indicates for you to continue talking.

"Who is Freya?"

a slight smile spreads across his face after your question and he leans a little further towards you.

"One of our goddesses, especially in times of war we think of her and make sacrifices to be in her favor."

"So you're comparing me to a goddess who brings death and disaster to people?"

you raise an eyebrow.

"Believe me that is an honor, she is one of our Most Favored Gods, but if it soothes your Christian heart, she is also the Goddess of Marriage and Love."

Slightly you nod to yourself as you soak up this knowledge.

"You said Freya is one of your gods, who else do you make sacrifices for?"

Ivar looks into your face trying to find some form of dishonesty there, however the only thing Ivar can discern there is genuine curiosity.

Eagerly, you listen to his soothing voice as he tells you about the father of the gods, Odin, Thor, Loki, and all the others gods.

After the feast, King Ragnar has decided to stay with his whole troupe until your and Sigurd's wedding, so that you can then sail back with them to their homeland and a new life.

Against all expectations, you spend most of your time with Ivar instead of your future husband. You realize that none of the stories do justice to Ivar's character, at least not when he is with you. Of course, you recognize his gruff, sometimes even sadistic manner when he is with other people. With you, however, he is tender and attentive, always giving you his complete attention and patiently explaining everything you want to know. He tells you stories of his adventures and of what awaits you in your new home.

With each passing day you notice how your feelings for Ivar increase and your interest in Sigurd decreases until it finally ceases to exist, each day your heart yearns more for the man with the crippled legs. Never does he treat you as if you were beneath him. Every day he tells you stories about his travels, his homeland and his gods and to your own amazement he listens attentively to your stories about your god. After only a few days you realize that his mere presence makes you happy, every day you wake up in anticipation of spending your day with him. And he seems to feel the same way. In all this time Sigurd never once seeks your company, nor does he make any effort to get to know you better. Ivar even more so.

Three days before the wedding you can't take it anymore, you have to stand by your feelings or you will be unhappy for the rest of your life.

With quick steps you make your way to the throne room with one hand grasping the skirt of your dress so as not to trip without knocking you push open the heavy wooden door and look into the astonished faces of your father and King Ragnar.

"Daughter, how dare you..."

"Father, please forgive the intrusion, however, I need to talk to you about something that has been depriving me of sleep for several nights now."

At your words, your father's features soften and his voice loses some of its original sharpness.

"Speak then, my daughter."

"I don't want to marry Sigurd, I don't think we're right for each other either..."

Your father interrupts you, before you can finish your sentence.

“You are going to marry one of King Ragnars sons, that’s not something I’m going to debate with you, daughter.”

“Yes father I know and I’m going to marry one of his sons, just not Sigurd..”

Your father sinks back into his chair, your eyes briefly fall on the King of the Northmen, his bright blue eyes patterning you with interest.

"Why don't you want to marry my son Sigurd, he's a good man".

The Northman squints his eyes slightly, eagerly waiting for your answer.

"I do not question that he is a good man, however I have the impression that we would not be good for each other."

"And why do you think that?"

Ragnar rises from his chair and walks toward you with slow steps, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. Nervousness rises in you, but you try to suppress it with all your might.

"And I want to hear the real reason."

"With all due respect King Ragnar, I am not under the impression that Prince Sigurd is interested in finding a wife and starting a family. Besides, I don't think I have the physical attributes your son desires in a partner."

A smile creeps onto his lips, while your father is shocked and enraged by your bluntness.

“Daughter, how dare you to speak to King Rag..”

“Fair enough…”

The Northman interrupts your father without sparing him so much as a glance.

…..which one of my sons do you want to marry princess (y/n)?“

“Prince Ivar, my king”

The shocked gasp of you father fills the thronroom and even king Ragnar seems surprised by your demand.

“I noticed on our first day here, that you weren’t really found of him, so what changed?”

“That’s true, at first I was scared of him, I heard many stories about how brutal and violent he can be and to be honest I don’t doubt that for a second. But as I spend time with him, he showed me, what I believe is the real him. He is soft and caring with me, he lifts up my spirit every time I see him. And he never gave me the feeling like I was inferior to him because of my gender. He is smart and a excellent strategiest, I wasn’t lucky enough to see him fight so far. But from what I heard, he is a outstanding warrior too. And I would be honored to become his wife.”

After your speech you lower your head slightly, not daring to look at your father, a short but intense silence falls over the three of you. It feels like an eternity, until you hear King Ragnars loud an clear voice.

“Then so be it.”

#ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar x reader #vikings ivar #ivar fluff #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x princess reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #vikings x reader

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its-actually-minicika · 1 year

Text

Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

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