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valeskafics · 5 months

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"I Will Always Find You" - Dark Prince Charming!Aemond Targaryen x Cinderella!Reader

a/n: a little thank you for 9k. love you all so much 🩷

Summary: Aemond falls in love with you, the mystery girl from the ball held in his honor who does not want to be found.

TW: extremely dubious consent, dark/possessive/yandere behavior, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, fingering, oral f receiving, heavy overstim, p in v sex, loss of virginity

Word Count: 3,000 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

When his mother decides that a ball is to be held in order for her second son to find a wife, Aemond is entirely resistant to the idea. He despises balls, the pomp and ceremony of them, having to socialize with people he would never normally speak to, and worse than all of that? The throngs of eligible maidens pawing at him, wanting a dance and a chance at his hand. He finds the whole thing quite droll and stands off to the side, leaning against a wall. He watches as every maiden of noble blood is brought forward to be introduced. Queen Alicent shoots him a sharp glare when he lets out a yawn while conversing with Lady Floris Baratheon, shaking her head at her obstinate son.

Aegon and Daeron snicker at their brother, the former finding his lady wife and escorting her to the dance floor. Meanwhile, Daeron leans in toward his brother, a mischievous grin on his face, as he tells him that he ought to give some of the ladies here a chance, that every beautiful woman in the realm is present and he is an arrogant fool if he does not look with an open mind. Before Aemond can respond, the doors open for a late arrival to the ball.

For you.

And he is enchanted.

You wear a gown of sapphire blue, adorned with crystalline flowers, your hair cascading past your shoulders, moving with you as you walk. You are, without a doubt, the most exquisite woman he has seen in his entire life. His lips part in amazement as you make your way down the stairs. You are not announced, as the heralds have already left. And so, he knows every lady here’s name, save for you. He immediately turns away from Lady Floris and crosses the floor to you. He cannot take his eye away from you.

Aemond bows and you curtsy deeply, smiling up at him softly, “Your Grace.”

The sound of your voice captivates him, so sweet and almost musical.

“My lady…” His voice is soft as well, with something sultry hiding just beneath the surface as he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles over the gloves you wear before leaning in, whispering, “May I have this dance?”

His voice is only audible to you and you reply in a breathless murmur, “Of course, my prince.”

Aemond leads you out onto the dance floor, holding you close to him, leading you in a slow and intimate waltz. His voice is a low, smooth timbre as he whispers in your ear, in truth? It is almost hypnotic.

“You look exquisite.”

You smile at him, a bit shy and a bit hesitant, something that endears you to him all the more, “Thank you very much.”

He pulls you closer, his hand gripping your waist, squeezing ever so gently, “Did you come here in hopes of seeking my favor, sweet lady?”

“Not particularly,” you admit softly, “I… I came to have a night away from my home and my responsibilities. To dance.”

Aemond arches a brow, frowning slightly but speaking with a hint of playfulness in his voice, “You only came to dance? I have trouble imagining a beautiful woman such as yourself coming here, to a ball held for the sole reason for me to find a bride, just to dance.”

You avert your gaze as the dance comes to an end, dipping into a low curtsy, “You ought to dance with one of the other ladies-”

His lips curl into a sly grin as he shakes his head, lifting your chin up so that you meet his gaze once again, “Ah, but I believe I have already found the woman for me. And that woman,” he leans in close to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling your skin, “Is you…”

“I am not suitable to be a bride to a prince, I assure you,” you say, turning to leave the dance floor, only for Aemond to give chase, taking you by the hand, pulling you back toward him.

“And what makes you believe that, my lady?”

“You would not believe me if I told you,” you say, gazing up at him with those eyes that make his heartbeat quicken in his chest, “Please, my prince-”

He glances around before pulling you into a small alcove in the corner of the hall, speaking in a hushed whisper, “I care not if you are not from a great house, or if you have no titles. I have no desire for a woman who is simply beautiful. I know that the woman I have been searching for is the one standing before me right now.”

You shake your head vehemently, “Truly, I am sorry, Your Grace, but it was a mistake agreeing to dance with you. I must go-”

Aemond does not release your arm, his gaze fiery and full of determination, voice steely as he speaks, “I will not be denied what I want. And what I want is you, my lady. I will not let you leave my grasp so easily.”

You surprise him by yanking your arm away and racing down the hallway, away from him. Aemond stands there, shocked as he watches you disappear around the corner, before chasing after you, down the stairs as fast as his legs can carry him. He cannot let you get away, not when he has just found you, the woman of his dreams. He sees you run toward your carriage, stumbling slightly as you lose a shoe. He watches as you turn to retrieve it, only to see him hastily approaching. You leave your shoe there on the stairs before climbing into your carriage, urging the coachman to depart with haste.

“I will find you, my lady,” Aemond calls out, the words sounding more like a threat than a promise as he bends down to pick up the ornate slipper you have left behind, smirking to himself, “I will always find you.”

Prince Aemond is not just a man in love. He is a man obsessed. He vows to do whatever it takes to find you. No maiden he has brought before him has managed to have as perfect a fit with the slipper as you. It is either too big or too small. Not the way it was when you wore it. He spends weeks searching, flying about the kingdoms on dragonback, bringing the slipper to every young lady he sees, demanding they try it on. He uses every resource at his disposal, he does not sleep, he does not eat.

He refuses to do anything but search until he finds you again.

Eventually, his travels bring him to the home of House Tyrell, Highgarden. He recalls the sweet scent of your perfume, like a mixture of roses and lilies and jasmine, and the same scent hits him the moment he steps into the keep. He meets the lady of the house, a stern-looking woman who brings her daughter forward as a contender to try on the slipper. It does not fit her, of course, and Aemond voices his distress with a low growl of frustration. That is when Lady Tyrell mentions another.

A stepdaughter who is in possession of the match to the slipper he holds.

“She is little more than a scullery maid to me,” she says with no little degree of pride, “Since her father passed, she has been of great use to me around the keep, considering we dismissed the staff. Should you promise to arrange an advantageous match for my trueborn daughter, I shall bring Lord Tyrell’s daughter to you.”

Aemond despises this sort of manipulation, and for a moment? He contemplates feeding this woman and her daughter to Vhagar. But, better sense prevails and he nods, giving his word that her daughter will be wed to none other than Jason Lannister, the richest man in the realm. He signs a document stating this with his personal seal, gesturing toward the woman impatiently, wanting her to bring you to him.

He cannot think of anything else but you, his obsession too powerful. You are the only thing the prince desires.

He listens intently as your stepmother leads you down the stairs under false pretenses, claiming that a man has come to discuss the inheritance of your father’s estate. When you see that it is Aemond who stands before you when you reach the foyer, your eyes go wide and you attempt to flee. He manages to grab your arm, his grasp firm but not tight enough to hurt you, pressing himself up against your back and embracing you. His skin is hot and you can practically feel his desire for you, the way he leans in to bury his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply, his hands moving to your waist, caressing your skin. He brings his lips to your ear and whispers.

“The chase is over. You are mine now.”

“Please, my prince,” you plead, gazing up at him, “I do not wish to marry you. I am sure you’ll find a lady far more beautiful, more well-suited-”

He shakes his head, turning you to face him, his gloved hand holding your face in place, squeezing your jaw ever so slightly, “No. I will not. I have no desire for any other woman. You are the only one for me.”

Aemond is determined as he drags you out the door, tossing a sack of gold dragons at your stepmother’s feet. You look to her, pleading for help, but she just waves, a smile of satisfaction on her face. She is finally rid of you. You let out a cry of surprise when you see the massive beast Aemond brought to Highgarden, Vhagar. The mighty war dragon. He whispers something in a foreign tongue unknown to you, which prompts the beast to extend a wing, allowing Aemond to push you along, seating the two of you on her back, commanding that she take to the skies and return to the Red Keep. He ignores your pleas, the look of terror in your eyes as the Reach grows smaller and smaller before completely disappearing from view.

You can feel Aemond’s chest against your back, his cock pressed up against you, making your stomach turn in a way that is not entirely unpleasant. He places his hands on your thighs, squeezing your flesh, resting his chin on your shoulder as he whispers.

“I told you I would find you. And I am not a man who makes promises lightly.”

Your breath catches as his hand moves under the skirt of your dress, cupping your mound, “My prince, I am a maiden…”

He lets out a sharp breath, moving his fingers against you, slow and teasing, a mischievous glimmer in his eye as he pushes one digit inside you, reveling in the little whimper you let out, “We will solve that soon enough.”

Aemond drapes your legs over his, spreading your thighs and giving him better access to your cunt. He begins pumping his finger in and out of you, feeling the way you squeeze around him, how your whole body quivers, your breathing coming out in soft pants as you struggle to hide that you are enjoying what he is doing. He curves his finger, making you let out a soft whine as he begins moving his finger faster and faster.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my love?” Aemond murmurs in your ear, “You would not be so wet, so pliant for me if you were not.”

Your lips part as you attempt to deny his claims only to let out a near squeal as he adds a second finger, making the knot in your stomach tighten. He keeps your legs spread, increasing the speed of his fingers, chuckling as you cry out his name and spill yourself on his fingers.

However, he has no intention of stopping there. Aemond adds a third finger, reveling in the strangled moan you let out as he continues, his thumb rubbing against your pearl, watching your face twist in pleasure, the glassy look in your eyes telling him that there is nothing on your mind but him, his fingers, his touch, how he is making you feel. His lips find your neck, his free hand cupping one of your breasts over the fabric of your gown, squeezing the soft, supple flesh, pinching at your nipple until it pebbles. You can feel your second peak approaching, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as he fills you with three fingers, moving so fast you can hear the wet noises as he moves the digits in and out of you.

“Don’t resist, sweet one,” he whispers in your ear, “You know you want this. To be my wife. For me to claim you as a dragon claims what is his. To take your place by my side and in my bed. To bear my heirs, feel my seed spill inside you and your belly swell, your breasts heavy with milk. You will look so beautiful, sweet girl.”

You close your eyes, feeling his fingers brushing against the spot that brings you the most pleasure, deep inside you, spilling yourself against him once more, your breathing ragged as your head lands against his chest, heat rising to your cheeks, your lips parted. His grip tightens on you in an almost primal way, teeth biting at your neck, wanting nothing more than to mark you as his. He holds you against him, capturing your lips in a searing, intense kiss as he continues moving his fingers in and out of your oversensitized core, your entire body quivering, tears spilling from your eyes at the pleasure and the intensity of its onslaught.

“Please, my prince, no more…”

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver up your spine, moaning in your ear, “Just relax, sweet girl.”

You squirm against his fingers, but he holds you in place, moving faster and faster, feeling you squeezing his fingers tight, the wanton cry of his name you let out as you reach your peak once more sounding like music to his ears. He turns you over, staring down at you as a hungry lion stares down a gazelle, licking his lips before lifting your skirt. You stare up at him, trying to close your legs, the sound of the wind roaring around you, Vhagar’s low grumbles reminding you of the precariousness of your situation.

And in a sick, sick way, it thrills you.

He brings you to your peak once more, leaving you speechless as he replaces his mouth with his fingers, making you let out a gasp as his tongue moves in and out of your core, the sensation driving you nearly mad. He gazes up at you, holding your knees apart, lapping at your folds eagerly. With how sensitive you are, it takes precious little for him to make you peak again, the lewd noises and moans he makes as he devours you making the experience all the more sensual. He chuckles, nipping at your thigh before wrapping his lips around your swollen pearl. You whine pathetically, hips bucking up against him as he holds you in place, suckling at the sensitive nub, pumping his fingers in and out of you once again. It is almost too much to bear. He looks up at you, seeing the way your eyes have gone glassy, your face twisted in ecstasy. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen as you reach your peak once more.

And when he joins your bodies, it feels like everything has fallen into place. He feels you squeezing around him, your sweet face gazing up at him, eyes glossy with tears. He presses his lips to yours, a heated kiss that is anything but chaste as he ruts his hips against you. You feel him splitting you open, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back, that has you seeing stars and thinking of nothing but his name.

“You’re mine forever now, my sweet wife,” he rasps against your ear, voice husky as he pounds into you, moaning as your walls hug him tightly, “So perfect for me, going to spill my seed inside you. Watch you grow fat with my babe and fuck another one into you. Going to breed my sweet little wife till she’s completely full of me.”

He smirks down at you as you cling to him, your hair matted to your head as you mewl his name. This is everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed.

And though you hate yourself for it, you find yourself craving his touch, his love. No matter how dark, how obsessive. He terrifies you and thrills you all at once as you reach your peak around him once more, allowing him to fuck you through it as he chases his own, his thumb moving to circle your pearl, coaxing yet another climax from you. Words escape you as you gaze up at him, listening to his vows of devotion.

“I love you, sweet girl. No one will ever mistreat you. You will be my princess, my wife, the mother of my children. And one day, you will be a queen. I will never let another man touch you, I will rip the eyes out of any man who dares look at you.” He punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips, his stones tightening as he growls, “You. Are. Mine.”

Aemond spills himself deep inside you with a shuddering moan, feeling you reach your own peak as you squeeze him tight once more. He pulls you into his arms, continuing your flight through the skies. Your eyes start to flutter shut, tired from your heated encounter.

That is until he speaks once more.

“And do not bother trying to run. I will always find you. I promise you that.”

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raynecreates · 3 months

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#geraskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher netflix #the witcher au #fairytale au

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clairebearsparkles · 8 months

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Frog Prince au, based on a short conversation I had with some folks 🐸👑

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 2 months

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My little winter rose (Aemond Targaryen x Little red riding hood!Reader)

synopsis: On your way to visit your grandmother, you meet a handsome stranger that points you towards some lovely flowers. Little do you know what else that aquaintance holds in store for you...

warnings: slight dubcon, p in v sex, mention of severed body parts, afab reader

word count: 2.3k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the wonderful @slytherincursebreaker for requesting this piece. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it!<3

Dividers by @valeskafics

For as long as you were old enough to roam around Winterfell and the surrounding woods, you heard the same thing every time. "Beware of the one-eyed beast in the woods" or some form of that sentence. You knew it by heart, saying it along every time it was spoken. Yet you had never seen a beast, no matter how often you wandered through the trees you called your second home. However, it also led to you becoming less watchful every time, thus not noticing how the so proclaimed one eyed beast very much saw you. Grew taller as you did with age until he towered over you easily, his mind darkening with thoughts as yours brightened with entirely different ideas. Going unnoticed day after day after day. Another institution set in place that you remember ever since you could think was a group of hunters going out every night. Their torches burning like the fear in their hearts, sharp swords, spears and weapons of any kind held close to their bodies that would always return marred. Sometimes you would hear rumours that people that died at an earlier date were taken by the beast while hunting for it alone.

You understood all of it, though that didn't mean you liked it. The sight of the hunters was one you hated. It was a surprise that with their viciousness the "beast didn't las out more or come closer to the village. Not even all the understanding of the human mind in the world could have saved you from hating the head of the hunters with a passion that burned even brighter than any fire ever could. Howland Reed and his relentless pursuit of trying to win over your affection by bragging about hunts long over and how well equipped he was to hunt the one-eyed.

"Red! Where are you off to?" He yells from a distance to stop you, as he trots over to you. Cursing him out in your mind in return, you oblige and wait for him to catch up with you, putting a smile on your face as you did so. Even the nickname everyone called you due to the red cloak you wore at every given time, sounded so gross from his lips you wanted to puke. "Oh, I am merely off for a visit to my grandmother." You chirp in the politest tone you could muster.

“Well, how lucky I must be to catch you then? You see, I just had some modifications done to keep you safe better.” He presents you with one of his hands and you see exactly what modifications he talked about. His nails had been filed into sharp points and seemingly coated with silver to harden them, just like claws. The pride in his face makes it hard for the polit mask to stay on yours.

“Say, Howland.” You take a deep breath in to keep it together as you speak. “I have been wondering something lately. Mayhaps you will be able to answer the question.”

“Ask me anything you wish and rest assured that the smartest man around will surely give you an answer.” He makes it so hard not to throw up right then and there.

“You are too kind. Now my question is, if you are as smart and strong and skilled in hunting as you proclaim… How come that one-eyed beast has not been slain yet?” You don´t stay to hear his answer, instead you hide a giggle behind your hand and go off on your merry way.

With the light of the early afternoon sun in the sky you have little concerns or cares about the safety of the forest. Humming the sweet tune of a song that you had often sung with your grandmother when you were younger, you skip along the way.

The deeper you get into the wood, the colder it gets and so, while you wrap yourself tighter into the red cloak, you almost run into what you at first think is a tree. As it turns out it is another human, a man and a tall one at that. His silver hair reaches down to the middle of his back, covering one of his eyes and the other you are sure shone in a pretty lavender hue once. If it did it had since dulled to a darker tone. The creases in the pale skin on his face speak volumes on how hard his life must have been. Yet when he looks down to meet your eyes, there is a charming smile set in place.

“My apologies, ser. I should have watched my steps.” You apologize before he even opens his mouth, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes he had ever seen.

“Oh no, by all means, I am the one that has to apologise. You are not the only one that should have watched where they were going.” The beautiful stranger replies in a velvety smooth voice.

"Please, I insist. If I would have stopped for a moment, I would not have run into you." You reiterate. "Alright." The stranger lifts his hands in mock surrender. "May I ask where a young maiden like you is headed? All alone in these big woods." "Well, for one I am not alone. Clearly." You go to answer with a waggish smile. His grin widens in response and his voice deepens for a moment as he speaks. "I would not be so sure that is such a good thing." His words hold a sense of warning that you swiftly ignore to tell him where you were going. "I am on my way to see my dear grandmother. She lives not far from here."

"My, what a sweet girl you are. Your grandmother can count herself lucky to have you." You hadn't even noticed so far, but when he continued speaking his voice registers almost right beside your ear. "If you want to bring her some flowers, the winter roses are blooming beautifully not too far from here in that direction."

You follow his finger with your eyes, to see that it isn't that much of a detour.

"I will be going right away. Thank you, kind stranger." You turn your head back to him.

"Oh no, I have to thank you." He murmurs. “And you may call me Aemond.”

“Aemond…” you test the way the blonds name rolls off your tongue and then let your smile widen as you give him your name.

You happily skip along the way, giving him no chance for further conversations as you only turn once more to wave him farewell.

While you busy yourself with making the most beautiful bouquet of winter roses and greenery, Aemond goes off with a new plan in mind to finally get you.

The task takes you longer than you would have thought and so the sun stands high in the sky when you continue the way to your grandmother's house. It begins to grow dark when you arrive at the small house in the middle of the woods, so it is no wonder you find your grandmother asleep in her bed.

Gently you shake her awake by the arm. “Grandmother, are you well? I came to visit you." "My sweet girl, is it really you?" The old woman's voice sounds different than normal, though you can't quite put your fingers on the exact way it does. "It is. I brought you some flowers and a cake I baked." You set down the flowers in a vase on the bed side table and sit on the edge of the mattress beside her. "Oh, you are so good to me. Come, lay down. You came all this way and I could not possibly send you home in the darkness." Without any questions you obey her, pulling off the cape and dress until you are only left in your small clothes. Through the thin fabric the cold air makes your nipples harden and so you hurry to climb underneath the blanket.

Once in bed, you notice the long scar over the left side of her face, with the eye seemingly missing entirely. “Grandmother, what happened to your eye?” The words come out dripping with uncertainty.

“Bad men took it, but you need not worry about it. They are not able to hurt anyone anymore now.” The answer does little to quell the questions on your mind.

"My, what big hands you have, Grandmother?" You continue questioning.

"All the better to hug you." Comes the quick explanation.

"And what sharp teeth you have..." Your skin begins to prickle and the air becomes harder to breathe. Something in the way your grandmother pauses before answering, makes the hair on your neck stand up. Too late to react, as you get pinned to the mattress with surprising strength.

"All the better to eat you!" With a swoosh the blanket and who you thought was your grandmother's clothes get ripped away, to reveal Aemond sitting on top of you.

He grabs your shift and easily rips the fabric off your body, leaving you gasping, wide eyed and unable to cover yourself as he still pins your wrists above your head with one if his large, strong hands.

The cold air, that streams in through the cracks in the window frame, has your nipples harden even further, until they stand painfully against the heat of your admirers’ chest. Instinctively you lean further into him to catch more of his warmth. Aemonds hard cock presses between your folds, twitching against your entrance, to collect some of the juices that flowed between your thighs.

“Will you be a good girl if I let you go now?” He growls lowly into your ear, eliciting a quiet but eager nod from you.

Slowly the pressure around your wrists vanishes to come down to hold you by the hips. Aemond leans down to capture your lips with his. The slow, but nonetheless passionate nipping at each other’s mouths gives the perfect way for him to express every last bit of longing and yearning that had coursed through the blond’s body ever since he first laid his eye on you. The kiss deflects your attention from the way Aemond rubs his erection against your dripping centre until he has buried himself entirely in it. His tip nearly kisses your cervix and the way your cunt adjusts to his form makes your entire nervous system burst into flames. The flames lick only higher as Aemond absolutely ravages you, rutting into you with inhumane pace and without abandon. It seems he fucks deeper into your tight channel with every thrust, that is accompanied by breathily whispered praise of how long he had waited for this moment and how well you took him. Every once in a while, when a pained whimper leaves your lungs, he kisses your forehead, rubs a few circles with his thumbs into your hipbone and shushes you in the most loving tone anyone had ever used on you beside your family. Yet Aemond doesn´t slow down. Not until you are first to reach your peak and he had made sure to shoot his seed so deep into your core it was sure to take.

Aemond slides out of your sensitive cunt and sits back to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” he inquires short of breath.

“I am. Perhaps I will be a bit sore for the next few days.” You jested back with a raw voice.

“Ah, my apologies. I simply found myself unable to hold back any longer. I have been watching you for so long, my little winter rose. Imagining how it would be to touch you, to claim you, to finally take you as my wife in the face of the seven…” The one-eyed man sheepishly rubs his neck as he confesses to his desires.

Desires that make your face feel like it is on fire once more and your brain is entirely empty. “Is that the truth?”

“I could never lie to you about the graveness of my affections towards you.” Gently, Aemond takes one of your hands into his and presses a kiss to the palm of it.

“Oh, Aemond…” You melt at the show of affection. “I wished nothing more than to be able to be with you for the rest of our days, but I fear it is not possible. For my parents have already promised me to another.”

“Worry not. I have already taken care of that.” The blond stands up to offer his solution to the issue. A severed hand lands between your legs on the bed.

You gasp and raise your eyebrows, but before any question can claw its way out of your lungs, the sharpened silver nails catch your attention. It was Howlands hand that lay there presented to you as if it was a trophy. However, it does not disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you feel strangely appreciated, that someone would go so far as to secure you being with them.

“How dare that son of a whore go after my wife.” Aemond growls and his forehead lays into deep creases.

Careful not to kick around the severed body part, you stand up as well now, stalking over to Aemond on mildly trembling legs. When you reach him one hand goes to his shoulder for stability and the other rises to his face to run the thumb over the space between his eyebrows until it is even again.

“There is no reason to get angry about him anymore. My heart never belonged to him, but it will forever belong to you.” The two of you share one more kiss. This one much more slow, but just as emotional, to seal your future together.

#aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd x reader #hotd x you #fairytale au #little red riding hood au

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by-saiyuri · 1 month

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a piece for a little au snippet I posted on twitter

bedtime stories

#genshin impact #tartali #zhongli #tartaglia #fairytale au #a dragon and a dragonslayer but they grow fond of each other #oh no #I skipped all of the bonding and went straight to the angst-implied ending #like they spent months in each other's company

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

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Sapsorrow Chapter 4

Series Masterlist here, Main Masterlist here.

Word Count: 5,917

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope. Slow-slow-slow burn. Series Inspiration link: The Storyteller Episode 8

Song Suggestion: Harry and Hermione - Je Suis Parte

(Image Source: Here)

Although the words spoken to him through the den-den-mushi were what he truly needed to hear, Dracule Mihawk couldn’t help the small quake in his fingertips. He shut his eyes, focussing on the words spoken through the distortion in the earpiece, the purr of his crocodilian acquaintance rumbling with his raspy vocals.

“Dracule, I have the moon for you.”

“Swordsman,” the voice uttered with a small jesting lilt in his tone, “Did you not hear me, or are you actively choosing to not respond?” Mihawk’s eyes widened, his chest becoming tight while his heart choked within his ribcage.

Mihawk drew in a lengthy breath through his nose, attempting to stifle his anxiety through a brief meditation. Upon refocusing, he opened his amber eyes and fixed his reduced pupils down onto the parchment in front of him.

“And it’s-,” his voice halted in his throat, feeling the familiar strangulation of pressure on his heart, “-it’s to the appropriate specifications? It’s a dress that is as radiant as the moon? A dress that glows with a hue so majestic, it eclipses all else with its mastery?”

“Mihawk. Calm yourself,” the cold bark of the Crocodile ordered him, “I know what I risk if I am negligent to follow through with your exact words. Rest assured-,” a rumbled chuckle erupted from the Crocodile, “-I aim to collect a debt of equal value in return. Of what, I am yet to determine. What would equate to your life, hm?”

Mihawk sucked in another exasperated breath through his nose, opting to not grace his acquaintance with a response.

“Judging from your engagement announcement; she is very easy on the eyes,” Crocodile complimented, sucking in another deep breath of smoke from his thick cigar, “Perhaps I should claim the right of Prima Nocta with your bride on your wedding night-.”

“-You are no longer a Warlord, Crocodile,” Mihawk’s tone cut through the air like a guillotine decapitating Crocodile’s words where they stood. Sir Crocodile allowed another sinister chuckle to rise throughout the phone in response, to which Mihawk’s frown deepened as his words began to sizzle as acid through cloth, “You would have no such right for that act, nor would I ever permit you to touch her at the risk of losing your other hand.” After a momentary pause, Sir Crocodile responded to Mihawk's words of warning.

“I will spend some time mulling over my payment,” Crocodile’s smirk was tangible through the vocal distortion. Mihawk could almost taste the flavor of Crocodile’s lit cigar blowing tufts of nicotine-laden smoke through the earpiece of the den-den-mushi; all sour, strangling and as sharp as the golden hook adorning his left wrist.

“You will have your payment, Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly spat into the microphone, his lip curling upwards into a snarl, “You may ask anything of me, but you will leave my bride out of the equation.”

At that, the hum of contemplation fell into the earpiece of the den-den-mushi before the receiver went dead; call concluded at the singular hand of the Crocodile. Mihawk sighed, feeling lighter in his chest, but continuing to hold such grappling urgency over him.

Time was running out, he could feel the clawing at his chest. The cruel teeth of fate continued to sink into his soul, his mortality tested under the curse of the Sapsorrow ring. He reached into his desk, removing a leatherbound book and running his palms over the emerald cover. The golden inked title set in wax remained slightly elevated, its ridges brushing against his fingertips. He opened to its latest tabbed page, the golden streak of ribbon pulled from the fold and his mind welcomed the words and committed their prose to memory.

“Two were forged, Two were made, One was lost, One was saved,” He muttered aloud, “Two were gifted, One was lifted-,” he narrowed his yellow eyes, unblinking at the final depiction on the page, “-The last not cast in molten bone; but lay dormant and waiting in moss-coloured stone.”

He heard the echoing voice of Shank’s laughter in his mind, recalling his light-hearted warning: “Mihawk, you should’ve cast the cursed thing into the seas. Mine was at least swallowed by the sea-beast while I protected the boy.” Shaking his head and focussing down at the words, he skimmed the pages bringing him to the final chapter.

He closed his eyes, his mind becoming overwhelmed with the thoughts and conversations engaged with you, his governess; who was called as an aid and subordinate to rear his wards with skill and eloquence required to steer them into the correct path.

“These rings were made specifically to hold a particular covenant, none were the same,” your voice echoed in his mind, his brow continuing to lower as his anger rose, “each attuned specifically to the individual who purchased or claimed it. Why would you have such a thing, my lord? You do not seem the type to desire marriage or courtship.”

He snapped his eyes open, recalling how your lips brushed the band of the ring as you laid out your impossible demands for him to follow. He remembered the shock in your face at the knowledge he had one of the objects, the information you poured out regarding your memory of several others of its likeness. What else did you know? Did you know that should he not follow your requests, his soul would be claimed by the haunted specter of the Sapsorrow Queen?

Suddenly his chest was rid of the anxiety he felt earlier, no longer fearing the haunt at the completion of the initial request. In its stead was the rise of anger and fury, his body rigid and tense with a violent rage.

What more did you know? Why were you doing this to him? Why had you felt the need of punishing him, torturing his mortal soul in such a way? Did it bring you some sick and sadistic joy to know you had such a hold over him, your employer? These questions spiraled within his mind, his existentialism holding on by a thread as he focussed on your face.

No. No, that was not you. He saw your eyes filled with deep kindness and compassion; pools within flooded with apprehension and hesitancy; perhaps holding a crisis within your own soul. Why did you not tell him what you knew already? Why would you not trust him with such a departure of knowledge? His thoughts continued to whirl within his cocktail of murky thoughts.

If you were not going to disclose such information to the lord of Kuraigana; perhaps he could try his might at pulling truth from your lips as a simple Farm-Hand.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

A gentle rap of the joint of a knuckle colliding with your wooden door arose you from your dreamless slumber; a welcome experience considering the thoughts that plagued you of late. You immediately hoisted yourself up from your bed, wrapping your negligee around your chemise and feet slotting easily into your slippers.

Upon arriving and opening you wooden door by all but an inch, your eyes were immediately greeted by the sight of fresh flowers. Vines of sweet jasmine, sprigs of pastel lavender flowers and the deep magenta and lilac trumpets of morning glory were interwoven within the small, wild small, blue flowers: held together by a woven string of hessian and twine.

“Lost-Lady,” the voice uttered in a hushed tone, “I have brought your flowers.” A warm smile rose to bless your cheeks at witnessing such a presentation of florals, although confusion eclipsed over its growing trajectory.

“Farm-Hand,” you paused, your voice holding a firm warning within it, “You have caught me once more in my nightdress, although this time it seems almost intentional.” The man hidden behind the flowers chuckled slightly, although masking it with a small, dry cough. You shook your head at him, looking at the collection he held before you and tilting your head to the side.

“Where do the grounds grow lavender?” you quizzed him. The more you peered into the arrangement he laid in front of you, the more perplexed you became, “And where are there fields of myosotis alpestris’? I’ve promenaded the grounds with Perona often enough at this stage, and I am yet to see any.”

“I scaled a wall for them,” the man stated, as offhanded and nonchalant as one could possibly muster. You rolled your eyes at his confession, but before you could utter another quip; he interrupted your thoughts, “Would you like to see it?” A small air of thickened silence fell between you in the doorframe. Should he have viewed your expression, he may have seen your smile falter into momentary anger at such a suggestion.

“I am betrothed,” your warning tone remaining held within your cadence, “Whether I truly desired the unity or not, I find myself betrothed regardless. It is not an appropriate suggestion, sir. Particularly not at this hour.” The man behind the flowers sighed a sharp and exasperated breath, almost airing on frustration.

“I have acquired adequate permission from the lord of Kuraigana,” He huffed out in a dismissive tone. He straightened his shoulders, the flowers in his hands dropping for you to almost meet his eyes beneath the straw hat atop his head. You swore you saw two amber irises staring back at you beneath its broad brim, akin to your liege.

You took a moment to study him: his head covered with a wide, straw hat and his nose and lips concealed with a pale piece of cloth. The shirt he was wearing was beige, lengthy sleeves pooling at his wrists after ballooning out at the elbows. He was adorning tan pants, dark leather boots hidden beneath the ankle line.

His lips shifted beneath the fabric atop his face to either smile or grimace at you while he watched your eyes dance in deep thought. Choosing the kinder of the two options regarding that small shift in fabric, you opened the door fully to him and stepping aside to allow him entrance into your bedchambers.

“I will replace your flowers while you change,” he declared, gesturing for you to retreat into your changing screen, “I would suggest you wear trousers and a blouse.” Your brows fell into a confused frown while you pursed your lips at the suggestion. Opting to do as you were directed, you hastily removed your sleep clothes behind the screen and found some tan coloured pants and a white blouse.

After placing the items atop your body, you revealed yourself to the man you knew as Farm-Hand. Opting to ignore his stare, you elevated one of your feet atop the wooden chest at the end of your bed and hiked a sock over your foot and inched it slowly up your calf. The small snap of elastic meeting skin sliced through the air before you rotated your feet and raked the cotton material over your other foot.

“Where are we going?” you asked him over your shoulder, placing your feet back firmly onto the ground before finding leather boots beneath your bed, “I need to be back to begin lessons with Perona after the morning meal-.”

“-The lord of Kuraigana has dismissed all lessons today,” he uttered in return, prompting you to twist your head immediately to meet his covered face. You placed your feet in your boots and hastily walked over to meet with him, a strict dominance and challenge swelling in your heart at such an order.

“Why would lord Mihawk dismiss my lessons with my-... -our wards?” you asked him, this time there was no doubt that his eyes were indeed a similar hue to your boss. He closed his eyes, the corners of his darkened eyelashes bunching in aggravation before reopening them once more to meet yours. Softness. Such deep and somber softness falling over this Farm-Hand as he gazed into your eyes.

“He-,” his voice fluttered and choked around the words, “-He desired for you to be relaxed for the evening that is to come,” his yellow gaze searched your face, darting from focussing on each of your eyes and looking over your parted lips before rising back to your intense irises.

“He wanted you to have a day for only yourself, while he had the manor made ready for the celebration tonight. Your engagement tonight,” he confirmed with a curt nod, “Hence the flowers, and the suggestion to see more of the grounds while the decorations were laid and placed.”

You shook your head at his words, sighing out a defeated air from your lungs as you huffed out an exasperated breath, “Show me then, Farm-Hand.” You collected your sun hat from its place on the vanity and fastened it to your head as you gestured him onwards.

“As you wish it, Lost-Lady,” he spoke in return, holding the crook of his left elbow for you to lace your arm into. You paused for a moment before reaching out and weaving your arm within his and allowing him to chaperone you throughout the grounds.

Upon exiting the cobblestone walls and polished marble within the manor walls, you noticed the hum of hushed excitement from the staff who dared be awake and buzzing at this hour. The buzz would halt as you sauntered past the ladies in waiting and the footmen, noting they splayed themselves against the walls and nodded to you within the arm of the Farm-Hand; a nod to which you and the man at your side returned yourselves.

The day was barely broken in by the morning call of crows and ravens, their serenade yet to be sung while dew clung to the crystalline grass in the fields below. Upon the vines hung an assortment of dark crimson fruit in several rows, but the prominent percentage were amber-coloured grapes of larger stature.

“Farm-Hand?” you asked the man beside you, angling your eyes up to him and away from the meadows that were displayed in front of you. He nodded with his response of, “Lost-Lady?” You continued to permit him to guide you through the grounds and along a forgotten track. The willow trees brushed their hanging vines against your shoulders in a slow caress as Farm-Hand moved their curtain away and chaperoned you through their shield.

“This is not a well-beaten track,” you laughed, prompting him to chuckle at your comment, “You made this journey this morning? In the dark?” He unlaced his hand from yours as he first stepped down a rocky incline, offering his hand out in an invitation for you to use him to steady yourself.

“That I did,” he admitted. You placed your hand within his, allowing him to guide you along the stones that wobbled beneath your feet. A small, childish giggle threatened to spill from your lips as you stumbled your footing on the rocks. You allowed yourself to lean further against his arm for balance, noticing he wove himself closer to you to shepherd you to safety.

“What a strange thing to do at such an hour,” you again almost giggled as you took a small pause in your movements to steady yourself against him, “Do you not sleep?” He sucked in a small breath from behind the material of his mask, his hat doing little to conceal his surprise.

“I have had much to ponder of late,” his tone holding a slight sassiness to it you were not expecting from someone in servitude.

“And what does a Farm-Hand have to ponder, hm?” you sassed back, eyes narrow and lips in a playful smirk. His honey-coloured eyes widened at your return of attitude before looking down to where your hands were still joined at the palms.

“Everything,” he uttered bringing his unoccupied hand to cover your knuckles and soothed over the skin with his thumb, “One which perplexes me is the curse of the Sapsorrow Queen.” He released your hand from within his and continued to guide you off the beaten track and into the unknown; the wall of the keep continuing to hold you within its guarded safety.

“I see,” you nodded, brows furrowing at the thought, “I’m sure it would be quite the buzz amongst the staff. I can already hear it myself: The lord of Kuraigana accidentally engaging himself with someone so low-”

“-Do not dare to do yourself the disservice of calling yourself low,” he spat in a gruff tone, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes, “I have-... -Lord Mihawk has always held you in the highest regard.” You halted your steps, taken aback at the statement, before again stuttering your footing forward to follow Farm-Hand closer to the edge of the wall.

“Forgive me for offending you,” you offered your apology to him in a hushed whisper, following behind him dutifully. He laughed heartily at that comment, the cloth covering his face doing a poor job at stifling his joy.

“Oh, my lady,” he turned back to face you once more and offered you his hand to guide you up the small incline of grass and dew, “you can make it up to me by aiding my bewilderment.” You smiled softly at him, taking his hand once more and allowing him to tug you as you stepped up the side of the hill. You were ever thankful you paid mind to his warning of wearing trousers as the mud from your boots sprayed their hem with its sludge.

“I will try as I might, Farm-Hand,” you smiled before your eyes widened in partial panic at the small slip of your boot. Immediately, the man above you reached down and grasped beneath your arms and hoisted you up to the top of the hill. He fell his hands to your waist as you steadied yourself atop the ground. You finally allowed a small giggle to spill from your lips at this motion, placing your hands on his wrists and gently prying his hands away from you.

“This is a fair hike,” you confirmed with him, “I haven’t been on its equal since childhood. The grounds here are beautiful.” You turned to glance at the distance you’d covered, only barely making out the manor from the great distance.

“Allow me the luxury of taking you higher,” Farm-Hand again smirked his hidden lips at you, voice dripping with arrogant sass as he gestured to the wall beside you. Your eyes widened at the height of such a wall, looking to the cobblestones protruding from the ridge in cement.

“I am assuming there are some stairs closeby,” you asked him your pointed question, arching up your brow at his suggestion. He again dryly chuckled at your statement, shaking his head.

“But where would be the challenge in that?” his tone sassed within his hidden lips, prompting you to shake your head at him.You looked around at the wide wall, starting at the lowest lows before reaching to the heights above.

“Are you expecting me to climb, Farm-Hand?” you shook your head at him, turning your gaze back towards him and noticed he had rolled his long pale sleeves up to the elbow, and was now shifting his pants to tuck their ankles into his leather boots.

“I have had the challenge placed on me to bring you to the wall and show you where I collected your flowers,” he informed you, standing to meet your gaze, “And while you’re clinging to me, perhaps you could inform me all you know about the Sapsorrow curse?” You gasped at him, gawking as he gestured for you to walk over to him and bring yourself beside him. He readied himself by tying a dual-knotted rope, two loops within its length.

“Who challenged you to do such a thing?” you narrowed your eyes, suspicion overtaking you as you drew yourself behind the Farm-Hand.

“You did, when you told me to show you,” he sassed, his eyebrow arching up as you apprehensively placed your hands onto his shoulders. He flung the rope into the air, the circlets falling over your heads, down your torso and halting at your hips as he pulled sharply on the end. You immediately became flush beside him and watched as he flung the end over a loop at the top of the wall, collecting the descending length back into his hand with a quick catch.

“You’ve done this before,” you smirked at him, eyes raking over his face with suggestive challenge laced within your tone.

He stooped down to you, the brims of your hats touching as he cooed down in a mocking tone, “I did this, this morning.”

You laughed, slapping his chest and mirrored his foot pressing against the wall. He began stepping his hands within the grasp of the rope, levering you towards the top of the wall and walking his feet against the stone ever so often to balance against it. You began to feel a little helpless as he hoisted you both upwards, a small air of panic rising in your chest the further you rose from the ground.

“Whatever you are thinking, don’t,” He commented, his voice remaining steady as he continued flexing his arms and elevating you towards the top of the large wall, “I won’t let you fall, nor am I bothered by your presence beside me.”

“Are you sure? My additional weight is-,” you began, only to have his sharp reprimand catch you off guard with his tone.

“-You are perfect as you are, and not encumbering me in the slightest,” he warned you. As a small display of his words, he looped his right arm within the rope and let go with his left. Looking directly into your eyes, he jumped his right hand upwards. He was jolting the two of you in a slower rise, but raising you all the same with only one arm.

“Shall I keep doing it this way, or would you prefer it to be smoother, Lost-Lady?” He taunted you, keeping his eyes boring into yours with an intense sassiness.

“Smoother is preferable,” you lulled your head to the side, rolling your eyes at this arrogant display, “But if you are not done with your peacocking; by all means, continue.”

“As you wish, Lost-Lady,” he smirked, bringing his left hand back up to the rope and smoothing out the elevation between you, “Now, tell me about-.”

“-The Sapsorrow Rings? Yes. I can tangibly feel how interested you are in my knowledge on the matter, Farm-Hand,” you taunted him, again rolling your eyes at him. He growled lowly at you, but elected to say nothing as you approached the top of the wall. He wrapped his left arm around your waist, placing his right hand against the flat of the top and pushed upwards with his forearm. He ensured your safety first, placing you against the stone base and then falling himself beside you.

Dangling your legs off the ledge, you were overwhelmed by the sights laid out before you. Beholding the entirety of the keep belonging to your betrothed, you could see everything from here. The Manor, the vineyards with their white rose markers, the barrel room with steel vats, the hedge-end mazes and checkered flooring, the courtyards and workers frolicking - everything.

“Turn around,” Farm-Hand commanded you with a soft tone. You felt his fingertips graze your chin, turning you to view a sight held completely secret and secluded from the rest of Kuraigana’s lands. This view had no equal; the expanding variety of flowers spanning the area was breathtaking. Some were wild, some were painstakingly cared for with hard work and persistence. Rivers of coloured petals and softened greens peppered the area, a small hanging swing fell from a heavy branch of a purple Jacaranda tree.

Your jaw slackened, looking to the small field of blue stemmed flowers, to the back of the assortment.

“You found the myosotis alpestris’?” Farm-Hand’s tone smiled at you. Without uttering a word, you slowly nodded your head, allowing your jaw to remain slackened at the sights.

It was beautiful. Everything was so beautiful, and so private. Secluded, separate - secret.

“Did you hear the legend of how they got their common name?” He brushed his index finger over your jaw towards your ear, tucking a loose strand behind it before moving down to begin unloosening the knots at your waists.

“It was said there was a knight who died on the quest to retrieve the blue flowers for his lover the night before they announced their intention to wed,” he continued picking at the knots to loosen them at your hip, “He called out with his final breath: ‘forget me not’ as he perished on the field, the blue flowers fisted in his palm.”

“What a horrible story,” you whispered, still not baring to take your eyes away from the enchantment below you. The shrouded man beside you chuckled at your candor, finally releasing the rope from the both of you and rolling it within his palm and forearm.

“A fitting flower for you, considering your predicament,” he smiled with his voice, nudging you with his shoulder. You finally broke free from the enchantment at that nudge, nudging him in return with your own shoulder. “Speaking on legends of old-,” he began, before you immediately elevated your tone above his.

“-Sapsorrow, I know. I did give you my word,” you sighed, a final small nudge of your shoulder brushing with his and a small smile later; you apprehensively began to relay your knowledge onto your new friend.

“I didn’t know there were ten of them, nor there was poetry crafted for them,” you shrugged your shoulders, “My betrothed was kind enough to inform me the warlords and higher ups in the world government had them, although I had my suspicions there were more than one in the midst.” You sucked in a deep breath of air before hissing it out.

“The only mention I had heard was a story from my childhood. My father-,” your words choked in your throat, causing you a small rise in bittersweet melancholy at the memories, “...-My father used to read it to me. A funny tale, if not for its tragic origins. I adored the happy ending the most, but the beginning? That is what held my attention: probably why I made the insidious requests. Very self-indulgent, in that regard.”

Farm-Hand chuckled at your side, urging you to keep relaying your thoughts.

“Sapsorrow, as she was known, was cursed to marry her father by placing a hereditary ring onto her unity finger - much akin to how I placed this,” you looked down at the green gemmed ring sparkling up at you, “on my own. Her father was widowed, like my own. She didn’t realize the moment she placed it on her finger, she was set to marry the ruling monarch in that area: her father.”

You shuddered at the thought, a smile rising to your lips as you heard your own father’s voice retelling the story with the vocal emphasis on each of the elements. He was such a wonderful storyteller, you could hear him talk for hours on end and never tire.

“So what does she do? She makes it impossible for them to wed. She cannot marry her father, of course she cannot,” passion elevated in your voice, hearing the way your own father spoke the prose with enthusiasm, “but she also cannot dishonor the king, nor oppose the law. As each task grew more and more impossible, she forms a plan to escape from her kingdom and away from her destiny.”

Mihawk’s voice hitched in his throat, the material almost shifting from his nose and revealing his face to her at the notion. You continued to relay the fantastical tale of woe and romance, Sapsorrow being championed now as a servant to a prince.

“So as the tale progresses; Princess Sapsorrow meets a prince and woos him with the three dresses she commissioned her father to make for her. They fall in love twice: her as his servant, and her as the princess-.” Farm-Boy leaned into you, halting your words with his voice overlapping your own.

“-Are you going to run?” He asked you suddenly, “Will you run from me-... -from Mihawk?” He quickly corrected himself, a momentary lapse he prayed you did not catch. You sighed, closing your eyes and taking a moment to collect yourself. You then allowed yourself another moment to look at the garden below you, you breathed in their deep and complex smell of deep florals and spiced undertones.

“To be candid with you, Farm-Hand,” you confessed in a voice above a whisper, “I had thought on it. I desired nothing more than to flee- to run and leave everything behind. I am terrified, Farm-Hand. I am-.” Shutting your eyes once more, you heard the first chitter of birds calling to the morning at the rise of the dawn.

“I have always felt the need for control,” you continued your confession, “There were so many, many things outside of my control. I wanted to make a life for myself, a life that was mine. I never wanted to marry, to love. To shepherd others to create that life for themselves? Absolutely.”

“Are you planning on running?” Farm-Hand held a stern and unwavering tone to it, prompting you to meet his yellow eyes. You raked your eyes over his shielded face, noticing how his eyes particularly held a familiarity within them; a hue you deduced was endemic to Kuraigana.

“I desired to. That was until,” you paused, looking to your knees and holding your firm gaze affixed upon them, “until his eyes-... until his voice-.” You shook your head, ridding yourself of your thoughts regarding your betrothed.

“Yes?” Farm-Hand questioned you, hypnotizing you to welcome back those enchanting thoughts you had dwelling on him, “His eyes?”

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, eyelashes fluttering as the swell of your heart grew. The small breeze atop the wall carried the warm scent of the flowers below up to meet you.

“And his voice?” he whispered, bringing himself ever closer to you.

“It’s perfect,” you uttered your confession to the man beside you, held in a moment of utter awe at picturing your betrothed. The way he held you, the way his forehead touched yours as he cared for you. His hands were always ever guiding, always suggesting; never dictating.

“It’s not what he can offer me, nor the bonds of fate that join us together,” you continued, baring your soul out to your coworker who so dutifully escorted you to the castle walls, “I just cannot allow myself to give into such feelings. Not when I know he is only doing it as honor commands it.” After a moment of brief pause, silence shrouding your presence together above the gardens, Farm-Hand spoke up.

“I have a problem much like your own,” he spoke slowly, prompting you to seek out his gaze. His yellowed hues held firm to the gardens as he continued, “When I think about her, it makes my skin tingle.” He absentmindedly began drawing patterns against the cobblestone wall, tracing invisible lines with the tip of his index finger.

“My heart swells when she walks into the room,” he continued, continuing to hold his gaze firm in front of him, “Especially when she looks at me like she’d rather me struck by lightning. Her eyes, her voice. You said it first: perfect.”

You hummed in response, both dwelling in an air of unspoken desire and a lover's melancholy. Farm-Hand rose his palm in front of his eyes, staring at the small creases formed within them as he added, “The softest brush of her fingertips could have me fall to my knees if I remain uncareful.” You laughed a dry and humorless laugh.

“Ah, yes. We’re in love,” you continued to laugh, teetering off to add to your declaration, “how tragic.”

“A tragedy indeed,” Farm-Hand uttered with an undertone of purring sass. He tugged at his hat, ensuring it was placed firmly atop his head before standing atop the wall. He grasped the rope and began looping it as he had done before and extended his hand in aid for you to stand.

“This will remain confidential, yes?” you uttered as you placed your palm in his, “I can’t let this confession get back to my wards, nor my betrothed.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Farm-Hand affirmed to you with a curt nod, “Under the condition you will not relay anything I told you here today, including knowledge on this area.” You took a final look at the garden, cocking your head to the side as you quizzed him.

“Is this area not common knowledge to those who live here?” you inquired, looking deep into his amber irises.

“You are the first eyes to see it, aside from the lord of Kuraigana,” he uttered a final confession, “and I wanted so desperately for you to see what I have crafted with my hands. After all this secrecy, you deserved to see it in its prime.” Your eyes softened as he tied the ropes secured to your hips and hooked it over the metal hook.

“Thank you for advocating for me to see this,” you smiled at him, soft and sweet as one would do their friend, “I have thoroughly enjoyed this adventure, and learning what you have managed to foster from the earth. I am proud to call you my friend.”

“As I am proud to call you mine,” he smiled with his eyes, his brows softening as he guided you to the edge of the wall. You looked over the edge and immediately found yourself unnerved at the prospect of a decline.

“Let’s call this a leap of faith, Lost-Lady,” Farm-Hand cooed down at you, “Taking a leap before you take the leap.” You stiffened in your tracks, prompting him to hold himself a little closer to you.

“I’m here by your side, I will not drop you,” he confirmed, lacing his left hand around your waist and holding you against him, “Now let’s get you back to the manor. You’ll be needing a rest before the celebration tonight.”

“I don’t think I can do this-,” you began, just at the moment Farm-Hand jumped with you firmly held against his side. You shrieked as you plummeted to the bottom of the wall, slowed only by the fibers of the rope fizzing within the firm grip of your friend. You held your eyes shut, even when you felt the air no longer blowing over your body at your descent.

“You can open your eyes, Lost-Lady,” the man beside you cooed, voice dripping in cheek. You apprehensively unsqueezed one eye, followed by the other as you noticed your feet were placed firmly on the ground. The arm of Farm-Hand was continuing to hold you stable as you caught your barings, only unweaving around you as you gestured slowly for him to do so.

“Thank you, Farm-Hand. I have thoroughly enjoyed my morning,” you nodded, extending your right hand out for him to shake it, an air of professionalism once again returning to you. Albeit, the glimmer of humor in your eye and the pull of sass on your lips seemed to indicate you were toying with him.

“You’re welcome, Lost-Lady. I have thoroughly enjoyed mine,” He took your hand within his, shaking it briefly before stooping to press his forehead against your knuckles. After he rose, he uttered, “Let’s get you ready for what’s to come next.”

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired

#one piece #opla #opla fic #x reader #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #sapsorrow fic #fairytale au #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #mihawk one piece #hawkeye mihawk

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squidinu · 3 months

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The Prince [sketch]

#oc: orion #iron rose #fairytale au #furry

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bbybluemochi · 1 year

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more lesbian fairytale illustrations I did for my personal project <3

#my art #cotton and puppy #sapphic #my ocs #artists on tumblr #lesbian #fairytale au #women in armor #fairytale #digital art

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cerealforkart · 4 months

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"You made a mistake! I--!"

"No! I don't make mistakes! You might make mistakes, my brother might make mistakes, I make choices. I make bad choices that hurt people and I make them on purpose knowing what the consequences will be. I hurt you, I hurt every person in every realm, and I would do it again a hundred times. A choice like that can't be forgiven by anyone ever and I chose it anyway."

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #doodly #sparrow oak #nick close #nicholas foster #lovesong #fairytale au #I think the reversal of a demon trying to redeem a fairy is neat #they're neat

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valeskafics · 7 months

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"Someday, My Prince Will Come" - Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

a/n: inspired by an ask from @dreamlandcreations - dark snow white au with aemond as the hunter and prince combined 🤭

Summary: Aemond finds himself unable to kill you when commanded to do so by his mother.

TW: canon typical incest, DUBCON, dark/possessive/yandere behavior, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, primal play (chase), size kink if you squint, knifeplay, fingering, tiddy succin, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, idk attempted murder?, graphic imagery

Word Count: 3,620 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Queen Alicent was not always described or cruel or wicked. Once, she was a kindhearted young woman who merely sought to please her father. But the years twisted her into something else entirely, a puppet to her father’s machinations who listened to everything he demanded without fail.

Otto Hightower knew from the moment you were born that you were going to prove to be a thorn in his side. A sweet, pretty young thing who seemed to enchant everyone around her, his grandsons were no exception. He watched with thinly veiled frustration as Aegon and Aemond both fawn over you, fighting for your attention. However, it is Aemond who prevails. As you grow in age and beauty, Aemond’s admiration seems to grow too. Otto cannot hide his relief when your mother takes you and the rest of the family to Dragonstone, far away from his grandson and unable to twist his mind or alienate him from his family any longer.

However, when you accompany your mother and brothers to King’s Landing for the hearing regarding Lucerys’ inheritance, Otto sees the way you and Aemond continuously exchange glances from across the room, the attraction between the two of you evident. You have grown into quite the fine young woman, Otto has to admit, and he is not altogether surprised when at dinner that evening, Aemond asks you to dance. The two of you glide across the floor, smiling and gazing into each other’s eyes as though nothing in the world matters. He sees all of his plans going down in flames before his very eyes in real time. Aemond had always fancied you, ever since you were children, and nothing has changed about that. His desires have only grown.

Aemond is falling in love with you.

Surprisingly, with you at his side, Aemond does not even bother to respond to your little brother’s smirk upon the roast pig being brought to the table. Why? Because you, in all your wisdom, gently scold the younger boy, asking him to apologize. And he does, much to Aemond’s surprise, creating a strange sense of peace between the youths of the family. Aemond continues to gaze at you throughout dinner, a softness on his face that his grandfather has never seen.

When Viserys dies in the night and Aemond goes to comfort you rather than his bereaved mother, Otto knows that he must do something to get rid of you before it is too late. He tells his daughter, his sweet obedient daughter, as much and the two hatch a plan.

“Aemond, escort your mother to her chambers,” Otto orders, giving him a sharp look after the funerary proceedings are complete.

Aemond looks to you for guidance, uncertain, but you give him a sweet smile, telling him you must go to your mother and stepfather as well. He presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand before striding over to his mother and grandsire. The three walk to Alicent’s chambers in uncomfortable silence. They enter Alicent’s solar and she gestures for Aemond to sit down beside her, her most beloved son, her most obedient son. He does as she asks, and is horrified by her words.

“I want you to lead the princess deep into the Kingswood tomorrow,” Alicent says, handing him an ornate box, “And cut out her heart and bring it back to me.”

Aemond’s stomach drops at the mere thought. You are sweet and innocent and all that is good in the world. What had you ever done to deserve such a cruel fate? He clenches his fists, feeling his blood boil at even the mention of such a horrendous act.

“What?” Aemond shakes his head vehemently before blurting out, “I will not! She is my closest friend, my childhood love. I could not bear to think of doing such a thing to her, Mother!”

She gives him a red apple, so vibrant in color that he wonders if it is even real, “You will use this. She will feel no, pain, Aemond. And you will carve out her heart once she has breathed her last breath.

“Never!”

Alicent speaks with no small degree of finality as she leaves the room, accompanied by her father, “You will. Tomorrow.”

Aemond falls to his knees, clutching his chest. His hands tremble as he holds the box,, his heart racing. You are everything to him, everything he ever wanted. To be ordered to murder you is just unacceptable.

The next day, Aemond leads you into the Kingswood, his hand in yours as you giggle and ask in that sweet, musical voice of yours, “Where are we going, Aemond?”

“Just to the woods,” he says softly as the two of you make your way to the edge of the Kingswood.

He takes the apple out of his pocket, seeing Ser Criston watching in the near distance, no doubt sent by his mother to ensure he completes his task. He hands the fruit to you, urging you to eat it.

“Oh, I love apples, thank you, Aemond,” you smile at him innocently, gazing up at him with those sweet eyes he has always loved looking into.

Aemond’s heart pounds in his chest as you speak and he cannot help but feel an almost animal instinct to protect you. And something inside of him snaps. He will not let you be hurt. Not by his mother, not by his grandsire, not by anyone. He grabs the apple from your hand and tosses it aside.

You stare at him in confusion, “Aemond?”

“Saw a worm,” he mutters darkly, “Excuse me for a moment.”

You stand there, confused, waiting for him to return. When he does, there is a streak of blood covering his face. Blood that is not his own.

Blood that, unbeknownst to you, belongs to Ser Criston Cole.

His jaw set in determination as he grabs your hand, “We are leaving. Right now.”

You stare at him confused as he drags you further into the woods, “Aemond? What is happening? You’re frightening me…”

The prince knows what he is doing may seem rash to you, but he feels it is the only choice he has. He refuses to let you die. He can’t help but admire the look on your face for a moment, the way your brow furrows ever so slightly, the slight downturn of your lips. You are an angel, he thinks, when you look at him like that. The hunger he feels for you, that he has always felt for you, stirs again as he stops in place and tells you the truth.

“My mother has commanded me to murder you.”

Your delicate hand flies to your mouth in surprise, “No… She wouldn’t do that… She is a good and kind queen…”

Aemond laughs bitterly at your naivety, at the thought of his mother being kind and good. He knows all too well the depths of her cruelty now, and that of his grandsire.

“She demands your head,” Aemond informs you, “I am supposed to meet her tomorrow with your heart after poisoning you with the apple I was meant to give you.”

Your hand moves to rest over your heart, eyes wide with fear as you whisper, “My heart? You were going to kill me?”

Aemond’s gaze falls to your hand once again. Your lovely hands, so soft and small against his. The hunger eats at him even fiercer as he nods.

“Yes, your heart. But I cannot do it. I could never do that to you, sweet princess,” he whispers, taking a step toward you, his breathing growing ragged, “Gods, I just want you. So badly it drives me mad. My need for you utterly consumes me.”

You step backward, away from him, “Aemond, you’re scaring me.”

Aemond feels his temper flare at your hesitation. Why do you not understand? You are his princess, his love, his passion. You belong to him. You have always belonged to him.

“You should be scared,” Aemond breathes, “Because if you refuse me and go to someone else, I might just cut your heart out myself,” his gaze is heated as he stares at you, “I will never let anyone take you away from me. Not ever. You belong to me and me alone.”

Your eyes go wide and, without a second thought, you break into a run. Aemond watches you dart away, shocked for a moment. Are you actually running away from him? He lets out a low growl before running after you, his desire for you growing more ferocious with each second.

“You do not truly think you can run from me, do you, Princess? I won’t have it!”

You ignore his words, dodging branches and tree stumps as you go, panting heavily, moving as fast as your legs can carry you. You can hear his heavy footsteps approaching you, gaining on you, and it spurs you on to move even faster, blood pumping, heart pounding as you go.

“You cannot run forever!” Aemond bellows after you, giving chase, growing almost insane with want, “Eventually you will have to face me!”

The sky begins to grow darker and you continue running deeper into the woods. The trees seem so very frightening at night as branches catch on your skirt, tearing at it as though they are the fingers of some strange creature, trying to keep you in place so Aemond may catch you. You run for as long and as fast as you can before hiding, sitting with your knees to your chest and weeping with fear. Aemond stalks the forest, breath heavy as he scans the area for any sight of you, his dagger in hand. You cannot be far off, he thinks, he will find you no matter what it takes.

Aemond grows more and more desperate, his eye blazing with want. Nothing matters but you, nothing matters but finding you and making you his.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he chuckles darkly, a mockery of the games the two of you used to play as children.

You let out a whimper before slapping your hand over your mouth. Aemond hears the sweet little sound, almost like the cooing of an injured bird. He is unsure whether he wishes to console you or devour you alive. He follows the sound, lips curving into a smile as he stands over you, his form towering over yours.

“There you are, Princess. Told you that you couldn’t run forever.”

You gasp, leaping to your feet and getting ready to sprint again, but alas, you are not fast enough. Aemond grabs you immediately by the wrists, pinning you against a tree, the fire inside of him burning hotter than ever as he looks upon you. He cannot stay away from you. He needs you, to be close to you. He wants you, your soft skin, your supple body. His mouth waters at the thought.

You gaze up at him with watery eyes, which only make him want you more as you beg, “Let me go, Aemond, please!”

“No, never,” he smirks down at you, his eye raking over you, “I will not let anyone else ever have you. I want you. Only you.” Aemond leans in closer, his breath hot on your skin. Gods, he wants nothing more than to kiss those plush, sweet lips of yours, “You are mine, Princess,” he whispers, “You will always be mine.”

You scream for Jace, for Luke, for your mother or Daemon, but no one comes. Aemond has you right where he wants you. He presses his body against yours, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your sweet scent deeply.

“I want to kiss you, to hold you,” he murmurs, body trembling. Everything inside of him screams at him to touch you, to take you, to devour you, “Gods, I want you, beautiful princess, and I will have you.”

Your lips part in protest as he draws ever closer to you, but he silences you with a hungry kiss, one of pure desperation. His touch is rough as he moves his hands away from your wrists to hold your hips, squeezing your supple flesh, moving up to your waist.

“Oh, my love, how I have dreamt of this very moment,” Aemond rasps in your ear.

His heart races, his every movement, every touch, every kiss fueled by the fire of his hunger for you. You, who belong to him and only to him. You slap at his chest now that your hands are free, but it does not do a thing to stop him. He feels your slaps, smiling at them, his desire for you only growing. You fight back and yet you are so soft and delicate. His hands glide across your skin, not wanting to leave a single inch of your body untouched.

“You are mine now,” he breathes in your ear, breath tickling your skin, “This is where you belong. In my arms, in my bed.”

“No,” you protest, crying out as he bites down on your neck, “Aemond, please!”

He shushes you, laving attention on your bruised skin with his tongue, “Stop resisting. You and I both know you are enjoying this,” Aemond says, voice dripping like honey in your ears as he kisses you, “You belong to me. No one else will ever hold you like this.”

You gasp in surprise as he uses his dagger to rip the bodice of your dress open, along with your shift, revealing your bare body to him, his eye finding your breasts as he licks his lips almost greedily, “Stop it!”

Aemond pushes the fabric off your body, moving your hands away when you try to cover yourself, holding the blade to your neck. His free hand moves to one of your breasts, groaning as he kneads it in his rough palms. You hate yourself for it, but you feel your body grow hot under his touch, as he touches the most intimate parts of you. You know you must be wet between your thighs with how they rub against each other unconsciously, and Aemond seems to know as well, judging by the wicked smile on his face.

“How could I have ever thought you did not enjoy this?” he mocks, “You are mine, sweet princess. I have wanted this ever since we were young. You are mine, now and forever.”

You gasp as he moves lower, his long fingers grazing against your bare cunt, collecting the wetness that has pooled there, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you, his eye closing as he moans with delight. You press your lips together, trying not to show how the sight of it arouses you.

“Please stop,” you whisper weakly as he kisses your neck, moving to your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, mouthing at it, that piercing blue eye locked on you all the while.

He continues his ministrations, switching to your other breast once your peak has hardened against his tongue, pulling off with a lewd pop as he murmurs, “Do not play your games with me. You may pretend you do not want this, Princess, but we both know the truth. Your sweet little cunny would not have been dripping as it is if you did not want me,” he presses his lips to yours once more, feverishly, pulling back only to say, “You will know nothing but me because I am all you will ever need. All you will ever want.”

“I am not playing games-”

Aemond shushes you, “No more talking. Just feeling. Feeling how you belong to me. How you have always belonged to me. Do not resist. I will not let you. I want you and I am taking you.”

You whine softly as he drops his knife, using one of his hands to hold you by the throat, squeezing slightly. Your eyes flutter shut at his touch as he pushes you onto the forest floor. He rids himself of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the broad planes of his chest to you, his skin so pale in the moonlight it seems to have an almost ethereal glow.

“I claimed you a long time ago,” he says, removing his eyepatch, staring at you with his one eye, his sapphire twinkling, “And you are going nowhere. I can feel your want for me and everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will know of our love when I make you my bride.”

You look at him confused, “But your mother wants me dead-”

“She can go to the Seven Hells,” Aemond snarls, growing more desperate as he kisses you once more, undoing his breeches.

You stare up at him, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body, lips parted slightly, eyes teary, and your chest heaving with each breath. He does not think you have ever looked so beautiful. Aemond moves his fingers to tease your entrance once more, his thumb rubbing against your sensitive pearl in a way that has you crying out his name, leaning into his touch. He pushes one finger inside of you, loving the way you squeeze around him, then adding a second. It’s a tight fit, but gods, when he starts pumping his fingers, it takes everything in you not to scream with pleasure.

“Just relax,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours, silvery hair falling like a curtain over the pair of you, “Let me have you.”

He moves his fingers faster and faster, his thumb still rubbing at your pearl. He curves his fingers ever so slightly and you mewl his name as he brushes against that spot inside of you that has always made you reach your peak at your own hands. Aemond chuckles, touching you there over and over and over again until you spill yourself on his fingers. Your lips part without question when he brings his fingers to your mouth, wrapping around the digits, licking them clean at his demand. Aemond imagines how it will feel with that pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, but that will have to be saved for another time. He is impossibly hard, aching for you, and must claim you now.

You feel his length, hard and heavy against your thigh, biting your lip in both fear and anticipation. The tip is a red, angry color, evidence of his arousal leaking from the tip. You whimper as he pushes himself inside you, feeling every vein against your walls, until he bottoms out, fully sheathed in you. The sting is uncomfortable though not quite painful. You squirm against him, but Aemond holds you in place.

“Tell me that you want me,” he growls in your ear as he begins rutting against you, “That you want this. Tell me you belong to me.”

“No,” you say uncertainly, moaning as your slight discomfort begins to turn to pleasure as he fills you up in a way that has you wanting more.

“I can feel your body quivering with want,” Aemond whispers against your neck, his voice husky as he speaks, “Give in to this. Give in to me. Tell me you want me and I shall give you the universe.” You try to turn your face from his, the intensity in his gaze frightening you, prompting you to shiver, but he moves you back to face him again, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he continues fucking into you, his cock bullying against your sweet spot with every thrust, “Do not pretend you don’t feel the same hunger I feel. You. Are. Mine,” he punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips more feverish than the last, words dark as the night sky.

His movements grow more animalistic and frenzied the closer he gets to his peak, the tighter you squeeze around him as you cling to him for some sort of purchase. His voice is raw as he keeps repeating the same word.

“Mine.”

Tears stream down your face at both the pleasure he gives you and the shame of what is happening, the shame of you not fighting harder to stop it because he is right. You want it.

You freeze as he licks one of your tears away and whisper, “You’re a monster.”

“Am I?” he hisses, feeling your walls squeezing around him, his hunger growing more desperate as his hands squeeze at your breasts, your hips, anything he can touch, “I am your monster. And do you know what a monster wants the most?” Aemond breathes against your lips before kissing you again, “It wants to devour.”

You whimper, eyes fluttering as you near your peak once more, whispering unconvincingly how you hate him, how you despise him and everything about him.

“You love me,” he shakes his head, “You need me. Just relax. Let yourself go…”

And you do, reaching your peak, eyes rolling back as your body spasms, white hot pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave. Aemond spends himself in you soon after, his seed leaking from between your thighs, something he watches with great interest. He stares at you, exhausted, hair matted to your forehead, thinking how beautiful you are.

He says as much, groaning before adding, voice hoarse with lust, “You drive me insane. I will kill my grandsire and my mother if it means keeping you safe and by my side, my love.”

You gaze up at him, hesitant and unsure for a moment, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his, sealing your fate, binding yourself to him forever.

Because now that he has you, now that you have affirmed that you are his, there is no escaping your monster. Your prince.

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