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saintobio · 2 months

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LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ THIS SERIES WILL SERVE AS THE THE SECOND TIMELINE -> READ HERE FOR THE FIRST TIMELINE (ORIGINAL STORY) ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate!

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes.

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?”

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?”

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince.

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?”

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?”

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#series: lltv #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk royal au #slow updates bc sy is prio #i will not write this in archaic english anymore ITS HARD AF #but i had to put this out there so i can remind myself to write it *sobs*#might just write this on the side

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celestemona · 3 months

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WHERE KAEDEHARA CLAN RISES UP ONCE AGAIN

a when they're dads au introduction

pairing: dad & husband! kaedehara kazuha x fem! reader

cw: established relationship, you and kazuha are married and have children. original characters. domestic and parenting universe. quick pregnancy mention. slightly ooc to fit the plot. fluff and not beta read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

part i. | part ii.

Considering that Kaedehara Kazuha’ only reputation was his mild personality and free spirit, no one believed that the wandering samurai would one day be able to pause his travels and settle down to a monotonous, homely life.

So you can imagine the surprise that’d be among the fishing and sailing communities throughout Teyvat when they discovered that the white-haired man had not settled down but also married and had children.

Surely it only could be a prank because, after all, was there even a possibility of that happening?

Well, this answer was given by a drunk and laughing Captain Beidou who showed to curious and shocked eyes a photo of his wedding held by the Crux fleet itself on a small and isolated island in Inazuma.

If the residents and locals didn't know her so well they might think the pirate captain was lying. However, looking at the photo closer, the way Kazuha looked at you while you smiled back at him confirmed the undeniable: the man was madly in love with you.

After that, with the help of a few barrels of rum and beer, the story of your love was shared. From you falling from the sky directly (and literally) into the samurai's arms, to the blossoming of your relationship; the ups and downs faced to the marriage proposal, and then the small family's decision to leave the seas to rebuild the Kaedehara Clan together.

Oh, well… Beidou may have let escape one more detail since dozens of wide eyes stared at her in astonishment at this information. However, she was pretty sure Kazuha wouldn't mind if she told them a little bit more about his new life as patriarch of the clan and his greatest prides. You, his wife, and your three children.

The samurai himself didn’t believe that one day he could be so fortunate and blessed to have the opportunity to return to a happy and noisy home. His days as a teenager left him with a deep scar in his heart since his relationship with his father, at first, wasn’t one of the best and therefore staying away from the place that was once his home was the best decision to be made.

Not only had the distance from Inazuma changed his perspective but also an insecurity had blossomed in the back of his mind where he feared that one day he’d make the same mistakes as his father.

Even so, after you entered his life, the only feeling he had when he set foot in the old estate was pure warmth and belonging. Love and serenity that not even his children, while yelling and playing around the mansion, could shake it.

Kiyomi, his middle and only daughter, was, most of the time, responsible for the laughter and noises in the house. Both you and your husband didn't know where she had inherited such an extroverted and mischievous personality, causing you to grow a few strands of gray hair and eliciting genuine laughs from Kazuha. There was no denying that the girl had a temperament as unique as her beauty, which was a mixture between yours and your husband's. And as the only girl in the family it was undeniable to say that Kazuha loved the ground she walked on. Nevertheless, neither you nor your husband would change anything about her, loving and being proud of your daughter the way she is — because if there’s something prettier about Kiyomi was her heart as big as her stubbornness.

Clearly, the affection of the two parents wasn’t limited to just the girl but also extended to the two sons.

Kazumi is your firstborn son and only three years older than Kiyomi. With such a small age difference, some parents would expect there to be a certain amount of rivalry and jealousy between the siblings, but Kazumi was his father's son in both appearance and personality. With such a sneaky smile and a relaxed attitude, he was often mistaken for Kazuha himself — even sharing the same mindset of preferring to go with the flow rather than worry about small, insignificant things. This didn't apply to situations where you or his siblings were in danger, of course. After all, he took the title of older son and brother very seriously.

Shortly before his tenth birthday, Kazumi had learned and inherited the techniques of the Isshin Art which even took Kazuha himself an entire decade to re-learn. Unlike his ancestors, the current patriarch would teach his children the clan's secret technique so that the art would remain alive. Whether his children would dedicate themselves to it or not will depend on each of them.

Kiyomi didn't seem too interested, neither did Kazumi.

You, though, hoped that one of your children would carry the bladesmithing practices forward but you were also happy to see each of your children following their own path. If not even Haruki, your youngest son who was known to be as hungry for knowledge as any sage of Sumeru himself, seemed enchanted by this idea then the Kaedehara Clan must expanding its businesses in other areas.

The youngest Kaedehara was the prodigy and the pride of the entire family. Your third pregnancy was a big surprise in the house but very well welcomed. Kazumi had just turned ten and Kiyomi was awaiting her seventh birthday when the fragile little Haruki arrived into the world on a autumn morning — although, the first few months that followed weren’t very pleasant as your baby's health was poor, leaving both you and Kazuha with your nerves always on edge.

However, with the help of your friends, the traveler, the Crux fleet, and even Yae Miko’s divine blessing, little by little Haruki managed to recover and finally grow up healthily.

Unlike his brothers who always seemed to be somewhere or running around, Haruki preferred to stay at home surrounded by the comfort of his parents' presence or his books. It took little time for you and Kazuha to realize that at a young age he was already reading advanced-level books and scrolls, and was interested in subjects that even adults would find boring. So it was also no surprise either when an invitation to study at Akademiya arrived at your home just before the boy's thirteenth birthday.

Needless to say there was a huge party before his departure to Sumeru where on one side there was you crying at the sudden departure of your son, Kazuha consoling you and a very happy Beidou getting all the guests drunk.

So, yes. If someone asked Kazuha about what he thought of this new life of his, he wouldn't lie when he answered them that it was a very different reality from the one he had projected years ago. There would always be something to worry about, his days were almost the same, rarely leaving the routine, and every now and then the desire to reach new horizons would always call him.

But in the end of the day, he wouldn't trade a second of his life by your side for his old one. Because, after all, he’s already living the biggest adventure of his life with you by his side, and if there’s something that Kazuha was sure of, it'd be that there’s nothing in the world so rewarding as having your company.

a/n: i must confess that i have this plot on my drafts for almost two years now but i’ve never found will enough on myself to sit down and write it. nevertheless, i’m thankful for my mind to remind me of this plot and make me re-write new ideas.

those who knows me, or not, must’ve know that i really do love parenting, domestic and pregnancy universe so not so often i caught myself writing about it. it’s so relaxing and enjoyable to picture these guys as dad idk.

i hope you’ve liked it so far. i would like to share more about this headcanon too in a possible future so let me know if you want to know something more about the kaedehara clan. thank you so much, bye!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha #kazuha x reader #genshin kazuha #dad kazuha #kaedehara clan #genshin dads au

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insuke69 · 5 months

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What's in a name?

✰⁂ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

Part I, Part II

1/3

Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩Warnings: cussing, Some angst, 'crybaby' reader, misunderstandings.

(mostly based on how earth-138 is)

Rated 13+(??).

✰5.7k words.

⚥Afab reader

_________________

Osborn.

“Norman Osborn”

A name everyone has learned for the worst part, the name ‘Osborn’ has run though the streets of Camden through the blood and dirt that drips through its pristine and marble image, spoken like the candyman–as if it were uttered three times, they’d be cursed and face the consequences. The man who hated the poor and less fortunate that were scattered through England. The man who kept his paws clean by hiring those who needed the money, then turning them into the crooked police for the crimes he made them do. The cruel family man who’s destroyed homeless shelters and remade them into his own buildings for business, legal or not.

“(Y/N) Osborn.”

Here she was. The daughter of this monster, the girl who receives bloody money that her father steals from the innocent, The daughter who people are afraid to even talk to out of fear of her dad, the girl who can’t refuse what she’s given because she understands how much worse it can be. That doesn’t stop her from still trying as much as she can. Sneaking out of her mansion most nights to try and get a taste of college parties. Whenever she goes out during the day with her dad’s black card, She spends it on clothes and gives it away to those she knows really needs it, always wearing a face-covering balaclava so her father doesn’t somehow find this out. Instead of the piano lessons she attended where her fingers gracefully flowed between those white elegant tiles to create beautiful classical music–she tried to learn the electric guitar, mostly teaching herself to the rhythmic sounds and rough rumble of the guitar that Hobie Brown wields.

“Hobie Brown“

A name recognized as well throughout Camdon but for the exact opposite reasons, a name that drips with earned respect, a firm rough hardwood image that's covered in stuck-out nails and splinters. A Punk that directly strives against fascists like Osborn, and who’s blood boils when he learns Osborn’s cruel plans to begin using the old Canals again–mostly to flush out the homeless that reside there, The homeless who Spiderpunk always seems to be visiting and helping out.

“Spiderpunk”

Oh. Spiderpunk. A name Y/N can recognise due to her father’s phone calls that she overhears late at night, a name she always hears that is spit out with venom through her fathers and his colleagues lips, the name she sees in bold graffiti almost daily on her dads main company building. Jet black graffiti and red with blue undertones that drip almost beautifully down the glass panes it was sprayed upon. She always bites back a grin smile whenever she hears her dad ranting about the punk he ever so clearly despises.

_____________

Rough Meeting.

It was one of those days, those days where you despised everything in your life–that was unlucky, bad luck of yours to have been born in this universe. Bad luck that you were the daughter of a sadistic monster, how you were seen as a monster for even being related to him.

Guilt.

Rage.

Frustration.

These emotions burned through your veins, making your hands tense and chest heavy. These emotions pool in your eyes the moment you walk through your large white bedroom door and crash into your Jado Steel Style Rose-Gold Bed. Your tense body relaxing but messy black mascara tears flowing down your face. Nobody understood, it's like you were speaking their language on deaf ears that didn’t care to hear you out. They didn’t care to hear out the brat, The Spoiled girl who has her life handed to her, the brat that no matter how hard she tries-

Can’t prove anything to everyone who is dead set on her being a spoiled daddy’s girl.

With boiling tears drying upon your soft smooth skin, You get up and change out of the clothes your main ‘Maid’, Roxanne, had put out for you earlier for your Dads event of a damn Factory opening that was built over another destroyed shelter. Removing the ruffle black dress with small cute green ribbons to show off your dads company colors along for him to display his gorgeous daughter. It’s not like he cared for anyone's image besides his own anyways.

Glancing at the clock, you sigh and dip your head into the pillow again,

6:36pm

You take a calming breath and change into some jeans and a loose black tee after crying some more for a few moments, the shirt only allowed for you to wear at home since it wasn’t perfect and elegant enough for the Osborn image. Ugh. You enter your private marble bathroom to wash your face free of those streaks of ‘weakness’ as your dad would call it.

“Hey! Uhm, Roxy?” You call out softly, your door soon opening with Roxanne standing by it and looking over at you expectantly.

“Yes, Miss?” Roxy said back in her usual calm and blank expression, her expression shifting ever so slightly at the sight of you wearing your usual clothing you do whenever you plan on sneaking out without Osborn knowing.

“Don’t let father see me going out, if he asks about me, tell him that I’m upset and tired from the event and to not disturb me.” you tell her as you reach under your bed to grab a shoebox where your balaclava, hoodie, and gloves are stored and hidden away. You wish you didn’t have to wear all this just to be an actually not-bad person, but you can’t risk angering your dad. He always told you to never dwell on what has to be done.

“It’s a dog eat dog world, You can’t cry about others who don’t have the guts to do what has to be done.”

Those words are always playing in the back of your head, your own dad telling it to you soothingly to help stop your tears–when you were about eight. You were crying because you were thinking about the lives he’s ruined and took for you two. Well.. More like for Oscorp.

You snap out of that memory as you clear your throat and put everything on to hide the safety of your identity while Roxy watches with that neutral face you’ve seen and known your whole life. She’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a mother, by textbook definition because she brought you up with care and some affection. But your actual birth mom had died while giving birth to you, you never met her once besides the moment she passed with you in her arms. Since then, Your dad has seen you as if you were the last living part of her that he has besides memories and pictures of her. He's always telling you that you’re her spitting image but you just.. Can’t see it. Probably because she is always glowing and happy in her pictures with anyone, she had a normal college student experience with friends and parties, she didn’t have an overprotective dad.

You roll the glove over your wrist, pausing ever so slightly at a white gold bracelet your dad gave you when you turned thirteen, with your grandmas and mother’s name engraved into it, and yours engraved below theirs. An important and old heirloom to your dad since he wants you to always remain in touch with your moms side of the family–not like your dad spent much time with his family anyways.

“When are you going to get over this phase?” You suddenly hear Roxy ask from behind you which makes you jump ever so slightly before subtly moving it a bit lower on your wrist so the bracelet chain does not get caught in the fabric of the gloves.

“You really want me to answer that?” You ask rhetorically before fixing the balaclava over your features while walking to your window and sitting on the sil, Kicking your legs out and looking out on the city and lowering sun before actually answering Roxy, realizing she sounded even a little.. Disappointed.. in you.

“The Osborn name has done- Irreversible damage, And I’m just trying to help out the people who need it, and pay for my dads actions with actual kindness.” Your tone is soft and a bit honest, you adjust your hands to push yourself out of the window before Roxy can even reply.

Your thick black boots break your landing as you fall in the green fluffy grass garden that surrounds your mansion, rose bushes and flowers adding some color to it since your dad agreed it would look good for our image, as if it wasn’t soiled already.

You make your way out of your house and just walk, stopping by an old tree that stood beside the path from your house to the city. Your foot stands on a nook where the tree had a brach that went out and folded in itself and your hand stretched up into one of its hard woodend pockets until you feel a familiar fabric, you pull on it until the backpack falls out with your hand holding it by the handle and hopping off of the tree.

This was your secret backpack that you didn’t even want on your own property so you kept it safe in a tree. This bag contained little necessities along with spray paint, some basic tools, cash, and pepper spray. You keep walking down the path and arriving at the city, where the air was polluted and slightly hard to breathe while the rest of the city had occasional litter, trash, and shady looking people who make it seem like it's better to walk across the street to the other sidewalk.

You usually went out at night to be able to put some of your art on display in the streets: You had a sketchbook full of small things that you usually spray-painted on canals, or outside the wall of abandoned buildings. You didn’t know what this secret ‘hobby’ was really called, you just walked the streets of the city until you found a good spot and started to make your art.

Nothing was out of the ordinary until you walked past an alleyway and in the corner of your eye, you saw someone in dirty clothes wearing messed up jeans and a worn out jacket, sitting on the ground outside a little blue tent with a small fire in a bin that lights up some of the alley.

You come to a small halt and debate whether walking over to the person or leaving them alone, your vision focusing in the dim lighting and revealing the other few tents there, some of the tents zipped up and indicating that whoever is in there is sleeping, and some people standing around with a lit cigarette in their calloused hand.

You swallow that gut feeling to leave them alone and walk over to a gas station, buying some instant pizza, sandwiches, and food for the people you told yourself not to bother and walk back over to them with the plastic bag in hand.

You approach the person you saw, but they look over at you and seem to tense and quickly stand as they face you.

“Hey! Hi, relax, I brought some things for you and your friends?” You said with a gentle soft tone as you stepped closer slowly since the vagabond seemed wary of you with their eyes locked on your face.

“Oh! Damn, I forgot, hang on.” You murmur as you reach up to pull your mask over your eyes to show your face so that the person would be less afraid of you, holding out the bag of food.

Their face changes into a grimace, as if disgusted at how you’re trying to help them out. Recognizing you as the creation they and their whole community despised due to the cruel name that comes after your first.

Osborn

They grimace at you and stare at you as if you were the one trying to drive them out of the city. The one that’s destroying non-profit shelters, as if it were your company that’s dumping all kinds of waste to the community- but that didn’t seem to have any matter to them anyways.

Staring at you like you were some Monster.

“You’re not welcome here.” The person murmurs with a coldness and genuine hatred in their tone, sharp like an icicle that cuts through your heart sharply. It’s not like you couldn’t understand that, they didn’t know anything about you besides what your dad has done.

Before you can respond, they continue as they walk closer to you with their hands fisted to their sides,

“You aren’t welcome anywhere around here, you don’t even know what has been going on here, ‘princess’. You’re just some brat who needs some kind of sick ego boost to try and make people love you and respect your image.” Each word spat like venomous cold spikes as they gesture one of their hands, as they get closer–you can see the other people in the alley look over and seem to tense up and get worried in some way.

“I know what my father does, I’m so s-” You begin as you take a step back, but being cut off be the person speaking louder with exasperation in their tone.

“No you don’t! You don’t have any idea what Norman is even doing to us! You just sit there and look pretty while your dad is ruining lives!” And if there weren’t other people around- well, if there weren't one of their friends, a girl with baggy jeans and a gray beanie holding them back, you don’t question what would’ve happened to you or what they would’ve done if that girl wasn’t holding them back.

“Dude..” The girl whisper yelled as she pulled the person yelling at you away from you and closer to herself, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t piss her off because she’ll tell her dad and he’ll fuck over each and everyone in this damn alleyway.” and she swats them on the shoulder.

Damn.

You really are just ‘daddy’s girl’.

You stay quiet and just place down the bag of treats and just walk off, out of the alleyway. Feeling the earlier emotions come to a boil once again as you fix the balaclava back on your face and walk down the pavement of the dimly lit street.

Rage.

Guilt.

Frustration.

With your eyes prickling with tears and resurfaced emotions following, you decide to walk to a part to calm down as the hot watered sadness drips from your eyes, down your cheeks and soaking into the fabric covering your face.

You find yourself here. Late at night. Silently sobbing your eyes out on a cold metallic bench you vividly remember your dad showing it to you when you were a kid.

You were about seven and you had fallen off a swing set and scraped your knee badly, you still have it slightly scarred on your knee if you looked for it enough.

Hot tears because of the burning pain on your soft flesh, you were sitting in this exact spot as your small hands were holding up your black and white striped leggings with your leg up, and Roxy tending to your wound with your dad sitting right beside you with his hand on his shoulder.

“You were reckless, and your mistake cost you. You don’t want to be getting hurt,” He begins before gently taking your chin with his calloused hand and making you look at him through sniffled sobs, “and you can’t be showing this weakness unless you want it to hurt you later on.” Your dad continued as he wiped away your tears with his leathery thumb brushing against your babyfat-filled cheeks.

And Now.

Crying like now you always did, as if you didn’t change. Still that little girl who only knows one thing: how to cry.

You sit back and hold your legs with your face in your knees, it's like everything that has been being held in–caused by your father or not.. Was crashing down and flooding your eyes like a broken dam through a canal. The balaclava grew damp before you hear an odd THWAP sound which makes you raise your head and look in the direction of the sound.

You see a familiar man with his gaze focused on you, wearing what seems to be a red spandex suit below a torn blue t-shirt and black ripped jeans that accentuate his already skinny and lanky body with a spiked leather jacket over his shoulders with several pins that decorate the chest and a spiked mohawk on his head.

Once you notice him approaching you quickly reach your hand under the balaclava to wipe your cheeks from the excess tears, internally grateful that your mask was already dark and the moisture from your tears won’t be too visible to this man.

“Excuse me? You- you alrigh’?” The man asks, his soft yet cockney voice immediately making you recall who this man specifically was: You’ve heard his booming words at protest rallies but never saw from who the vocal fighting came from because of your dad and his security quickly ushering you away to keep you safe–or to keep you unaware of your father’s negative popularity.

You sniffle for a second before answering “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a shitty night.” while you clutch your bag a bit closer to you since he was still a stranger to you. He sees you tense and he chuckles while shaking his head and putting his hands into his pockets.

“Calm down there, ‘m just making sure you’re not some dealer tryna make bad lives worse.” He says jokingly as he glances at the bag you’re clutching, but also at your body language, “You’ve gotta understand how it looks for me, to find some masked person sitting in a bench in the crappy part of town.” His voice was playful yet gentle as if to calm you, he had some kind of charm that made him seem almost easy to talk to–especially since this is the first conversation you’ve had in a while that wasn’t swayed against you due to your name.

“And imagine how this looks for me, some dude walking up to me as I’m sat happily on a park bench.” You say back to him with a smirk under your mask.

“Touché.” He chuckled as he shook his head and stepped closer while offering his hand, “The Name’s Spiderpunk.” Once he introduced himself, you felt a splash of relief as he confirmed who he was. His name is said in his own way, in such a calm manner that contrasts the venomous words your father speaks of him when he thinks you can’t hear his disrespectful language. “And you are..?”

His body language is weirdly calm and relaxed, not at all judging you or making you uncomfortable.. Is that a green flag or a red one? You take and shake his gloved hand with yours. This was the only time a stranger wasn’t immediately hostile or rude to you, and you didn’t want to lose that. ..So what’s a little white lie?

“Emily.” You answer him with a soft nod. Your mothers name? Why say her name?

“Emily,” Spiderpunk echoed with a smile in his voice, “And uh.. Wha’s with the whole.. getup?” He asked as he gestured to you vaguely, mostly to your mask that's covering your face and only shows your dark eyes and long lashes, that were ever so slightly red and puffy because of the earlier crying.

“Don’t worry about it, just- lets just say my face around here is.. Disliked.” Because of my damn father.

He nods slightly, if he has some kind of expression on his face then you can’t even tell what it is because of his mask, you open your mouth to at least try and ask about that but he continued without realizing he practically interrupted you: your face is equally as covered.

“And uh.. Not that I don’ believe ya for your word, but I’ll have ‘o check that bag.” He says while gesturing at your backpack that you're clutching against you.

What? What kind of request is that? It’s not like you’ve even done anything to prompt this question in the first place, and who is he to ask about the bag or something?

“What are you, a cop? Some kind of narc?” You ask with your tone slightly more hostile than you’d want it to be. It’s not like you’re hiding anything either, but you literally have money and spray paint: You can get in trouble for some vandalism you haven’t even done yet.

He pauses for a second, seeming genuinely offended that you accused him of being a cop, as if you called him something below the respect that even vermin have.

“No. Nothing of the sort, never compare me to a cop.” He tells you firmly before muttering under his breath, “fucking pigs.” and without warning, he thwips a white silky rope out of his wrist and it attaches itself to your bag and rips it from your grasp.

You find yourself staring at Spiderpunk as he starts to casually go through your bag as if it were nothing and like you fully offered it to him. He chuckles as he sees some of your spray paint, you hear the cans clink as he shoves his hand into it and checks everything out.

“Tha’s it? Here I was partly thinking you’re some dealer trying to make sure this part of camden stays ghetto, but nah,” He hands you back your bag–He seems mostly amused by the obvious grin in his voice, “You’re just a stree’ artist?”

Street artist? That's what it’s called? You always loved art ever since you were a kid–So your dad always provided you art lessons, good paint, expensive sketching pencils, but he always made you draw boring things like fruit bowls or paint sunsets. But you even one time helped him with ideas for the Oscorp logo! That was fun for you at the time before you knew the shit Oscorp was doing.

But you realize he was pretty much asking for you to confirm if you’re a street artist or not. “Yeah- Yeah, I’m a.. Street artist?” You respond as you take the bag back, not even knowing if you’re saying it right, but you shouldn’t rely on someone to teach you so you reword what you said with a bit more of a firm tone “Yeah. I’m a street artist, tonight I haven’t really done art though.”

He nods and stays quiet for a moment as he looks at your masked face before he looks around and holds out his hand for you as if to help you up.

“Come with me, I know a good spot where you can put up your stuff. I was on my way there anyway so I could show you.” He had this tone where you knew you could say no, swat his hand away and run, politely decline and leave, Something but..

“Sure.”

You take his hand and stand before slinging your backpack handle over one of your shoulders. His mask hiding every bit of emotion he can possibly be showing besides the lenses over his eyes that squint slightly at an expression every once in a while but beyond that–you have to heavily rely on reading his tones and body language.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he glanced over at you. He seemed like he wanted to do something and just wanted some of your approval. He seems strong and like he’s able to do a lot–and he leaves the decision all up to you.

With an unsure nod of your head, he pulls you closer and wraps his arm around your waist, "Hold on." He told you before shooting a web of his up to a building, your arms wrap around his neck–over his shoulders.

You shut your eyes tightly as you suddenly stop feeling the ground below your feet and cold air hitting and blowing against your body as you swing through the city and hold onto him for dear fucking life.

“My god, holy shit.” You say as you try not to yell but unable to be silent. Spiderpunk holds on to you with one strong slim arm around you and the other expertly shooting webs and slinging through the streets of Camden as if it's some common occurrence for him–well, it was.

Your vision is slightly blurred with the lights and the slight tears forming because of the dry wind blown against them. But before you know it–you’re on the ground again with a soft thud with Spiderpunk still holding onto you like it's nothing.

“You alrigh’?” He asks with some kind of smug tone that implies he somehow finds how you clung on to him amusing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It's just that not everyone is used to slinging through the air.” You respond sarcastically as you let go of his with his hand on your waist lingering for a second before it falls to his side and his other arm raising his hand to gesture where you guys are and you feel your stomach drop once you see a familiar green logo- no, a familiar cut ribbon as well.

This is the new factory my dad opened.

Well, it wasn’t completely new that Spiderpunk was on his way to vandalize your dads newest business- how could you have forgotten? Your heart beats in your ribs as your eyes dart to the hidden cameras you know are there because your dad asked you to adjust them and help so you make sure they cover the whole area. “W-we shouldn't be here, at all.” you tell him as you grab his arm to keep him from getting too close to which he fully laughs while shaking his head and putting a hand over his eyes, Is this some sick joke to him?

“Didn’ think of you as the type to be afraid of Osborn. You’re full of surprises.” He coos while softly clutching his stomach teasingly.

“What? No! It’s just- there's security and-” You begin, before being cut off before he shoots webs in all directions and corners of the wall as though to cover the cameras- he over did some webs but they are definitely covered now.

“And we’re wearing masks. Osborn has nothing on us- and that sadistic fascist probably can pay someone to clean up. Bet this is worth pennies to him.” Spiderpunk scoffs, his voice full of disdain and genuine venom towards your father–and he doesn’t even know it.

Something about his words ring into your ears, it’s not like you didn’t know your dad was practically hated by everyone that wasn’t rich and privileged.

So why did this feel more.. real?

More true?

As if watching these acts in person other than the news you secretly watch is more.. In your face about these situations?

You swallow a big gulp and nod and take out your bag and open it to show the spray paints. Spiderpunk’s lenses squint as if he were smiling at you.

“Good girl.” He teased

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. A blur full of laughter, smiling, story telling, and paint. Spiderpunk makes his usual tag on the building as you try to get the hang of using spray paint cans. Genuine laughs from Spiderpunk when you have a stupid yet funny comment, and a smile seen in your eyes when he has a joke. Something warm develops in your chest and cheeks by being in his playful presence, a bit foreign but it's a nice feeling. Like a warm hug..

At one point you two actually get to painting, with a practice ‘drawing’ being a little spider like the one he has on the back of his jacket. “Aw, nice! Am I like your muse?” He coos as he looks at the art you’re making with a hand on his hip.

You chuckle as you glance at him then look away to focus on the spider itself, “Like it? It looks l-” You pause and cut yourself off at the sound of a camera and a light flashing. Your head whips towards the sound and you see Spiderpunk took a polaroid picture of you.

You watch as the picture prints and he shakes it while it develops before giving it to you with a squinted lensed smile again. You see the picture is of you with your back turned and the spray paint can in your hand while it decorates the blank gray wall it's on.

“Keep i’, let it be a reminder of the time you met Spiderpunk.” He comments playfully as he picks up another spray paint can and goes to the free spot of the wall beside you which makes you laugh and shake your head while he chuckles softly.

But then you think of a question that ends up erupting from your throat as you put the picture into your jean pocket.

“Hey, Spiderpunk..” You begin as you spray a line of your paint, leaving a streak of black since you’re starting on the outline.

“Yeah?” He responds as he holds his own spray paint can in one spot to create the little dripage to give his tag the right style.

“Why do you hate Osborn so much? I mean, I dislike him too, but do you have a specific reason to hate him?”

Spiderpunk pauses slightly but keeps his gaze to the wall instead of looking at you.

“He is ruining lives and screwing people over for his own selfish gains. He’s a fascist twa’ that likes the power trip. And I can’t stand his pompous daugh’er either.” He answers while going back to what he was doing with his paint.

At this, you’re the one who pauses and keeps your gaze away. Before you can ask a little follow up–your phone goes off and you check it with eyes going wide once you see the time.

1:03am

Shit.

How long have you two been spray painting? You have to seriously get home before Roxy worries-

Or before your dad finds out you’re gone.

“I have to get the hell home- like.. Right fucking now.” You say as you scramble to grab your things and shove the almost empty paint cans into your bag, suddenly aware of what can happen to you if you arrive late- Roxy is always giving passive aggressive threats of telling on you to Osborn if you arrive home late.

Spiderpunk gets confused at how you suddenly have an urge to leave but helps you pick up your stuff anyway. “Heh, did you sneak out or something..?” He asks with a chuckle but is mostly curious as to why you’re leaving in such a hurry now.

You breathlessly chuckle before zipping up your bag. “Yeah, something like that.. Can you-” You cut yourself off as you realize you were about to ask him to take you home. Obviously he can’t know who you are- you cant lose this friendship.. Or whatever this is.

“Take me over to the park you found me. Now. ..please.” You say as you sling your bag over your shoulder and wrap your arms around his neck again–even if this time his body is warmer and there's something there that makes your heartbeat a little faster.

“Wow, and I was ‘bout to ask if you were sick of me already.” He coos teasingly before putting his arm around your waist, and with a secure grip you’re swinging through the air again.

You roll your eyes and hold onto him, he comes to a stop at the park and leaves you exactly where he found you-

On the bench.

You awkwardly say your goodbyes before bolting away in the direction you first came, you hastily put your backpack back into the tree and make your way through the dark garden. You smile to yourself as you think back on everything that you and that masked punk did tonight.

You climb up the tree beside your window and jump into your warm bedroom where the only lighting was the bathroom light you probably forgot to turn off and the hallway light outside your bedroom door peeking in from below the wooden barrier.

You kick off your boots and start removing your mask as you walk back over to where the shoebox under your bed hides. You enter your dimly lit room and see it just how you left it. You take a breath of relief and smile to yourself like an idiot as you think about Spiderpunk, walking to your bed as you remove the balaclava from your face and put it into the box along with your gloves and the picture.

Once you close the box and safely hide it under your bed, your dad suddenly bursts through your bedroom door and Roxy behind him.

“No! Mr. Osborn, She’s-” Roxy was saying to your dad before she looks at you and stares daggers for a moment before continuing more calmly, “See, sir? She’s right here.”

She had been distracting your dad while you were gone and you definitely owed her something since she was busting her ass. Your Dad seems like he was fuming but his gaze softened when he saw his daughter in her room like roxy had been saying to him.

“Hey, sweetie.” He greeted, almost awkward because of his aggressive entry. “It’s late, you should go to bed.” Osborn says as he walked over to you kissed you on the forehead.

“Yeah, I was just about to do that.” You retort in the usual chipper tone you used with him so he really had no idea of all the things you did against his back.

___

The next morning you go downstairs to your kitchen but overhear your dad livid on a call, so you stand by the door and listen in without making yourself known.

“What?! What do you mean he already hit the damn new factory at Elm street?” He practically roars but keeps mind to his volume since he thinks you’re asleep.

You smile to yourself as he begins ranting about Spiderpunk, the grin widening once he says something that made your heart pump slightly faster.

“A second one? Who the hell does he think he is, bringing some kind of date to ruin my work.”

___ @eyesxxyou .... I did it.

I'll make part 2 if this does well since I also have sm shit to do now that I have a job.

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #atsv hobie #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie spiderverse #spiderpunk x reader #spiderman #fanfic #hobie brown #what’s in a name?

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

Studious III (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

In an attempt to help you understand his recent behavior, Prince Aemond you his diary to read. What will you find within?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: non-graphic smut, perhaps Aegon's best commentary yet, more Aemond being an awkward idiot

Author's Note: The diary is being split into two part, which means this will turn into a six part series. Enjoy!

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious III

Aemond’s diary was magnificently bound. The cover was made from supple, well-tanned black leather, which had likely cost a fortune by itself. The pages were so precisely cut that you had to run your finger across the edge several times for your nail to catch. And the paper itself was smooth and rich, far finer than any you had ever written on.

The benefits of being a Prince, you supposed.

You considered for quite some time whether to start reading Aemond’s diary – gods, he had given his diary, that gesture of trust would take more time to fully process – at the beginning or at the first ribbon. More than a dozen of them, each made of fine green velvet, were laid throughout the pages marking what he most wanted you to read.

Reasoning that the beginning was the most logical choice, you opened to the first page:

The 1st day in the first moon of the year.

It is after midnight that I am writing this, the very first moments of a new year. The Maesters believe it will be another year of summer, but time will tell.

The Small Council has begun making preparations for autumn, so the Crown will be ready the moment word arrives from the Citadel that winter is approaching. I have asked Grandsire to include me in these preparations so that I may learn how…

You looked away from the page, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

It wasn’t that it was boring, exactly. But it was pretty typical – nothing that revealed anything new about Aemond. Though you supposed the fact that he began a new diary on the first day of the year, rather than whenever you filled the journal you were using – as you did – said something about how regimented he was. Orderly.

Still, with each word, your gaze was drawn to the green ribbons. To the passages he most wanted you to read.

You suspected they were all passages relating to you.

So, with the promise that you would eventually return to find out what, exactly, he wanted to learn about the Crown’s preparations for winter, you grabbed the end of the first ribbon and let the pages fall…

The 16th day in the third moon of the year.

The betrothal has been settled. Finally.

I doubt I could have endured another miserable day of sitting in Grandsire’s study, listening to him read each of the letters sent by lords from throughout the realm, desperate to pawn their daughters off to a Prince of the Realm. Though I suppose I should be grateful he had already whittled the list down to only the two-score ladies he found the most politically advantageous.

Aegon told me that more than a hundred letters arrived. So, it could have been much worse.

Every letter was nearly the same, listing the family’s wealth and assets along with their daughters ‘accomplishments.’ In truth, calling them such seems far too generous. What does a scrap of embroidery or a reasonably well-played song truly accomplish, other than a few fleeting moments of mediocre beauty? It always fades.

Besides, every highborn lady is trained in the same skills, so they are hardly exceptional.

You frowned, looking up from the journal and at the dozens of examples of your own embroidery scattered throughout the room – including on the blanket you laid under. True, they were not always perfect, but you were proud of each and every one of them.

Then there was your little lyre, sitting by the sun. You hadn’t had the chance to play since coming to the capital, and you realised in that moment that you truly missed it. Once, it had been second nature to pick it up immediately upon waking and pluck nonsensically at the strings as your maids readied you for the day.

Those songs – if they could be called songs at all –were always your favourites. Wholly unique creations of your mind, never transposed, never to be played the same again. Briefly, you almost stood and retrieved the lyre, just to see what your hands would create in this moment.

But that would require setting down Aemond’s diary.

You looked back down at his words and frowned again. It took no small amount of time and effort to develop your skills. In fact, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished. No one was born knowing how to embroider or play music.

Neither was anyone born knowing how to wield a sword or ride a dragon.

Your frown faded at that thought, as you imagined how Aemond would look if you said that to him. The memory of him in the library when you snapped back at him, looking like a befuddled fish, returned to you. It was so enticing that you called for one of your maids to bring your diary, a pen, and ink.

Turning to the first blank page, you noted the date of Aemond’s offending entry and wrote out exactly how you would rebuff him if he had said such a thing to you.

Perhaps, when you were done reading, you would tell him.

The lady we chose – my betrothed now, I suppose – is the only one that could possibly be called ‘exceptional,’ even if only among her unimpressive peers.

I almost dismissed her, for the letter written by her father was almost entirely unremarkable.

She is accomplished, as all highborn ladies are. Her father wrote that she crafts beautiful embroidery, plays some instrument or another moderately well, and is an able conversationalist. I believe there was also something about flowers – she likes them, or grows them, or enjoys arranging them?

But none of this is truly remarkable. Indeed, as Grandsire read, I admit I was not giving him my full attention. Why would I? I had heard the same words at least a dozen times already.

And then – ‘much of her free time is spent in the library, and she can rarely be found without a book somewhere on her person, even if it is just a miniature concealed within her sleeve. She is quite brilliant, if it is not too presumptuous of me to say so.’

That I had not heard before.

You preened slightly as you read your father’s praise. While your mother admired your dedication to your studies, she also worried that your intellectual pursuits would frighten your suitors away. ‘No man wants a wife smarter than he is,’ she once said.

Your father, however, had encouraged it. Once, you went to his study to show him a new book you’d found, only to overhear his steward expressing his concerns about how much the new library acquisitions were too costly. Your father dismissed him and his ‘concerns.’

And it seemed the investment in your education paid off if it caught the attention of a Prince.

It piqued Grandsire’s interest as well. After he finished reading the letter of introduction, instead of moving on to the next girl, he turned to Mother and asked for her opinion – of both the lady and her family.

Mother did not have overwhelming praise, but neither did she have any complaints. They are not the most powerful ally, though they will strengthen our position adequately enough. The Lord and Lady are friendly, if a bit dull, so it would not be an annoyance if they were to visit King’s Landing after the wedding. And they are pious – her parents have made many journeys to Oldtown and the Starry Sept.

You picked up your pen to again write a rebuttal but stopped. It wasn’t a particularly kind assessment… but it wasn’t inaccurate. You loved your parents, but even you could admit they were ‘a bit dull.’

The miniature portrait that arrived along with the letter shows that her appearance is agreeable, is somewhat plain. Though I suspect that she will wish I could be called the same. Indeed, she will be lovely standing next to me. And Mother says she will look very fine in either green, black, or even red.

It is a good match – politically and strategically, of course.

And if she truly does enjoy reading so, if she is ‘brilliant’ as her father says…

Perhaps marriage will not be so bad.

I am under no illusions that this is, or ever will be, anything more than a political arrangement. An obligation on both our parts. I know that I am neither suited to nor deserving of love.

I have negotiated with Mother and Grandsire that her chambers will be far from mine. Within the Holdfast for her safety, but far enough away that she will not be forced to see me more than our duties require.

By both her father’s and my mother’s accounts, she is kind. I am not.

A political arrangement. That is all it will be – all it must be.

But I hope that in choosing her, I can find some companionship in the arrangement. At the very least, perhaps we can discuss our favourite books.

Any offence you took at being called ‘plain’ was overshadowed by the aching in your heart at seeing how little Aemond thought of himself.

Yes, he was scarred. But he was still achingly handsome.

As far as you knew, he had done nothing that would make him undeserving of love. Surely everyone was deserving of love. At least, that is what you were always taught by your Septa.

He had said some unkind things to you, but now… after reading his note, you knew they must not have been meant as such. He was trying to be kind. He just didn’t know quite how.

The urge to throw the diary aside and run to him immediately threatened to overwhelm you. But he asked that you read, so you could know and understand him. And you were not finished yet. So, after taking a moment to clear your head by writing out a list of your favourite books, you turned to the next marked page.

The 9th day in the fifth moon of the year.

The man who painted that portrait should be flogged. Publicly. Or hanged, perhaps. For he has done to my betrothed the gravest injustice.

She arrived today. And I have been forever changed.

There is no creature more beautiful in the world. Not even Sunfyre is as radiant as her. And that imbecile of an artist – if he can even be called such a thing – made her look plain.

I shall burn that portrait immediately, and locate a true artist. One who is capable of capturing her loveliness.

Though it may be that such a thing is impossible. For it is not just her appearance that is so enchanting, but indeed her every aspect.

Her voice is more beautiful than any other sound or music I have ever heard. And she speaks with such elegance and intelligence! The reports were true – she possesses a brilliant mind. There was so much I wanted to ask her, to discuss with her, but I found myself unable to say any of it.

The words were so clear in my mind, and yet my mouth would not move. I do not even know if I actually greeted her, or if I only thought to do so. I must have, or else Mother would have scolded me. I wonder what I said…

You laughed slightly. He had only said two things to you that first day. When you rose from your curtsy in the courtyard, the first time you had looked into his eye, all he had said was your name.

He had been entirely silent the rest of the day.

Then, as you exited the welcome feast later that night, he looked into your eyes again. Finally, after a moment of furious blinking, he had said your name again and then turned abruptly to leave.

The first of many times he had done so.

You had thought he simply hadn’t wanted to speak with you, but it seemed you were very, very wrong.

From that very first meeting… he liked you.

It was almost humorous how quickly he gave up on his declaration that your marriage would be nothing more than a ‘political arrangement.’

No, it was more than just humorous – it was hilarious. And more than a little flattering.

Stoic Prince Aemond, who since losing his eye had been as cold and unfeeling as stone, was practically smitten with you!

Suddenly, you realised that you were smiling so wide that your cheeks were beginning to burn, and in your delight, you had apparently kicked your legs about – your blanket now lay on the floor. But you didn’t care. You were blushing so much that you were perfectly warm, even in your flimsy nightgown.

And as you read further, your blushing did not stop.

The 10th day in the 5th month of the year

I spent nearly the entire day in her presence, and it has made me ever surer of my initial assessment – my feelings.

She is wonderful.

I was worried that, this morning, she would be different. That I would wake and find that my mind had played tricks on me yesterday, and she was not as beautiful, or sweet, or kind as I first thought. But, to my unending delight, she is all of it and more.

Mother and I met her and her own Lady Mother in the Royal Sept early this morning. When plans for the wedding were first being made, I did enquire about the ceremony being held not there, but in the Grand Sept. However, the request was firmly denied.

Grandsire gave me various explanations – that the expense was too great, that her family would be able to remain in King’s Landing for only a short time due to the coming winter, that the Grand Sept would be too busy preparing for the coming harvest celebration, and any number of other foolish things. I appreciate that he tried to shelter my pride, but it was unnecessary.

I know the real reason.

I am a Prince, but I am the third born. The second son. And my betrothed… she is the fifth born, if I remember correctly, although the eldest daughter.

I – we – are not worthy of the honour of being wed in the Grand Sept.

Perhaps if her family were more powerful, maybe one of the Great Houses…

Why do I even care? Being Wed in the Royal Sept is still an honour, and the gods will watch over us no matter where we say our vows. But still, I want it.

I want it for her.

I want to see her face alight as she enters the Sept and sees not only its magnificence but its each and every alcove filled with hundreds of people all there for her – for us.

We will both have to settle for the lesser beauty of the Royal Sept and a few dozen witnesses in place of the hundreds she deserves.

You would have loved to be wed in the Grand Sept – to have been given that great an honour.

But you had never considered it until reading Aemond’s words. And though you tried to make yourself share in his regret, you were unable to truly feel it. Nor could you feel any offence at his comments about your own importance and that of your house.

All you felt was a pang of sadness that Aemond considered himself so unworthy, as did his family, it seemed. After the sadness faded, there came a blossoming warmth in your chest, that he wanted it not for himself, but for you.

You picked up your pen to write something, but couldn’t think of what to say. That you wished he wasn’t a second son? That he was just as important as his elder brother, or his sister, the heir?

In the end, you simply wrote: ‘Thank you. Perhaps we can visit the Grand Sept soon. Together.’

At least there will be a suitably grand celebration after the ceremony.

Gods, am I actually looking forward to the feast? I hate feasts.

I hate the crowds, the overloud music that somehow does not drown out the din of the drunken guests gossiping like fools. I hate being forced to sit and watch while the people that claim to be noble and dignified gorge themselves like rats on obscenely rich food and repulsively strong wine. I hate all the cowering girls that approach me only because their fathers want to secure an advantageous marriage, who Mother always tries to make me dance with – oh, that’s it.

I will not have to listen to the music or the gossiping. I will not have to watch the crowd or dance with any girls who look at me as if I am some creature of the night.

It will just be me and her.

And the some three hundred guests mother has invited. But it will be bearable, so long as I can sit next to her, talk to her, dance with her.

Yet he never said a word to you at the feast, and danced with you but once.

‘I would have danced with you all night,’ you wrote. ‘If you’d only asked.’

Oh yes, I think I will like this feast very much.

She will as well, I am sure. With every detail Mother told her as we showed her the Great Hall for the first time, she looked so happy, so excited. She is not afraid of me – she is excited to marry me!

Though she did not speak to me beyond greeting me when I arrived… Perhaps it is a fault of mine, for I do not believe I spoke to her, either. I wanted to, but again, I could not find the words.

Of course, now that I am alone, I can think of a thousand things I want to say. A thousand things I want…

After dinner, I escorted her to her new chambers. We were chaperoned, of course, by our mothers. But even with their eyes upon us, when I brought her to that door… I wanted to follow her through it.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted… gods, I wanted all of it.

But it is not lust.

At least, not in its entirety. I would be a damnable liar if I did not say the very sight of her – of her sparkling eyes and the glimpse of her breasts the dress she wore today granted me – had me thinking sinful, unbecoming thoughts. I admit I am grateful my jacket disguised any evidence of where my mind was as I said goodnight.

I think I said goodnight – didn’t I?

You began to blush again, but it was of a different sort of bashfulness than before. For this wasn’t innocent compliments about your beauty or your wit. It was…

As much as Aemond tried to deny it, it was lust. He lusted for you.

It was a sin. You should have been disgusted. Offended.

Yet, you weren’t.

For you would also be a ‘damnable liar’ if you tried to say you hadn’t lusted for him either. Perhaps not before the wedding, but you had certainly desired him since.

But you certainly couldn’t write that down. So instead, you wrote that he had not said goodnight. He had looked like he might, but he only nodded slightly and left.

Is it truly a sin to list after the woman who is to be my wife? Or does it remain a sin until we are actually wed? I shall have to ask Eustace on the morrow.

Still, it is not only lust. For she is not only beautiful. She is kind, sweet, intelligent, and so, so good.

I fear I may love her.

Or, at the very least, it would be very easy to love her. And harder still to not.

I do not want to love her.

To love her would be to condemn myself to a life of perpetual misery, for I know she could never love me in return.

Nor would I want her to. No one should be forced to love someone like me – someone so broken and hateful.

Perhaps it would be kinder for both of us if I called off the betrothal. I am sure Grandsire could find a way to dissolve the arrangement without causing damage to her reputation. If my own must take the blame, I would gladly do it.

Something else was written at the end of that line, but it had been so thoroughly crossed out that you could not decipher it.

I cannot. I have known her little more than a day, but I know I must have her. Not just physically, but… I need her in my life.

She is the first light I have felt in many years, and perhaps it makes me the most selfish person alive, but I simply cannot go back into the dark.

So, the day after tomorrow, I will marry her.

Tonight, I will pray that tomorrow ends quickly. Perhaps I will attempt sleeping all the way through it, and hope I dream of her.

You felt a cracking in your chest. A hurt deeper than you had ever known. And it was not only for you, but for Aemond. For both of you.

‘I need her in my life.’ And yet almost as soon as you were wed, he left you.

In those first two weeks, you only ever saw Aemond in an official capacity. Was seeing you for only a few hours every day, wherein the both of you were almost entirely silent, really enough for him?

Of course, it wasn’t. He would not have come to your chamber again that night if it was. He would not have kissed you when you lay together or touched beyond what was required by duty. He would not have approached you again and again, even when he consistently angered you or made a fool of himself.

It took him longer than you wanted to that first time, and how he did so was almost always unexpected, but…

Aemond had made a habit of leaving you, but he always came back.

The weight of that realisation and the warmth and lightness it brought to your chest could not be lifted by even the largest of dragons. So, you did not ponder it any further, nor did you write anything down. There was, at once, too many things to say and yet not enough words to express them properly.

So instead, you turned the page so hard it nearly tore.

The 11th day in the 5th moon of the year.

Today did not pass quickly.

In fact, today may have actually lasted an entire year. Or at least it felt that way. I shall have to ask the Maesters to look into it.

Gods, if I make such a pathetic excuse for a joke in front of her, she will call off the wedding herself. Humour has never been my domain. But she does so like to laugh…

I will improve, as I hope my attempts to speak to her improve with time and practice. Or perhaps I can find a book on the theories and practices of comedy in the library. Unfortunately, I doubt such a book exists for talking to one’s wife.

With a small smile, you made another entry in your journal, noting each time he had made you laugh since the moment you met. True, he was not the funniest man you had ever met – not even close. But he had made you laugh more than a handful of times.

You thought he’d like to know it.

While I cannot say that today was the worst of my life – I do not imagine any day could be so terrible to usurp that title – I struggle to identify anything good I can report.

I did not sleep at all during the night. My mind was too occupied by thoughts of my betrothed. By the things I should have said to her these past two days and how she looks when she smiles. Gods, I do not think there is much in the world I want so much as to make her smile.

Did she think of me at the same time? Did thoughts of me keep her from sleep?

You had, in fact, had trouble sleeping. Though you could not say that it was because you were thinking of Aemond. Instead, it was mostly your worries that kept you awake, wondering whether the King and Queen liked you, if your dress would fit, and dreading the possibility of your misspeaking during the wedding ceremony.

Your thoughts of Aemond were few, and they, too, were mostly worries. But, then, he had said fewer words to you than you could count on your hands, so you were all but convinced he had not liked you. The fear that he would call off the wedding had loomed over your like a stormcloud.

And it was not an unfounded fear, apparently. Although his reasons for considering doing so were far different than you would have thought.

It was not only my mind that kept me awake but… other parts of me as well. When the hour grew very late, my thoughts drifted not to the wedding itself or the feast that will follow, but to the bedding.

Mother has insisted on a private bedding and no drunken escorts, after seeing how miserable Helaena’s ceremony made her. My poor sister didn’t emerge from her chamber for days afterwards, and Aegon was no help. He was drunk for an entire week after the wedding – or at least he was when he was at the Keep, which was rarely.

At least I have that. Finally, I will be alone with her.

I must stop considering it, or my body will again react to these sinful thoughts. For they are sinful – I asked Septon Eustace, and he confirmed that such thoughts remain sinful until we are wed. So, I will try and avoid them until that time.

There was a blotch of ink next to that last paragraph, which bled into the following pages through the small hole that had been pierced through the paper. As though…

The image of Aemond stabbing his pen into his journal in frustration came to you, making you smile. You picked up your own and wrote, ‘Some craftsman worked very hard to make you such a fine journal. It is quite rude of you to treat it with such brutality.’

I did not get to see her for more than a few moments today. She was late to dinner, as were both our mothers. They had been all but consumed by the preparations for tomorrow. They mentioned flowers and streamers, music and foods, and many comments about hair, jewels, and dresses that I simply did not understand.

And her damn father seemed more than happy to indulge them, asking so many questions about each detail that I was never once able to speak with her. Why he is so interested in ladies’ things, I do not know.

Everything else that happened today is hardly worth writing about. I rose early, trained until midday, briefly met with the tailor that made my wedding clothes and sat in on court.

Now, I take comfort that this damnable day is nearly ended, and I must wait only a few hours longer until we are wed. With luck, the sleep which eluded me last night will find me tonight, and I can pass the hours remaining in sweet dreams.

You remembered how you felt at dinner the day before – when Aemond was not there. The way you had felt his absence as though it were a missing limb. He had felt that way about you after less than two full days of knowing you.

If only you had as well. It would have saved much awkwardness and pain on both sides.

There was going back now. So, you read on.

The 12th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I am wed. We are wed. I am married – to her. To my wife.

She is my wife. She will be with me now, always. But… she is not here now.

Oh gods, why did I leave her room? I should have stayed there with her, or taken her back here. Fuck!

Several sharp, scrambling lines covered the rest of the page. Not even an attempt at language – just an expression of anger.

It was almost funny to think of. While you were lying in your bed with your skirt still hiked up around your waist, wondering if that would be the rest of your life, Aemond had been at his desk striking through the journal with his pen like it was a sword.

At least he knew he had been in the wrong?

I will start at the beginning, for I will go mad if I think too long about what I have just done – and what I should have done.

Today did not go exactly as I had planned.

Sleep again did not find me this past night. I simply laid abed, my mind racing and my cock hard. I just thought of her and longed for her and prayed that the sun would finally fucking rise.

Eventually, it did.

And not a moment later, servants came to dress me. I fear I may have been quite rude to them, but I was tired, and the wedding clothes felt much tighter than they did yesterday. I was left alone then to eat my fill before the official breakfast celebration, where I would be too busy receiving the guests to actually eat. But I could not– my stomach was roiling with nerves. I barely drank any of my tea, either.

I wondered what she was doing at that moment. If she was feeling what I was.

You had vomited from your nerves. Twice.

Your mother said it was only by some miracle that your dress was spared.

But there was no chance you would tell Aemond that.

I am almost grateful that Mother insisted on following the traditions of the Reach. For if I had to wait for the ceremony at midday with no distractions… I do know if I could have endured it.

Though, I do not know how I endured the breakfast either.

Every single person in the realm with even a drop of Hightower blood was there, all of them using the wedding as an excuse to curry favour with either the King, Mother, or Lord Hobert. The same as the other guests from the Reach and the few that came from the other kingdoms.

And then there was her family. Or at least the men of her family. Her father is one thing, but she has seven brothers! Seven! Though they were all perfectly polite, I am certain that they would be happy to kill me if I ever hurt her.

If I ever did – which I swear by all the gods I would never do – I would gladly let them. I’d even ask them to take their time and make it hurt.

There was also a great number of her cousins – who would also kill me if I hurt her. I lost count of how many there were, exactly, but it is enough to make a small army. Each of them brought gifts that were clearly meant for her, even though they were presented to me.

Aegon says I should simply be happy I received so many fine gifts – including two dozen swords and even more daggers – but I cannot stand being used like that.

At least my wife – my wife, my wife, my wife – only had to endure the company of the women in her family and not so many people who are practically strangers. I hope she liked her gifts and that she enjoyed her morning. The breakfasts are not a tradition where she is from. I do hope they did not displace any of her family traditions.

You did enjoy your breakfast ceremony. It was unusual at first, and you had to rely on the Queen and distant cousin who had married into the Reach to inform you precisely what you were meant to do.

And now, you were insatiably curious about the gifts from your brothers and cousins. Aemond had not told you about them…

‘Where have you hidden my presents, you rogue?’ you wrote in your journal.

Then, at last, the ceremony.

I remember very little of it, to be completely honest. But I shall never forget how she looked, or how the midday sun lit her in gold as she finally walked through the doors of the Royal Sept.

Writing this may damn me, but I do not care. She was is more beautiful than the Maiden.

Even when she is nervous, which she undoubtedly was. She never smiled entirely, but I could see one playing at her lovely lips.

Oh, and her voice when she swore her vows! I wish I possessed some kind of magic to capture that sound in a bottle, that I may listen to it whenever I wished.

Then I kissed her.

There was another blot of ink, as though he had hovered his pen over the page so long the ink dripped.

I do not possess the words to describe what I felt then.

Rumour has claimed that my heart shrivelled and died after that night on Driftmark. If that is true, then her kiss was a miracle from the gods, for it brought that dead thing back to life – back to such life that I felt I could do anything if she only wished me to.

Even as tears of something like joy began to fall from your eyes, you laughed, remembering what your eldest brother had said about that kiss, ‘It was the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen –I had to watch all our brother’s bedding ceremonies.’

If I had my way, I would have done away with the rest of the ceremony and the feast then and there. I just wanted her, and I didn’t want to wait. But the moment I pulled away from her, Eustace started praying again, and I just had to stand there in front of dozens of people, looking at her and allow myself thoughts that, as of that moment, were no longer sinful.

Thankfully, my wedding clothes were not as tight as I thought. For if they had been, Aegon would have surely teased me for being so obviously eager for my wife – my wife, my wife, my wife.

I was so very eager – damn it all, I shouldn’t have done this either – that I only danced with her once at the feast. If I held her in my arms a moment longer, I would not have been able to resist kissing her again or dragging her away to my chambers long before it was proper.

You almost wished he had dragged you away. Although, considering how the bedding went, perhaps not.

So, I left her to the dancefloor and the many men – and Helaena – that also wanted a turn with her. I remained at the head table, not eating or talking to anyone. Not that there was anyone to talk to. Mother and Grandsire were making rounds, Aegon was chasing women, Helaena was dancing with my wife… the only one at the table with me was the King. I have nothing to say to him.

I do not know if I sat there for five minutes or five hours, but finally, Mother called for the bedding. I did not hesitate.

I actually meant to take her to my chambers, but we ended up in hers. I do not know why. Perhaps… I think I just wanted to see them. Two nights, I left her at that door, aching to go in with her.

Tonight, I did.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Something heavenly? But it was just a room, like any other. Though, I did spy two books on her table. One was a fine but worn copy of the Seven-Pointed Star. Perhaps I will commission a new one for her, bound in her favourite colour.

What is her favourite colour? She is my wife, but I do not know. I should know. I should ask.

But I don’t know if I can ever face her again.

I don’t know what I did wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. It – I’m getting ahead of myself.

When we entered her bedchamber, I froze. I was looking at her bed – where I would take her maidenhead. Where we would hopefully produce our heir. And I just froze. Froze and prayed.

I prayed for knowledge, for the Seven know I have no idea what to do with a woman. I can’t even talk to her. How am I supposed to –

A small spot of angry, squiggling lines.

When I was done praying, which I think took an embarrassingly long time, she was standing before me, her head bowed. She might have been praying, too.

I asked if she wanted my help to remove the various pins and pearls in her hair. Mother and Helaena have both complained that they become uncomfortable after a while. And I know that losing their maidenhead is already uncomfortable enough for women, so it seemed the right thing to do.

Besides, she has such pretty hair. I wanted to help her. To touch her and to run my hands through that hair.

But she said no. She did not want my help.

She was so nervous that I could see her trembling as she shook her head. I did not want to make any more so, so I did not insist further.

Nor did I want to move about her room without her express permission, for I know I would not wish a stranger to snoop around mine.

Can I be called a stranger if we are married?

I did feel the temptation to go to that table and look at the other book there. I suspect it is her diary, for there was no title on the spine, and I believe there was a thin strap holding it closed, as the pages have grown worn. It even looked as though other pages or notes had been tucked inside.

She keeps a diary, just as I do. Just as I am doing now.

Is she writing in hers as well? At the very moment?

If she is, I fear whatever she writes will not be very kind to me.

While she was removing her hairpins, she made a noise. She was trying to hide it, but it was so godsdamned quiet in that room that I could still hear her. It was soft, almost like a whimper.

That one little noise almost pushed me over the edge. Perhaps it wouldn’t have it if I hadn’t been hard for hours, but… I couldn’t wait any longer.

I had planned to remove her clothes myself. It was to be tender and romantic. But I heard that noise, and then she came back to stand beside me, and I saw her loose hair and the barest hint of her breasts, and all my plans vanished.

So, like an idiot, I told her to get on the bed. Fully clothed. And she obeyed! My sweet, innocent wife, who does not know any better, got on the bed with her fucking shoes still on!

I love her. I really do. So, so much.

That’s probably the most ridiculous thing to make me realise it, but that was it.

It wasn’t her fault anyway. I’m the one that told her to lie down. So if either of us is an idiot, it is me.

But I didn’t want her to think I was an idiot, so I didn’t undress either. Instead, I just unlaced my trousers enough to set my cock free. I stroked myself a few times to ensure I was ready – Orwyle said it would be easier if I was as hard as possible.

Then she lifted her skirts. She was undoubtedly a maiden, but her mother must have told her something, as I didn’t have to ask her to do everything. Though I did have to let her know that I needed her legs open – she had them shut tight.

When I got on the bed, I kissed her again. But it didn’t feel the same as it did in the Sept. Then, her lips were soft against mine. She pressed her lips back against mine, if only slightly.

This time, she was utterly still. Her lips were cold.

I don’t think – she didn’t want me to kiss her. Or she was afraid to, or…

Another drop of ink.

She was afraid of me.

I couldn’t look at her anymore. She isn’t supposed to fear me. She is my wife. I thought she wouldn’t look at me… like everyone else.

So I stopped trying to make it romantic. I just did my duty.

But the female anatomy is more complex than I had assumed. I looked at her – I do not know a polite word for it – and I admit I was unsure how to proceed. When I was with that wh other woman –

What fucking ‘other woman?’

You felt your face heating with rage as you read the beginning of that sentence over and over. The idea that Aemond – your husband – had been with another woman and was thinking about her after your wedding night was infuriating beyond belief.

Even after he insinuated you were unintelligent, or insulted your beloved robe, or walked away from you again and again, you had never been this angry.

You had more than half a mind to toss the godsdamned diary in the fire, storm into his rooms, yell at him a good deal, and demand answers from him directly. But when you stood and approached the hearth, you could not do it.

Aemond had trusted you with his diary, including this. He had marked this entry specifically as one he wanted you to read. Perhaps he simply hadn’t remembered what he wrote – no. He was too meticulous, this man who had started his diary precisely on the first day of the year.

He knew exactly what he wrote and wanted you to read it anyway.

So, after sitting back on the couch, you did.

When I was with that wh other woman, I did not look at her. Not there. I did not want to. But I regret that now.

I reached out to feel her, to try and find – I don’t know if it’s the whole thing, inside and out, that is the ‘cunt,’ or if it is just the hole – to try and find her entrance. That’s a better word.

She didn’t like it. She pulled away from me.

I thought it might be because my hands were cold, but I have never felt cold, so I warmed them before continuing. Which she did let me do! We actually apologised to each other at the same time. It was almost sweet. Or it would have been if I wasn’t such a fucking idiot.

I tried to go slow when entering her. I really thought I had gone slow. It certainly felt slow.

When I was all the way inside her, it felt like – she felt like…

Several drops of ink.

Warm. She was warm, like sitting only a few feet away from a fire.

And soft, softer than anything I’ve ever felt before.

I don’t know how to describe how – her tightness. Not so much that it was difficult to enter her. I didn’t have to force my way in. I never would. Yes, there was some resistance at first, but after a moment, it was just right. Perfect, even.

How could she be so different from the whore? When Aegon brought me the Street of Silk and presented me with a line of women he had selected himself, he said it didn’t matter which one I picked. ‘A cunt is a cunt,’ he said. ‘You must simply choose which drapes you prefer.’

They are not the same.

Is it just because I love her? Because I actually wanted her, as I didn’t want the whore?

You didn’t think any sentence containing the word ‘whore’ could you make you smile. This one did. According to Aemond, you were better than a whore – you were perfect.

And he loved you.

He hadn’t been cold and distant that night because he didn’t want to lie with you, but because he wanted to so badly that he forgot his senses.

As your smile grew, you buried your face in the diary, grounding yourself in the smell of parchment and dried ink.

A few moments ago, you were ready to storm into Aemond’s chamber and unleash your anger upon him. Now, he once again had you giggling like a silly little girl. What power did he hold over you that allowed merely his words to have such an effect on you?

One word floated through your mind like a leaf on a breeze. A dangerous word, one which frightened you far too much to give voice to. Even if only in your mind.

Instead, you swallowed it and laid the diary back on your lap.

I thought that feeling… that she might feel it too. The euphoria that came with release meant that – that it meant something. That maybe I was mistaken when I thought she was afraid of me.

But when I went to kiss her again, she did not look as happy as I felt. She still looked afraid. Afraid and confused, like she was expecting more. Like I was not enough.

I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t face that look and what it meant. I can’t live in a world where she fears me. Where she does not want me as I want her.

I said that this marriage would only be a political arrangement, but I don’t want that anymore. I want more. I need more.

So, I left. I just… left.

If I were a man, I would go back there now. I would apologise and tell her that I loved her. That she is the most beautiful creature in the world and that I will do anything to make her happy.

But I am here, writing in this stupid fucking diary because I am too much a coward to face her.

I can’t just avoid her forever. She is my wife. I must see her again.

Thank the gods that we are not being sent on a royal progress. Not until we know for sure that the summer will last the year. But I will still see her. Tomorrow. She will be at court, at my side as my wife. And at dinner with the rest of the family.

Gods, what am I going to do?

Another stab in the page, this one not as fierce as the last.

I need help.

I’m sure Aegon is still at the feast if he hasn’t…

Not tonight. I am two days without rest, and I do not think I can restrain myself if Aegon makes untoward comments about her.

Tomorrow, I will ask for help. I have no other option.

I must see her smile again.

You ran your hand over the page, over the words that broke your heart again and again. As if in response, the pain in your stomach started once more. You reached for your teacup, only to find it empty.

Aemond’s diary fell from your lap as you sat up and leaned across the table to reach the teapot. It, too, was empty. “Damn,” you whispered.

Another pain came, accompanied by a sharp pang of hunger. Looking over to the window, you found the sun more than halfway across the sky. Had you really been reading for so long?

You wanted nothing more than to keep reading, but you knew hunger would only worsen the pain of your moon’s blood and possibly make you more likely to do something foolish, like go to Aemond before you had finished the diary.

So, you picked the journal up from the floor, marking your place with one of the green ribbons you had set aside, and stood.

Aemond’s words – his truths – would still be there after you ate and drank and perhaps called the Maester for something to ease your pain. For now, you would take some much-needed time to think through all you had read. All you had learned.

And you would write. While reading, you too often became caught in his words and neglected your own.

Aemond gave you his truth, so you would give him yours.

But after more raspberry tea. And a meat pie. And some tea cakes.

After all, he made you wait. Now it was his turn.

1K notes · View notes

fxtalitygod · 6 months

Text

VIII. ~Survival~

Summary: You were determined to survive longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pet names (Little Flower used 5-6x) implied harsh parenting {on Sukuna's end), mentions of adult murder, implications of impregnating, implied Stockholm Syndrome, images/depictions of dead bodies (both human and animal), child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), NOT PROOFREAD YET (sorry ;-;)

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: For starters, I want to clarify that I am choosing to purposely not mention the names of the twins. Although this makes it difficult on my end, I wanted you, the reader, to decide on the names of your choosing while reading.

P.S. This is the longest chapter I have written. Sorry it took so long but I hope it proves well and worth the wait. (╥﹏╥)

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX

You could see the fire, smell the blood, and hear their screams as they begged for mercy. They cried out for their children and loved ones whose bodies were now burning in the roaring flames, reduced to cinders and ashes. Those who threatened to charge were killed before they could make contact, their body contorting in ways the human form was incapable of, causing cries of pure agony as they were left to bleed out in their mangled state– they were left to suffer in their pain as the life slowly drained out of them. If a suffering soul was fortunate, the fire would catch them aflame and kill them faster, or debris would land in a fatal spot or crush them whole to end their misery.

Viewing the demolished structures and flaming bodies, both dead and alive, was a petrifying view– yet you felt nothing. Your breath was methodical, your expression blank, your body unmoving. Pity and remorse were thrown out the window– fear and anguish had long vanished; however, anger and resentment lingered like a tiny flickering flame that continued to grow with each crumble and cry that could be heard.

Although your exterior appearance seemed calm and collected, your heartbeat said otherwise as it accelerated, pounding against your chest so hard you could eventually drown out the hollars of distress with its rapid thumping.

“Mama, look!” Two voices sounded.

Your breath hitched as the familiar calls rang through your head. The pounding in your chest quickened and strengthened when the footsteps got closer. Hearing their giggles and whispers caused your form to tense– not having the strength to say or do anything. How would you explain your current position? How would you tell them tha-

“Mama, are you alright?”

You snapped out of your daydream to see you were in front of the stream, taking care of your personal tasks, this chore being the cleansing of garments. The query of when you arrived there was unknown, but you would assume it had been for way longer than you should have resided in that area. The dreams you would endure during the solace of night, despite those nights being anything but comforting, had begun bleeding into the day and becoming more prevalent and gruesome. It was becoming quite the distraction.

"Mama?"

Before you could allow your thoughts to consume you, you focused your attention on your son and daughter, who were awaiting your reply with innocent eyes. Yeah, their virtue never ceased to amaze you. They were too good for this world– their empathy brought light to your soul that you believed had burnt out long ago– pride and joy.

You looked at your twins with an awaiting gaze as you watched their expressions turn into excitement at the realization they had caught your attention. You blinked once before being met with a piece of parchment littered with ink. It did not take long to realize that the twins had made you something in their short time away. Blinking up at the two, you gave them a fond grin before looking back down at the material. Upon viewing the parchment, you saw an image of what you assumed to be an image of a bird, and next to the picture was a small note.

" To show gratitude to our dearest mother," you read aloud before holding the small gift to your chest, "Thank you, my loves, it is lovely."

The joy on their faces from the small compliment warmed your heart, referring to your previous statement of them being too good for this world. There were moments when you could not believe that the twins were a product of you and Sukuna– that was a reoccurring thought you had often. They were, without doubt, your most significant and last blessing as things around the temple had not been going as smoothly as they once had been the first few years you resided in it, and it was clearly starting to take a toll on everybody, including you.

"Mama, guess what we learned today?" Your son exclaimed excitedly, causing you to jump a little, not expecting the sudden outburst of enthusiasm.

"Was it penmanship because the both of you are getting better. Have you been practicing like I have told you to?" You joked, poking at their bellies, causing them to giggle.

"No, Mama, Father taught us about Jujutsu!" your daughter shouted enthusiastically.

"Hey, I wanted to tell her," the boy pouted.

"Sorry," your little girl apologized as she turned to look at her brother with an apologetic look.

The sibling tried to look upset, not wanting to give in quite yet, but when he turned around to look at his sister's guilty expression, he launched to hug her. If you had said it twice, you were to state it a third time– the world did not deserve this pair– you could not stress that enough.

"Did he now?" you breathed, your anxiety slowly creeping to the back of your neck like it did so often.

You were aware of the agreement you made with Sukuna all those years ago, and as of things so far, you both were holding up to your ends of the deal. The twins continued to be educated under your supervision and occasionally your attendant. Your little girl and boy were now at the ripe age of six, at which they would begin manifesting their cursed energy, so they were now taking lessons under their father's supervision– that notion made you apprehensive of your deal.

As you previously mentioned, things were not going as smoothly as they once were. Your village has become slightly non-compliant recently. The traditional wedding ceremonies had stopped a little over a year ago as families started refusing to hand over their kin to Sukuna. Despite the disrespect, Sukuna had no care as he had plenty of women to satisfy him; however, to say that he was taking the rebellion lightly would be a complete lie. Over the last few years, more guards were posted for precautionary reasons. Nothing major had happened yet, only the occasional distant and muffled voices chanting in protest.

With such circumstances, emotions were running high, and the crowd only seemed to get bigger as the days passed. You could admit that some days were worse than others, but it did not change the fact that these events could cause a catastrophic resolution at the hands of your husband. Viewing the situation, there was no question that Sukuna would be more occupied than usual; however, it was not amid meetings or trivial tasks but with his children instead.

Sukuna could hardly be viewed as a legitimate father but rather a mentor– a cruel one based on the round, tear-stained cheeks that would walk into the garden after they had spent their designated time with their dad. The only children who seemed the slightest bit content with their learnings were your son and daughter. Your twins have not been training for long, but they had outlasted most other kids regarding their spirits breaking. The first day your little boy and girl had left to meet with Sukuna, you could not help but feel nervous; however, when they came back, they were all giggles and smiles as they told you of their time with the man they call father. To say you were shocked was an understatement, but despite that astonishment, you were simply glad they left a good impression and walked out unscathed, their spirits still intact.

"So, have your studies with your father come to fruition yet?" You asked, not thinking of your wording as the question effortlessly slipped from your tongue.

"Come to fruition?" your son repeated, looking at his sister to see if she understood the meaning of your words.

Despite your children being clever, they were still young and naive, and that naivety could not help but make you laugh gently as you watched them whisper to each other as they tried to decipher the saying. They paused in their little hushed conversation at your breathy giggle, flustered as they looked at you, hoping you would grant them the knowledge they wanted.

"Mama, stop laughing. What does it mean?" the two whined in sync as they looked at you with awaiting eyes.

"Alright," you managed to say between your little fits of giggles, "It means to succeed in the progression of a goal. In this case, did you reach the intended goal of your lessons today?"

Your twins thought over your words for a minute before a look of realization washed over their faces. The two looked at one another to make sure the other understood, finding they were both on the same page before turning to your now-awaiting gaze. Smiles were once again plastered to their expressions of proudness.

"Not exactly," your daughter stated.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?" you questioned with a raised brow as you looked for an answer.

"Well...we do not have cursed energy yet, but Father said it was okay because we will..." Your son trailed off before looking at his sister for assistance, trying to remember the exact words Sukuna had used.

"Manifest!" your daughter shouted in revelation after a moment of thought.

"Oh yes, manifest! He said it was okay because 'we will manifest our cursed energy soon enough,'" your son finished, ignoring the distant whispers and tiny gasps that had suddenly emerged from the surrounding women and children.

"And you both will, I am sure of that– my intuition is never wrong," a deep voice resonated behind the twins.

You froze as you looked up to see Sukuna looking down at you, a proud grin on his face as he let the words settle. Your smile had long disappeared, your lips forming into a tight line as you met his gaze. His presence was not what had upset you as you had grown familiar with his company and unexpected visits, but rather the fact that you knew he was right.

"Father!" the twins shouted, bowing before going in to hug his legs, looking up at him with their innocent doe-like eyes that shone the color of your own hues, little flecks of what seemed to be crimson could also be seen if the light hit them just right.

Your heart stopped for a second as you watched your four-armed companion freeze on the spot at the sudden attention. Although you knew Sukuna could not lay a hand upon his children due to the contents of the pact you had made with him, it did not eliminate the uneasiness you had, worried of the thought he would grow to distaste them. The curse-user was not a man of tenderness nor liked to be presented with such fondness, especially from his offspring. There was no room for weaklings in his realm, in hid brigade of suitable heirs.

You sit there, waiting for his reaction, chewing on your lip to the point it draws a small amount of blood. The man stood stiff, looking down at the two smaller beings that clung to his legs in a warm greeting before moving to bend down, causing your heart to spike in rhythm. The questions flooded your brain once more like they often did when it involved your significant other's actions. Sukuna took a set of his arms, placing one on each twin's back before meeting their eye level.

"Did I ever indulge either of you with the story of how I found out about your mother's conceiving of the both of you?" Sukuna asked, an arched brow with a devious smile as he switched eye contact from one twin to the other.

"No," your son replied honestly, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

With that short answer, Sukuna looked at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes before redirecting his focus on his kids once more.

"I knew that your mother would one day bear the fruit of her fertility, but there was one particular evening where I could sense an odd presence. I immediately called upon your mother, and when I was met with her physique, I could tell she was with child. It would have been unnoticeable, but my perception is unlike the average man. Looking at your mother, I could see her stomach was softer and slightly rounder, her ankles somewhat swollen, and her breasts enlarged."

You held back the bile rising in your throat as your husband explained his side of the story you knew all too well, remembering the exact events that led up to that day. His vulgar description of the event sickened you to the core.

"Your mother was unaware of her condition, but I was. The moment I felt her stomach, I could feel the presence of not one but two essences in her womb. I remember the look on her face when I told her– pure shock."

Sukuna's words offended you because pure shock was an understatement. You were undeniably mortified that day, but you would never admit that to your children. For their happiness's sake, you were willing to push the bitter memories of your pregnancy aside. They did not need to know your previous disdain for them– you had not even met them yet. What they did not know could not hurt them.

"How could you sense both of our essences?" Your daughter questioned, tilting her head as Sukuna focused his attention on her.

"Always the curious one, aren't you?" Sukuna noted, a teasing grin forming on his face.

"Mama says it is always best to stay curious because you will never learn anything new if you are too stubborn or scared to keep asking questions."

"Did she now?" Sukuna's grin grew wider as he drew his attention back to you, "And what do you believe that is a lesson of?"

"Fearlessness?" your daughter answered hesitantly.

"Close, but not quite," Sukuna started, "She is teaching you confidence."

"Is that not the same thing, Father?" your daughter questioned again.

"Not exactly, my child," The curse-user paused, looking at you for a fleeting moment before continuing, "being fearless is alright in certain circumstances– something as frivolous as a mouse is something to lack fear of, but there are certain things you should fear. Fear, my child, is what keeps you alive; however, it can be crippling at times. It is the confidence to overcome those fears that lets you survive."

"Why have you come here, Sukuna?" you suddenly asked, becoming tired and uncomfortable with his lingering presence. You knew that the man had not come for idle conversation and to share invasive stories nor explain your teachings.

Had your twins been any older, they would have caught onto your passive aggression as you addressed their father, staring at him blankly as he drew his attention to you. You were aware of the line you were crossing, aware of the hostility you were presenting in the presence of your children, despite the obliviousness of it, but with high tension in the temple and his sudden visit, you felt you had every right to feel uneased. Sukuna's gaze turned from teasing mischief into a grave look.

"Well, Y/n, I wish not to sully our bonding with grave matters," the man spoke, returning your passive-aggressive tone, "we'll speak of it later."

"So why did you come, father?" Your boy asked, looking up at the tall man.

"Must I have a reason to visit my kin?" Sukuna teased.

"Well, we do not see you much outside of lessons," your daughter jumped in with her own comment.

"Observant as well, huh?" Sukuna huffed, pausing for a moment before speaking up once more, "I was wondering if you both would accompany me on a hunt?"

That question caused their little orbs to light up, their little heads turning to you, silently begging for your approval. Looking at their pleading eyes, you could not say no, giving a nod of approval. If they were cheerful before, they were exhilarated now. These kids were to be the death of you if a simple pair of puppy dog eyes could make you cave like this, and you were okay with that.

"Can Mama come too?

Your blood ran cold at the mention of your name. There was no particular reason to be troubled, but at this point, it was a habit for these tense feelings to rise whenever your name was mentioned. So, as you look at your supposed significant other, you could feel yourself about to explain how you had other activities to attend to.

"I do not see why not."

Now, that was unexpected.

The words you were going to speak paused in your throat, swallowing them down when your little boy and girl rushed up to you after hearing Sukuna's approval, hugging you as they tugged on your hands to stand. What was he playing at? Despite the inquiry of his intentions, you had to push it aside as you saw the thrilled look on your children's faces–they most likely wanted to show off what they had learned while spending time with their father. They always returned with smiles of pride after spending time with their dad. You would give up your life to see them smile at you like that for as long as you lived, so you followed them as they walked beside Sukuna despite your own apprehension.

Time slowly passed as you trekked quietly through the nearby woods, watching Sukuna's movement as he led the three of you through the brush, pausing when something caught his eye. It took only a moment for a bow to appear in his hand, but when you had expected him to use it, he motioned over to your son, giving the child the weapon. Every motherly instinct told you to confiscate the bow, but quickly reminded yourself of your pact both in regards that Sukuna was bound to protect your children from harm and that you had accepted he could use any training methods he deemed necessary– this being one of them.

Sukuna was crouched the lowest he could get, arms hovering over your boy's form, guiding his son while speaking in a low voice as the two focused on the prey ahead. Looking into the small clearing, you could see a few grazing rabbits, clueless and defenseless to the threat before them, nibbling on the dewy grass. The bow's snap and the sight of an impaled rabbit caused you to return from your light daze, turning over to see your son smiling in excitement.

"Did you see that, Mama? I did it!" the boy beamed, maintaining a hushed voice.

You gave your son a warm smile, nodding in reassurance before watching your son switch places with your daughter. The rabbits that previously remained in the clearing had run off, but one straggler emerged from bushes, unaware of what had occurred, clueless about its impaled companion. In a mere few moments, the creature suffered the same fate as the previous one, bringing joy to your little girl. She turned to you with the same smile as her brother's– it frightened you.

You had no doubt that you loved your children for who they were. You loved their innocence, passion, and joyful nature, but a realization had dawned upon you in these moments– one that made your heart drop to your stomach.

"Mama, you try!" your daughter called out, grabbing your hand as she led you toward a better spot to shoot from, that spot closer to Sukuna.

Their reason for upbringing would be to take their father's place, to be his heir, and Sukuna was not giving that role to a charitable and naive son or daughter. Things seemed pleasant for now, and your children might keep their nature through adulthood, but one thing was for sure. Whether they stayed that way or not, they would feel justified in their actions– believe what they were doing was good because that is what their father was teaching them, and you were enabling it.

"Darling, I'm not sure that it would be wise for me-"

"I think it is a marvelous idea," Sukuna interrupted, standing from his crouched position and grabbing your waist.

You felt the man's hands slither up your body, messing with the material of your clothing before touching your flesh. Your skin burned unpleasantly as his hands settled, a faux attempt to adjust your form when you were capable; however, with your twins present, you would not dare cause a stir. Looking at the clearing, there was nothing seemingly there as all the critters that previously inhabited it ran off.

"There's nothing for me to target, so maybe we should end this," you suggested, trying to excuse yourself from this activity, keeping a low tone.

"If nothing is there, why do you whisper, Little Flower?" Sukuna responded in a hushed voice, feeling his smirk form as his face rested against your cheek.

Before you could respond, the sound of fluttering was heard. Without thought, you lifted the bow's angle, shooting the arrow into the air– a thud sounded shortly after as whatever you had shot hit the ground. Looking down, you could see a bird skewered with an arrow, blood pooling from its limp body and staining the grass surrounding it.

"Mama, you did it!" the twins exclaimed, thrilled you had participated.

Their sounds of excitement were drowned out by the ringing of your ears as your gaze lingered on the deceased animal. What had you done? Yes, you had viewed death without so much as a flinch, but you were not the one with blood on your hands. You were unaware you could perform such an action– you had never held a weapon before, only a mere kitchen knife.

It disturbed you.

How did you kill the helpless creature so instinctively? So effortlessly? The worst part is...

It felt good.

The ringing eventually subsided as the bow settled to your side, turning your head toward the two-faced man you called 'husband' and handed it to him. Thankfully, Sukuna took the item with no smug remark or wicked grin, giving you one of his infamous blank looks before moving his gaze toward the kids, motioning for them in the direction of the temple, settling one of his hands at the small of your back as you all started the walk back.

Making the hike back, you settled on your earlier realization regarding your children. You would love them until the end of time, and you had no doubt about that; whether they were inherently good or bad– you would love them. But now, as you continue to think, all you can think about is the future. Where would you and your twins be standing in the years to come? What kind of life would you three indulge in if you were all to live? How many bodies would have to pile under your feet before you were guaranteed genuine safety for you and them?

For the years under the same roof as Sukuna, you had been focusing on your mother's words, the promise you had made to her.

"I promise I will survive– longer than anyone."

Your life had been summed up by that promise. So far, you have kept faithful to it because you have been surviving. From your wedding day to your pregnancy, to the many inspections you attended, all up until now, as you approached the temple, you have been surviving. You played all the right cards to get you here and made all the right sacrifices to keep your children alive– what more could you ask for? You were alive and breathing along with your children, and that is all that truly mattered, right?

No.

You may have been playing this game of survival and have been successful thus far, but there was one thing you had failed to do...

Live, you had failed to truly live.

You have played your part in your husband's sick game. You married him, gave him your purity, gave him children, and now you were done. You were more than aware of the pact you had made with your husband, but almost every contract had a loophole whether it could be seen or not.

"We are relocating."

Your heart rate accelerated as Sukuna bent down to whisper those words into your ear, the words taking a moment to register. Was it out of fear? Anger? Possibly both? No. It was excitement. You had given your word that you would never leave the temple unless it was under Sukuna's supervision and say so. Unless he accompanied you outside those gates, you would remain here; however, you had never given your word to stay by his side.

You had given your word to stay at the temple.

The curse-user had just given your confirmation of freedom without being aware he was doing so.

"May I ask why?" you dug, trying to keep your composure to not seem suspicious, as if he could tell what you were thinking if you had shown the slightest emotion.

"I have simply grown bored of this place, plus I have got what I needed from these people, and they all stand right here before me," Sukuna explained, the last part of his statement being clear that he was referring to you and the twins.

"Where would that leave my village?"

Now, that was a genuine question. You were not as concerned for your village but rather your family instead. The four-armed beast of a man was not known for leaving a town so quietly– you had heard plenty of notorious stories from survivors to prove that.

"What of it?"

"Will it remain in one piece, or will it be returned to the dirt?"

"That entirely depends on them, Little Flower."

The answer was vague– it was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but you could understand the meaning behind his words. For the sake of your family, you hoped that the village elders would not perform anything stupid. You hoped they could shove their egos aside and let Sukuna leave the town with what minimal disturbance he was willing to make. Everything you have worked so hard to achieve would be ruined without their cooperation.

Approaching the temple, you could not help but feel the delight swell in your chest. After years of this torment, this unjustified punishment, you are finally going to be free. You have survived, and now you will live. The journey has been difficult, but now you will achieve the tranquility and normalcy you deserve. Your children will have the chance to live a standard and carefree life, unlike the competitive and tiring one they would achieve with their father.

It was finally over.

Arriving at the temple did not feel as bitter this time, watching your children running to your attendant as she greeted you all, giving a respectful bow before taking off with the children, most likely heading off to eat. It was quiet as you stood in the garden; everyone else had gone to fill their appetite– it was just you and Sukuna.

"What has you smiling so brightly, Little Flower."

You had not noticed it, but you had plastered a broad, foolish grin onto your face. Usually, your partner catching this would have brought you anxiety as you thought of the right words, but you did not feel that way– quite the opposite. You were proud that he had noticed, allowing your smile to grow wider.

"I feel like a burden has been lifted off my shoulders, and I cannot wait to leave this place."

"I am glad I could bring such relieving news and bring a smile to your face," Sukuna responded, smiling down at you before taking your chin between his fingers and bending down, "Once you put the children to sleep, come seek me out as we have much more to discuss."

You could only smile stupidly, nodding and allowing Sukuna to kiss you before heading to your children. You did not care what the two-faced monster had to share with you, but you would indulge him because this would be the last time you would ever have to.

You were free.

"Oh, hello, Y/n-sama! We were just finishing our meals. Should I fix you something as well?" your attendant offered, keeping a light-hearted tone.

The young woman had grown more confident with you over the years. The two of you had grown quite close after the birth of your children– she was the only person you full-heartedly trusted with your kids. Maybe you would take her with you in your escape; she was far too good to serve ungrateful and bitter women.

"No, thank you, I am not that hungry; however, I have grown rather tired, meaning it is time for bed."

"Awwwwww," you twins whined in unison, looking at your attendant with puppy dog eyes, hoping she could convince you, only to receive a shake of her head.

The twins stood begrudgingly, approaching your awaiting stance, giving you the same desperate eyes. You gave your own silent response as you offered a warm smile and a quick shake of your head before having them follow you down the halls. In any other scenario, you would have in, but things were different now. Your children need to be well-rested for the upcoming events. You were going to give them the life they deserved.

Arriving at their sleep quarters, you slid the door open, allowing the twins in first before following. Before closing the door, you took a peek out into the hallway to make sure no one was approaching. Once you deduced nobody was coming, you slowly and quietly slid the door shut, quick to approach your kids' bedside.

"Mama, do we have to go to bed?" your daughter whined.

"Yeah, do we really have to?" your son followed.

You could not help but lightly chuckle at their resistance to sleep. Your heart filled with warmth as you remembered sharing a similar moment with your mother. There were many occasions they reminded you of yourself, and you could not wait to see more of those similarities manifest when you leave this temple. You could not wait to give them a regular and well-deserved life.

"Yes, you both have to rest. You two need to preserve your energy for the days to come."

That statement piqued their interest, their faces perking up with intrigue.

"What is to come, Mama?" the twins sounded in unison like they did so often in these moments. Sometimes, it was almost as if they shared the same mind.

"Well, soon enough, you will get to meet your grandparents," you whispered, "you cousins, aunts, and uncles, all from Mama's side of the family."

"Really?!" the two shouted, settling down when you gestured for them to lower their voices.

"Yes, but do not tell your father, it is..." you trailed, picking your words carefully, "a surprise visit just for the three of us, and I do not want him to feel left out."

There was no doubt that you despised Sukuna in every sense of the word, but you did not wish for your children to hate him. Believe it or not, you wanted your twins to paint a good picture of their father, and whether that picture remained clean was up to Sukuna himself– you would not tarnish his name for him.

"Okay, Mama, we promise we will not tell." your son spoke for the two of them, his sibling nodding in turn as she motioned to seal her lips.

You smiled, whispering a small thank you before kissing the top of their foreheads and letting them rest. You stood quietly, blowing out the candles illuminating the room before leaving. Once you stepped foot into the hallway, you were startled to see a guard, a familiar one at that, though he had clearly aged with time.

"Y/n-sama, I have been instructed to take you to your sleeping chambers," the male spoke before swiftly turning on his heel to lead you to your room.

The man's voice was cold and almost distant as he spoke to you, but his voice was familiar. You were acquainted with most of the staff within the temple, but you could not remember where you had met him in particular, though he seemed familiar and significant. Your face contorted as your mind pondered, trying to recognize his face in your personal timeline, but nothing came to mind.

"Your wedding night," the guard spoke suddenly, noticing your expression of thought, "I held and guarded the door during your wedding night."

You thought back to your wedding day, and it suddenly hit you. The guard was the same one Sukuna had forced to watch the consummation of your marriage. You quickly grew flustered at the memory, clearing your throat before speaking.

"I recall now," you responded, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you happy, Y/n-sama?" another unshakable tone as he questioned you.

Why was he asking this?

"Yes, I'm happy."

You did not know what this man was playing at, but you did not want to fall into any traps, so you gave the preferred answer when this question was presented to you on many occasions.

"Even though you have suffered all these years, bearing and raising his offspring?"

"Excuse me?" you grimaced at the guard's words.

"Nothing, I am sorry, I have overstepped my boundaries. I will leave you now," the man uttered, leaving you at the doorway to your sleeping quarters.

You narrowed your eyes, staring as the male's figure grew smaller in the distance. What did he gain from that interaction? No matter– it was no longer your problem to deal with. Collecting yourself, you entered the room and immediately faced Sukuna.

"Come and close the door. We must speak of these urgent matters in private," Sukuna muttered as he blankly stared at the wall in front of him.

You did not question the man and slid the door closed, approaching him as he turned to you. Before you could speak, Sukuna placed a pair of hands on your shoulders, looking into your eyes. His gaze held no emotion you could directly name, but you could sense an urgency in his tone as he spoke to you.

"We leave tonight. The others have been informed and are gathering their belongings– I advise you to do the same."

"What?! Now?! Sukuna, what is going on that you are not telling anyone?" you urged, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Now is no time to be questioning me, Y/n. Hurry, we are leaving shortly."

"No."

The word slipped out without thought. You did not care when you left because your plans would not change, but your partner was acting strangely, and you could not help but be curious as to why. The curiosity is what led you to stand there motionless as your husband stared you down.

"Stubborn as always, I see," the curse-user muttered, "Fine, you want to know, huh? We made a pact, and I'm upholding the bargain. You told me to protect those children, right? Well, for their interest, we are leaving, so be grateful."

You stood there silently, looking into Sukana's unwavering gaze.

"What is going on?" you repeated the question.

"Your village plans to lay siege, and we are leaving to not get caught in the firing radius."

That explained the tensity and whispers among the temple. That explained the extra protection. Everything now made sense and you could not help the feeling of something rising up your throat.

Laughter.

You laughed uncontrollably, trying to cover your mouth to muffle the outburst, but to no avail. Nothing about the situation was logically funny, but you could not control yourself.

"After years of torment, they only now decide to lay siege?" you cackled, "And the best part is that Ryomen Sukuna is fleeing with his tail between his legs."

You should have seen what was to come next when you made that last statement, feeling your hair being tugged to look up at the man you had insulted. Your laugh quickly subsided, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stared into his orbs. You had crossed a line this time, but for once, you were not scared of the intimidation; however, what had shocked you was Sukuna smashing his lips against yours.

"I am the most feared man in Japan– I have no reason to be scared, at least for myself. I am doing this for us and our creation because I love you, Little Flower."

"You do not love me. You love what I can do for you, Sukuna."

"I see where our children have gotten their observance." Sukuna joked, "But you are not entirely wrong. However, that does not change the fact we are leaving right here and now so collec-"

"AHHHHHHHHHHH"

The deformed man paused mid-sentence at the high-pitched scream, storming out of the room to see the commotion. You wasted no time in following him, walking down the hall before being met with the stench of blood. Had one of the pregnant wives gone into labor? Was someone injured? Or was...

Before you could finish that last thought, you were met with the sight of a lifeless body surrounded by its own red fluid. It was disturbingly familiar, and that was because it was the body of the guard that had escorted you earlier. You were shocked at his mangled state, his face just barely beyond recognition, but before you could allow the shock to settle in, another sound of screams was heard in the opposite direction.

Without thought, you bolted in the direction the screams came from. You flew past those blank walls faster than you knew you were capable of before landing at the sight of another body surrounded by women. It was your attendant, her face frozen in fear, her body almost in the same state as the previous one. This death hit you harder than the earlier one as you covered your mouth, keeping the bile from rising up your throat.

Despite the grief and sickness you were feeling, you could only think of one thing, and that was your twins. You lingered for a second longer before running to your twin's bedroom. You had not noticed, but Sukuna trailed behind you closely as you sprinted through the temple. Your breath was running ragged, but you would be damned if you were to leave your twins behind in this gruesome mess.

You made it to the door, sliding it open and rushing in, your eyes scanning the room for your twins, but they were nowhere to be seen. Your heart hammered against her chest as you began to panic, turning to Sukuna to see that his face was once again blank as he looked into the room from the doorway. Why did he have that look on his face? It did not matter– you had to search for your children. You turned to look back into the interior room, looking up from the bedrolls to be met with the wall, and heard the sound of a scream once again, your heart dropping.

You had found your twins hanging from the wall, a message written above them that was written in their own blood.

"Bring back our daughter."

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @alurafairy @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @gojosluts7789@all4koo@hyperfixationsporfavor

#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #tw stockholm syndrome #tw death mention #tw dead body #tw suggestive #tw child murder

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poisonousgirlie · 2 months

Text

Sparks (Luke Castellan x Daughter of Zeus! Reader)

A/N: This is my first writing post on here, so I hope you like it. In a HEAVY Luke kick right now, and I ran out of fics to read, so I decided to write one.

Word count: 1,515

Summary: Luke can't get the new girl at camp out of his head.

part II

Luke was just shy of 16 when you arrived at camp. He vividly remembered that day. He and Chris had been scheduled for an extra patrol shift because they got caught pranking the Ares cabin. More accurately, Chris got caught, and Luke got roped into it. Regardless, Chiron had appointed both of them to the border patrol shift that evening, even though they had been on the same duty just the day before. It was dusk, the shift was about to change, and Luke was looking forward to making his way down the hill for dinner when a disturbance in the woods caught the attention of the group. The 6 other half-bloods on patrol with him all reached simultaneously for their weapons as they heard a scream in the distance, and spotted the trees just down the hill from you shaking left and right as if something massive was pushing through them. Your figure came into view, distant and limping, dragging what appeared to be the semi-conscious body of your satyr protector behind you. You reached the top of the hill, just to the right of Thalia’s tree, and somewhat unceremoniously discarded the body of your companion against a tree. You turned back towards the woods, only a long dagger in your hand as you faced off the threat emerging from the woods. Luke and the others had begun running towards you as soon as you came into view, but the patrol had been nearly a quarter mile away when they spotted you, and to everyone’s horror the massive cyclops chasing you was moving much faster than they could. Luke watched, his heart in his throat, as you visibly steeled yourself before launching towards the monster. You agilely dodged its attempts to grab you before basically vaulting up its large form and burying your dagger deep into the monster’s chest. The move was smooth, not flawless but fluid enough to prove that you had done it before. Fortunately, the Cyclops disintegrated, leaving you panting and bleeding. You retrieved your protector and dragged the both of you the last few feet across the barrier just as the patrol reached you, seconds too late to be helpful. Somebody must have alerted Chiron to the arrival of a new camper because his form crested the hill and ushered you and your protector to the big house for medical treatment and your introduction to camp. That night, as he lay in his bunk in the corded Hermes cabin, Luke could not shake the image of you from his mind. You were stunningly beautiful, uncannily so, making him question if Aphrodite was your mother before he even got a good look at you. This wasn’t what left your image imprinted behind his eyelids however, it was the steely determination on your face and the impressive way you battled the cyclops that had you lingering in his mind. There was something curious about you, and he resolved to find out what it was.

In the time following your harrowing arrival at camp, Luke made a concerted effort to get to know you. Two days after your battle by the barrier, Luke was the first to volunteer to show you around camp when Chiron showed you to the Hermes Cabin. He toured you around, pointing out various cabins, training grounds, and important buildings as the two of you wound through the camp. You were polite and somewhat reserved as he showed you the ropes, not letting much slip about yourself or your past. Camp suited you. You settled in well to the routine, adoring the training and enjoying the novelty of having a warm bed to crawl into each night. Your hand-to-hand combat and blade-wielding skills were already impressive for a demigod with no training, and you improved drastically with even minor instruction. Luke took it upon himself to help with your sword and dagger training, partially as an excuse to get close to you and partially because he wanted a new sparring partner who could keep up with him. He discovered that the long dagger you had carried into camp was celestial bronze; you had found it mysteriously wrapped in your backpack a few years before you arrived at camp and had defended yourself with it ever since. As you became more comfortable with Luke, you slowly revealed more about yourself and your past. You had been alone for a long time, an orphan traveling around the country and battling monsters for years before your satyr protector had found you and escorted you back to camp. Despite being alone for so long, you fit right in with the busy nature of camp. Sometimes you would get slightly overwhelmed, but your quick-witted humor, dry sarcasm, and warm heart endeared you to most of camp almost immediately. Everyone had heard about your arrival at camp, not only saving your injured protector but also killing a 15-foot cyclops alone, with nothing but a dagger. Most campers had impressive stories, but your reputation grew before you even emerged from the big house on your first real day. You had spent barely a week in the Hermes cabin before you were claimed. Luke had been trying to guess who your parent could be. You were beautiful enough to be Aphrodite’s daughter, fierce enough to be a child of Ares, clever enough to belong to the Athena cabin. He even questioned if you could be a child of Hecate, even though she had no cabin at camp; something about the sparks that swirled in your eyes was distinctly magical. Despite having all these attributes, it felt clear that none of those options were the correct one. Not even Luke, however, was ready for the shock that your claiming would send through the world of Greek gods and heroes.

Your very first Friday at camp, capture the flag took place as usual. You fought well, aiding Luke and the Blue Team to victory. People were gathering together after the horn signaling the end of the games, congratulating teammates, and throwing bribes at the sore losers of the red team. Luke was helping a young camper tend to a minor wound when every hair on his body stood straight up, his nostrils burned, and he felt more than heard the deafening crack that shattered through the trees. He spun around to find you, a bright glow dimming in your eyes, hand extended towards the smoking form of a dead giant scorpion. The monster’s body was poised to strike, positioned just behind a completely shell-shocked Annabeth. The scorpion had managed to sneak up on her (a rare occurrence), and would almost certainly have killed her if it weren’t for your intervention. It was kind of impossible for Zeus to ignore you after you had literally wielded lightning, and the lightning bolt that shined over your head honestly seemed a bit redundant. Murmurs of shock and disbelief spread through the crowd; however, the campers made a path when Chiron appeared. The centaur stared pensively at the fading symbol above your head before bowing his head, and loudly calling out, “All hail y/n, daughter of Zeus, King of the Heavens.”

Chaos enveloped the hours and days after the incident in the woods. Nobody knew what to do or think. Zeus was not supposed to have children, Thalia was supposed to have been the only one. Chiron and Mr. D worried about your safety. Technically, both Poseidon and Hades were within their rights to strike you down, according to their agreement, as you were not supposed to exist. This seemed unlikely, as nobody wanted to anger the King of the Universe, but it was a very real possibility. Nothing seemed to be happening right away though, so the next day you moved into Cabin 1. Luke warned you that it wasn’t the most pleasant of spaces, big, cold, and empty. However, when you cracked open the door to the cabin, you found it to be much different than he described. The domed ceiling was made of glass, allowing for a gorgeous view of the sky, which seemed fitting for the sky god’s cabin. A huge statue of Zeus stood at the center of the marble room. However, there was an alcove to the right that held a comfortable-looking double bed, lamps that seemed to be lit from within with tiny little lighting bolts fixed at intervals throughout the room, and even the rest of the cabin had been magically populated with things you may need. Bookshelves now lined one wall, a small sitting area in one corner, the bathroom in another. The cabin still had a bit of a high and mighty air to it, but it looked like a livable space, rather than a cold stone box as it had been for years. Chiron had been flabbergasted when you showed him the changes. It seemed Zeus felt badly that you lived on the streets for so long and decided to bestow you with a gift. (a/n: pretend this would ever happen and is not wildly out of character please want my girl to have a nice living space okay). You settled your few belongings into your new home and prepared to truly begin your life at Camp Half-blood.

Luke had a difficult time for the first little while after you were claimed, the suddenly obvious parallels between you and Thalia sending his mind spinning. Both fighters, daughters of Zeus who had learned to survive on their own. Both battled a cyclops at the edge of camp while trying to protect their protectors. The likenesses were unnerving. His first instinct was to feel that it was unfair that you got to survive when Thalia did not, but he pushed that feeling down when he realized that you could not help that, and had nothing to do with the events that took place last year when he arrived at camp. You were your own person, situationally you may have been similar to Thalia, but you were not her, and deserved a fresh start just like everybody else, daughter of Zeus or not. Luke had been avoiding you since showing you to the Zeus Cabin, he needed a moment to process everything. In hindsight, you being a daughter of Zeus made perfect sense. There was something about your eyes, they seemed to spark with life, each emotion was mirrored within your eyes, and they seemed to truly light up when you smiled. You also always seemed to be accompanied by a slight breeze, the wind flowing through your hair, and giving you an air of floating as you moved. He also could have sworn that the other day as he taught you a new sword technique the wind had kicked up, pushing him backwards and aiding you in the mock fight. The grace and confidence you moved with made sense too, even bleeding, dirty, and scared you had managed to give off an impressive air of confidence and poise, fitting for the child of the King of the Gods. After a while though, his mind strayed from your parentage to just you. He had only known you for a few days, but he found himself captivated with you, you were surprisingly funny, able to joke with him and Chris on your first day. You were sarcastic, and he would not want to get on the wrong side of your quick wit, but he also saw the sweetness you displayed when interacting with the young campers in the Hermes cabin. Your residence there had been brief, but quarters were tight and the little ones seemed to like you, something that did not slip by Luke’s notice. He knew you were an anomaly, one he was determined to understand.

Over the next year, the friendship between you and Luke grew, along with your friendships with the other campers. You fit into camp as if you had always been there, despite the unusual nature of your parentage. Being on the older side of the campers, and also the only member of your cabin, you were made a counselor pretty much immediately. Before long, you switched from participating in activities to leading them. Your natural talent for both leadership and the activities you engaged in made the transition smooth. Despite your newfound duties as a counselor, you still poured your heart and soul into becoming a better warrior every day. You studied with Annabeth weekly, practiced archery with your friend Jasmine from the Apollo Cabin, and questioned Chiron endlessly about his past experiences with battle and about the heroes he trained over the years. Most important to you, though, were your daily training sessions with Luke. The two of you seldom missed a day, spending several hours drilling each other, sparring, and practicing fighting techniques each day. When things got busy during the day, you would sneak out to the arena after lights out, slinking back through camp side by side hours later in the middle of the night. Luke always dropped you off at your cabin when you did this, not wanting you to be out alone at night. The camp was safe, and you could more than handle yourself, but it was the principle of it. At least that’s what he told himself; he was just being a gentleman. He definitely didn’t just want a few more minutes of having you all to himself. In the time you two spent together, both during your training sessions and outside them, you became very close. Some people found it somewhat unnerving, the way your brains seemed to link together. You could communicate perfectly without words, a skill you developed after only a few months of knowing each other, and made your teamwork while fighting terrifyingly formidable. Something just clicked, you had never felt so comfortable and safe with another person before, having spent most of your life alone on the run. Luke was more or less infatuated with you, and it was quite plain for anybody to see. He always listened when you spoke and made sure everyone else did as well. He always found some way to be close to you, a hand hovering over your lower back as he ushered you out of the dining pavilion, stubbornly forcing his lanky body into the space next to you at the campfire even though there was more room elsewhere. Whatever the example, Luke stuck to you like glue. Annabeth would tease him when you weren’t around, saying that he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His pride had him vehemently denying this, but he knew that her words rang more true than he was ready to accept. He admired you as a person, as a warrior, he liked you as a friend, and deep down he knew he cared for you as much more than that. Even in such a short time, you had become his other half, Luke and y/n, y/n and Luke. It seemed to just work, like in the way puzzle pieces fit together, or like watching one of Annabeth’s battle strategies fall into place. For now, though, he did nothing, not yet ready to disrupt the precious relationship he had built with you.

A/N: I apologize for any formatting or any other issues, things are still a work in progress over here. I hope you enjoyed!!

xx posionousgirlie

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson fandom #luke castellan pjo

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saltandburnheathens · 1 month

Text

Good morning Miss Winnie. (Part II)

Part I

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader.

Rating: Gen.

Summary:

Two weeks after Dean became a father, it's time to jump back on the hunting horse. But he's hesitant.

Notes: Non-canon, no time line. And I don't ever want kids. But I just became an aunt and I sort of need to get this out of my system! Short and I'm not promising that I won't continue this. Who knows really. Finally this was written after I'd taken my usual nightly gummy.

“Bonnie?”

You shot Dean a look across the kitchen. He was cooking eggs on the stove while you were nursing. Castiel was the only other member of the bunker awake at six a.m. and, fortunately, occupied the library. It wasn’t that you cared about the other men seeing you breastfeeding, it was how they reacted to it. Both became very awkward and outwardly attempted to look anywhere but at your breasts.

“You can’t accept Winnie, but you pick Bonnie?”

Dean shrugged.

“I was just thinking if we had a boy we could call him Clyde. We’d have our own little gang.”

“Firstly, I’m not doing this again. And secondly, Bonnie and Clyde were felons.”

“What do you mean ‘you’re not doing this again?’ Don’t most women go crazy for more kids? They smell the baby's head and some hoo-doo helps them forget about the pain and bodily fluids.”

“Yeah, well. You try being in labour for damn near forty eight hours and shitting yourself in a room full of people. Including the man you love. Then come back and tell me you’ve forgotten about it and wanna do it all over again.”

“Point taken.” Dean laughed, plating up eggs and bacon for them both, “And you didn’t shit yourself by the way.”

“I didn’t?”

“I think I’d remember.”

You smiled at the plate of food and carefully lifted the baby from your breast. She’d long since stopped feeding and was instead squirming, ready to be winded.

“I can take it from here.” Dean reached down and lifted the little girl up into his arms. He held her upright against his chest and began rubbing circles into her small back, “There we go kiddo. Get it up.”

“Be careful.” You warned.

“I’m not taking any chances.” Dean gestured to the polka-dot muslin cloth on his shoulder.

You watched as he gently walked your daughter around the kitchen, her little body squirming while he cooed into her ear. She made several little squeaking noises, threatening to cry, only to be brought back to earth by her father’s tender voice.

“Come on now, no tears. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes locked with Dean’s for a moment, both reflecting a soft smile. He was proving to be an excellent father, not that you’d doubted him for a second. But Sam had. He’d been very vocal about Dean knowing nothing about babies and how, despite the fact that he was happy for you both, he thought this whole ‘raising a family thing’ was a bad idea.

“You guys are great together! But I don’t think this is the right environment for a kid.” Or something along the same bullshit.

Dean had been adamant about her though. He damn near refused to speak to Sam until he stopped with his questions and logical answers. Sure you both had been sceptical about bringing a child into this life, but neither of you had actively prevented it. If it happened, it happened.

Speaking of the devil. Sam groaned and stretched his arms above his head, stumbling into the kitchen. He dug the palm of his hands into his eyes, drawing them down his face afterwards.

“Morning. Coffee’s in the pot.” Dean said, his voice shifting from Dad to brother by just an octave.

Sam poured himself a hefty mug before offering more to the kitchen. You declined but insisted that he fill up Deans.

“He’ll need the caffeine for your hunt.”

“Oh so you’re back on the job then?” Sam questioned, his eyebrows rising.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he shifted the little one on his chest. He searched her face, the cogs visibly turning in his head.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

“What? I thought you’d be happy to get back on the horse.” You’d assumed that after being out of work for almost two weeks that Dean would be craving a hunt, but his face said otherwise.

“Yeah. I mean I am. But she - “

“She’ll be right here when you get back.” You interrupted, “It’s a simple in and out job. Right Sam?”

“Sure. Run of the mill ghost in the attic for some old friend’s of Bobby’s.” Sam took a lengthy sip of his coffee, “And it pays too.”

“See? And we could use the cash for Winnie.”

Sam scoffed, barely holding onto the coffee in his mouth. He looked between you both and then to his niece.

“Winnie?”

“Short for Winchester but not her name. Just a placeholder until we find the perfect one.” You inform, “But what’s so wrong with Winnie anyway? It’s a perfectly acceptable name.”

“Nothing wrong with it at all. It’s just not what I pictured you both to come up with.”

“Fortunately it’s not.” Dean added, shifting the baby from one arm to the other as she reached up with her little hands, “As for the hunt, I’m not sure.”

He offered a finger for her hand to close around, eyes never leaving her. the features on his face softened, lips almost pulling downwards into a frown.

You exchanged a knowing look with Sam.

“If this is about Win- her- you don’t need to worry. I can cope fine on my own for one night.” You offered

“Yeah but what if it isn’t just one evening?” Dean answered, his voice doing nothing to disguise the concern he was feeling.

“It’s only a few towns over. We’ll be home by four am - ”

“But what if something goes wrong? Huh? Then what? I’ve left my wife without a husband, my little girl without a father. And -”

You jumped to your feet at the distress in his voice and rushed to loop an arm around his middle.

“Don’t say that. It’s a run of the mill job, something you guys have done one thousand times over. Nothin’ bad is gonna happen other than a few bruises.” You laid your head on his shoulder, eyes coming to settle on the little lady in his arms, “I can deal with those. And she’ll not know any different.”

With a deep sigh, Dean kissed you gently on the head. It was an uncharacteristic display of affection, especially in front of his brother, but you hadn’t the heart to react. You knew he was feeling vulnerable, that much was clear in his reaction, and to draw attention to it would only make things worse. Instead you settled against him and allowed his warmth and the soothing sounds of your baby to still your own anxiety.

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that some part of you was fearful of your husband walking out of the bunker and never coming home. Hunting was a dire job, one which had claimed the life of many of your comrades. Dean may be an experienced hunter, renowned in his own right, but he certainly wasn’t immune to unfortunate outcomes. That much had been proven time and time again.

Lost in thought, the only sounds in the kitchen were the gentle fussing of your daughter and the whirring of the circulation fans.

Finally Castiel broke the silence with his sudden entrance. He appeared in a flurry of feathers, one coming to land on the table top by your abandoned coffee cup.

“We have doors, Cas. Use ‘em.” Dean warned, pulling your daughter closer to his chest as she began to fuss.

“I’m sorry, Dean. It’s a force of habit.” Castiel answered, taking a seat next to Sam, “I startled her.”

“You think?!”

You moved to take the baby from Dean but he shook his head, whispering a small ‘I got this’ back to you as he started to rock her from side to side. But it was no good, her cries grew louder and more furious. You began to wonder how those big sounds could even come from such a small creature.

Before you could offer your help again Castiel brushed past you.

“I didn’t mean to scare her.” He said, coming to stand in front of Dean “Is there anything I can do?”

“Here” to your surprise, Dean held your daughter out towards the angel, “You can settle her down while I grab her diaper bag.”

You lean in and quickly sniff.

“I don’t think she needs changed, D.”

“Well I don’t know what else to do. She -”

Castiel reached forward and lifted the infant from Dean. He brought her to settle in the crook of his arm, offering up his fingers for her to grab at. Gradually she began to quiet, her hands reaching up for Castiel’s and her eyes wide, staring into his face.

You and Dean watched on in outward confusion. Castiel, to your knowledge, had never handled a baby before. At least not in recent years.

“How did you do that?” Dean asked almost aggressively, “She was cryin’ up a storm seconds ago and you just took her and nothing.”

“Did you use your grace?” Sam suggested.

“She’s much too small to handle my grace in any capacity. It would kill her.”

You considered jumping in and taking her from Castiel but stopped yourself. She was settled and happily holding onto the angel's fingers. No sense in ruining it. Beside you Dean was tense, clearly struggling with something along the same lines. His face was etched in hard lines and you could see his brows furrowing.

Gently you looped your arm through his and guided him to his long forgotten coffee cup. He moved but his eyes never left you daughter in the angel’s arms.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat, “About this hunt.”

“What about it?” Dean glared at him over the rim of his cup.

“Are you in or -”

“He’s in.” You answer before the question could even be finished.

“Wha - I -”

“Oh come on. You got this. I can handle her and Cas will be here if I need any help. Right Cas?” The angel gave something akin to a positive response, “You have to get back out there at some point.”

Dean’s gaze flickered from Sam to you, finally coming to land on Castiel. He watched the angel gently swaying the little girl in his arms and the lines on his face began to soften.

“Hmmm. You’re sure about this?” He asked.

“Positive.”

“If there’s any trouble, anything at all, you call me.”

“Sure.” You smiled, “But I doubt Winnie will be as much of an issue as your malevolent spirit.”

Dean chuckled, accompanied by Sam.

“God, we’re really going to have to talk about her name when I get back.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dad!dean winchester #dad!dean

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arcielee · 9 months

Text

Only if for a night.

Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3750 Warnings: Just some smut. Smidgen of Targcest in the beginning, voyeurism, marital cheating, oral (f receiving, m implied), fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint. Author's Note: This was a request from my darling anon! This idea literally had me obsessed until I completed it, so please don't think this is the bar for my response time. 😂 Also, a big thank you to my kindred spirits who answered my v. important questions about Aegon's booty! (You know who you are and Ily 💜) Banners & dividers by @cafekitsune Update: This story has a pick your own ending. And you told me I should concentrate. [Aegon x you] But you came over me like some holy rite. [Aemond x you] Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9

You felt numb from the sight: seeing your husband on his knees and feasting between the plush thighs of the queen.

It formed a knot that choked you, but it did not stem from a lover’s jealousy–as you knew that you did not love Aemond and he, certainly, did not love you. You always knew your marriage was one of honor and duty, to solidify victory, a peace offering postwar.

You came from a house that was reputable and wealthy, bringing a sizable force to ensure that King Aegon II would remain on the Iron Throne. Your father boasted of marrying his only daughter into the Targaryen dynasty and you felt fortunate to be given a handsome husband, despite his scarred socket.

Prince Aemond already had a fierce reputation that preceded before you met; your ladies-in-waiting tittered over his disfigurement, his sense of bloodlust, and their hushed whispers of kinslayer that haunted him still despite that the kingly decree his actions were that of a true dragon. He was a renowned veteran of the war that was won, that instilled his brother as king without question, and in return he remained prominent on the council, serving still as the Protector of the Realm.

You were shy, intimidated even, when you first saw the severity that lined his features, the unabashed gaze with his sapphire stone that replaced the eye lost, but you decided he was handsome in a way that was uniquely his own. You also found Aemond was respectful and kind, that he was intelligent, he was considerate, and you sighed your relief, knowing all too often how ladies would be knitted to cruel lords.

For your bedding ceremony, the only glimpse of the dragon that thrummed beneath was how Aemond barked to dismiss the maesters, the Lord Hand, allowing you both privacy to complete the act. He seemed well aware of the discomfort a maiden could feel and treated you with the utmost courtesy, mindful of your sighs, your soft sounds to completion.

He was dutiful and he was diligent. It was not love at first sight, not like the stories told; there was no fluttering of butterfly wings throughout nor did your heart skip a beat at the sight of him, but you enjoyed his company, his consistency, and his consideration.

In all, it was a formidable match and you were certain the marriage would be a success.

Especially once you produced a silver haired royal babe.

Which is why you were freshly bathed and dressed in silk, just the quiet echoes of your slippered footfalls against the cobblestone that led towards your lord husband’s quarters. You thought yourself fortunate no white cloak was perched outside his door, and you pressed close to listen before you carefully turned the gilded handle of the door.

The room was cast in the amber glow from the hearth and tapers lit, and it was the lewd sounds that first caught your attention. You were rooted in the doorcase, your eyelashes fluttered at the view in front of you.

Aemond was bare from the waist up, the peaks of the silver scars peering through his silver hair, and he was kneeled before the velvet settee at the end of his bed. You watched the muscled definition of his backside, the golden glow of the fireplace highlighting his bareness, as well as the elegant arc of a calf that was draped casually over his shoulder.

Your eyes followed the milky curve of this limb to look over his shoulder and see the flushed features of Helaena. She was seated on the settee, her laces loosened which allowed the natural spill of her chest, with the peak of her areolas and the rose hues that stained the skin showing. Her skirts were rutted around her hips, the fabric spilling around, and her eyelashes fluttered with a silver glimmer, her head rolling back with a wave of her silver tresses. A smile curled on her kiss-swollen lips and there was a shudder of her pleasure that rippled viscerally over, her fingers curling against his scalp with the breathless whisper.

“Aemond.”

The humiliation was hot in your veins and burned your cheeks; you willed yourself to move, but your eyes were rapt to attention, watching the frantic rise and fall of Helaena’s chest, her nipples pebbled, and the spilled moans from her mouth.

"Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…"

You left as quietly as you entered; your steps were soft, quick to take you back, with one hand lifting the silk of your chemise and the other wiping the tears that began to spill.

We were not in love, you remind yourself, but it still pinched a nerve within your chest. He was still your husband and you were duty bound to bore him a child, a son if the Lord Hand could choose. The act itself was not unpleasant, but Aemond had never…

Your thoughts were interrupted with a singsong call of your name; you were quick to wipe your face before turning to see the king.

“Your grace,” you offered him a feeble curtsy and even weaker smile.

Aegon moved with a grace, a sway to his steps; his brow furrowed above his wide, lilac eyes, and there was a genuineness to his question. “Sweet sister, it is late, what has you out of bed?”

Before you had been sent to King’s Landing, your mother warned you of his behaviors; you were also told the tale of how the newly anointed Lord Commander and your lord husband had to drag Aegon from the streets of Flea Bottom and place him on the Iron Throne.

But this notoriety of his youth seemed to dissipate with the placement of the Conqueror’s crown he now wore proudly on his silver waves. It seemed to kindle the royal ichor in his veins, and he moved with an elegance as he pressed closer, peering at you with his continued concern.

“I… I was feeling unwell and thought that I would go for a walk,” you chose your words carefully, trying to mask the threat of emotion that brimmed beneath.

His brow quirked. “Alone?”

You swallowed. In this moment, you wished to slip away, to return to your rooms and drown in your sorrow, your failures as a wife in light of learning your new husband’s infidelities, your self-loathing for craving the passion Aemond displayed, wishing it to be shown towards you instead…

The silence hung thick, too long for his liking, and Aegon reached to take your hand, placing it into the crook of his arm. “It is late,” he repeated. “If you are unwell, allow me to escort you back to your quarters.”

You fell in step, peering at him. Aegon was handsome, as your supposed all Targaryen men seemed to be; your eyes admired his silver tresses that curled at his shoulders, that showed golden with the lights that lined the corridor, casting a gold ring that reflected in the lilac of his eyes that flitted over you; his lips were rosy, an upwards curl when he noticed your stare. “You seem so solemn tonight,” he tried again.

The proximity allowed you to smell the long day on him, mixing with the scents of lavender and tea tree oils, a regal musk that called to you to nestle your head against his chest and cry. “It is only that I am feeling unwell,” is what you said instead.

His eyes were wide and watchful, but he did not argue and instead allowed the silence to envelope as he walked with you. Before you could wish him goodnight, he pushed into your room, ordering your handmaidens to fetch something to eat, as well as red wine to help settle your stomach.

They jumped with his command, quick to listen, and soon enough you were sitting on the terrace that overlooked the coast of Blackwater Bay, holding a goblet that brimmed with a Dornish wine that stained your lips with each polite sip. Aegon sat across from you, a boyish grin as he dismissed your handmaidens for the night, before reaching to break the bread for you both.

The silence followed from the corridor, settling over in a way that was not at all uncomfortable; you peered again at Aegon, a choked cry in your throat as you watched him take care to slice the cheeses and the olives for the bread, before offering it to you.

It was a simple, sweet gesture and you chewed, forcing down the bite with the wine. Whereas conversation had to be dragged from your husband, you found his brother’s tongue would not idle; perhaps it loosened from the wine, but it was not a mindless filler in a way that words are used as though silence were a threat, but you found Aegon to be cheerful, witty, as he shared stories from his youth.

Aegon glowned from his narration, from the silver light that poured over; the night sky was empty with the clouds rolling over the black water, the air cool and salty. Your cheeks were rosy from your drink and your laughter, and when your cup emptied, he was quick to refill it.

He pressed for your turn and you shared about your life before coming to King’s Landing. Aegon was an attentive listener, with sighs punctuating; you looked to see that his cheeks were pink from the wine and the wind, a curl returning to his lips. “My brother is fortunate to have such a pretty and witty wife.”

Those words were the unknown catalyst broken; you did not sob your sorrow but instead there were large tears that rolled down your cheeks. You did not realize you were shaking until you felt his fingers, his touch warm, soft, wrapping gently around your wrist. You allowed him to pull you from your seat, towards him–now standing–and enveloping you into his arms for a moment before he sat back down, pulling you onto his lap.

Your mannerly upbringing roared in your ears, this was wrong, this was improper, to be pulled into an unchaperoned embrace of your husband’s brother–the fucking king of the Seven Realms. But instead you curled against his chest, that regal musk soothing, his warmth pleasant against the nip of the air. You indulged in his comfort–his palm rubbing slow circles along your spine, his other arm across your lap, his hand gripping into your thigh.

His touch grounded you, allowing you to compose yourself and share with him what you had found in Aemond’s quarters, making sure to elicit a detail that Aegon freely supplied.

“He was with Helaena, right?”

You looked at him. “You knew?” Your voice cracked, incredulous.

Aegon only hummed, continuing his soothing ministrations, his hand rubbing your backside. “I thought you did as well,” he admitted. “Our status within the Seven Realms… requires certain duties to be fulfilled. We are honorbound to these obligations, to ensure peace amongst the kingdoms. But it is just a role to be played for the public.”

You knew this in part already; you were always aware of the duty of your marriage, the child that you were expected to bring into the world. But still, the truth spoken brought a new wave of tears that he consoled. Your body burned with his touch, his finger curling and his thumb pressing into your chin to bring your watery eyes to his own. “Is it that you love him?” He asked with a curiosity that could not be helped, in light of your reaction.

You did not, and would never, certainly not after this night. The tears that spilled came from something deeper, something that licked your belly when your eyes lingered in Aemond’s room, and your voice quavered, hiccupping to explain this.

Aegon had an almost kingly glow in the moonlight, with its silver light reflecting in the stubble that spread across his square jaw, framing the mischievous grin that curled on his wine stained lips. “Is your husband,” he speaks of him like he is apart from Aemond, not knitted within the same womb, with the same dragon’s blood thrumming in his veins, “not fulfilling his marital duties?”

You stammered with your response. This was not what you meant, as Aemond was courteous to his completion, but it was never like what you spied tonight. You flushed remembering the shades of pink that plumed against Helaena’s porcelain skin, how her back arched with her cries, his name a fervent prayer spilling from kiss-swollen lips…

"Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…"

Aegon’s timbre brings you back out to the terrace, with his continued soft circles on the outside of your thigh. “You would know if he had,” he spoke so casually, almost flippant with the subject.

How would you know? And you regret your question, your naivety apparent with your words.

The same mischievous smirk returned to his lips, and as the moonglow spilled over him something glimmered, something knowing from how his brow quirked with your question. Aegon tilted his head up slightly, his lips now close to the soft divot beneath your ear, grazing your skin with his whisper, “I could show you.”

Your lips part in shock, your eyes wide to look him over and see the flush of color that stained his cheeks, the wine that stained his lips.

And you dared to kiss him.

Your lips are shy to touch, almost chaste with your action, but Aegon responds, quick, his fingers curling at the base of your neck and his other coming around your waist. His lips are full, soft, warm with the hint of the sweet wine to taste when his tongue runs your bottom lip, eliciting a moan from you. He deepened the kiss, his tongue clever, careful, as he drew the very breath from your lungs.

The spill of silk showed your shoulder and you gasped softly when he broke away, his mouth ravenous to capture the skin now exposed, with a wake of love bites from his open mouth kisses, and a warmth began to bloom within you. You touched his chest with a gentle push to stand and he lets go, his lilac eyes wide and wanting; your hands trembled slightly as you reached to pull him to stand, boldly leading him within your chambers.

Aegon stopped you in the archway, and you turned to see the smile on his lips as he pressed against you, his thigh spreading your legs and his hands trailing your curves, settling and gripping onto your hip bones. His mouth captured yours once again, and your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him closer.

You almost whined when he stopped the kiss, his eyes glassy and their color swallowed by pools of black. “My brother is an idiot,” is all he said.

Before you could breathe a response, he pulled you into the room and back against his mouth, moving with the flutter of kisses along your jawline, nipping into the curve of your neck. His palms are still on the small of your waist, with guiding steps back towards the bed.

Clothes are removed with a passion, leaving a trail behind. “Lay back,” he coaxed, his hands warm against your bareness, careful to press until you laid against the mattress. Aegon followed after, climbing on top of you to meet with another kiss, with his sweet murmur, “Let me show you.”

It is a tickling sensation, the mixture of his stubble with the softness of his lips against the curve of your neck, trailing to your chest. Gooseflesh rippled over, your nipples peaking from the warmth of his touch; his palm cups one breast while his hot mouth latches to the other, teeth and tongue teasing.

You squirmed beneath him; his chuckle was low and warm against the valley between your breasts, from shifting his focus from one to the other. “So impatient,” and his hot kiss sends shivers down your spine, with an intensity that you know will mark you.

You shivered again with that thought.

This reaction encouraged a tensity shown to your nipples, his tongue swirled and another crest of pleasure rippled over, your hand moving to cover your mouth to muffle. Again, his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling your arm down to your side and pushing up to find your lips. “None of the that,” and his lips curled into an almost wicked smile, “your king wishes to hear you.”

Satisfied with the crimson that flooded your cheeks, Aegon moved towards your core with sporadic kisses trailing, a warm tickle of his exhale as he nestled between your thighs.

Your heart fluttered with the intimate kiss he placed, something that sparked a warmth that began to spread out towards the apex of your thighs and beyond. Your hips buck slightly from the sensation and you can feel him grin against your cunt.

“So eager,” he breathed, a warm thrill against your slick slit, his tongue flitting with a precision that had you panting. “Yes, just like that,” he praised, his fingers now pressing within your velvet walls and stretching as one curled within, then another.

His mouth, his touch was practiced, pulling something to blossom within the pit of your stomach, a fluttering sensation that built with the tandem of his fingers and his tongue.

You gasped, peering to see the top of his head, the spill of his silver waves as he moved, ravenous, determined. You writhed, a pitiful mewling sound, and his one hand moved to curl underneath your thigh, holding you in place with his continued sinful motion, your arousal spilling onto the bedsheets.

It was too much, and you whimpered, “A-Aegon,” as your hands balled to grip the linen.

��Just like that,” he purred against, his rhythm building still, a pressure threatening to burst within you. “Come for me, sweet girl.”

It engulfs you as though you had been dropped into Blackwater Bay, a rush that spilled with the come hither curl of his fingers, pressing his lips against the sensitive bundle of nerves above. You see the stars when your eyes flutter closed, the spill of tears that pearled in the corners of your eyes, your chest heaving to catch your breath and your thighs trembling.

His praise was low, husky. “You are so beautiful like this.”

You slowly propped yourself onto your elbows, flushed, and reached towards him, but he stopped your hand. “Next time,” Aegon promised with a cheeky grin.

You are flushed from his actions, from his words, your heart rate picking up again as Aegon climbed on top of you, nestling into the cradle of your hips. His expression was smug, his lips and chin slick, and you kissed him, hungry for him, curious of your own taste; you enjoyed the salty sweetness from the Dornish wine that mixed. His hand dipped between, lining himself with your entrance, and you sighed into his mouth.

Aegon has girth, a thickness to him that stretches your walls. You gasp, then another whine that spilled as he pushed to sheath fully within you; Aegon swallowed your cries with his kisses, his hips still to allow you to adjust to his size, checking before he began his slow rut against your hips.

You pant against his chest, your fingers digging into the twin divots on his lower back as he filled you with each thrust, a bruising pace that began to spark in front of your eyes. You cling to him with a desperation, still sensitive from your first release and flustered from the touch of his bare skin against your own.

There is the sudden emptiness when he pulled away, positioning himself on his knees, his palms wrapping around your ankles and pulling to place your feet against his chest; your hips cant up, allowing him to be swallowed by your warmth again, a guttural groan that reverberates through when you clenched.

This new angle sparked another cry, lights dancing across your eyes with his pace; he was grinning down at you, pausing to turn his head with a quick kiss to the arc of your foot, and you giggled.

His large hands moved to press onto the mattress, caging you, and he rolled his hips against your own; the wet squelch with your soft cry as he bruised within. You mewled his name when his pace quickened, pistoning his hips against.

There was the returned flutter of pleasure and Aegon lifted one hand. “Open,” and you obey, your tongue touching the pad of his thumb, swirling to coat it with your saliva. When he pulled back, a bit of spittle broke off onto your chin, and his hand dipped to press against the bloom above, his touch soft, searching.

Yours cries are unbridled at the touch of your pearl, and his satisfaction was apparent on his flushed features, his hips finding a new pace with his new ministrations. Your muscles tightened in response, your back arching against, and it comes, a tidal wave, an intensity that shudders throughout, rattling your bones beneath.

Aegon continued through your peak, his thrusts growing sloppy to chase after his own release before melting against you, with a low groan into the junction of your neck that rumbled pleasantly through you.

You both lay there in an intimate tangle of bare limbs until your breathing evened. Aegon rolled onto his side and reached to touch your hip, his lilac eyes roaming over you, admiring you. “Beautiful,” he declared, then leaned closer for a gentle kiss.

You giggled again, pulling away to clean up. Aegon allowed it, but was adamant that you remained bare, pulling you back to bed after and curling up against, his face nuzzling into your neck; your skin rose in response.

“For duty, for honor,” he murmured, moving to pull you until your head rested on his chest; his soothing scent and musk of sex now clung to the linen. “A silver haired child all the same,” and he kissed your hairline with his confession. “The twins, Maegor, I am not even certain they are mine or not, but I love them nonetheless.”

“The blood of the dragon,” you whispered, tilting your head back and allowing him to kiss you once again.

You felt a new satisfaction, a new understanding of your role within the Targaryen dynasty. The thought warmed you, I love them nonetheless, as you nestled against his chest, allowing the rise and fall to lull you to sleep.

arcie's masterlist

#hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon x you #aegon x reader #this was also inspired by the tag #aemond aemond aemond #only if for a night #update 9/27

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noizchild · 11 months

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What This Week Looks Like:

Monday-Wednesday:

Posting City Lounge Blog

Wednesday:

Fortunate Daughter II (Wasteland 2011, Original, Chapter Four)

Summary: Daisy Philips is trying to adjust and balance living between two worlds. In the Warzone, she is trying to keep everything together. However, there are strange messages coming through the radio. They seem to be shouting cruel things like “interloper.” She can’t figure out why. Meanwhile, Daisy in the normal world is trying to keep her secrets while trying to adjust to life as a civilian. However, a sinister presence is stalking her and looking for a way to tear everything around her to pieces.

Thursday:

Earth Child (Season Thirteen, Season Finale)

Summary: It’s 1985 and the old biddies are back for more mischief. The youth are back to cause a hitch in the plans.

Friday-Sunday:

Blood* (Weiss Kruez, Chapters 110-119)

Summary: What if you and thirty-six other people were branded and told that you were going to die on a certain date of next year? Omi and thirty-six others are branded with numbers and told they are going to die at the Fire Festival in 2011. They all try to fight their fate and form physical, emotional, and psychological bonds as the date approaches.

#city lounge #original works #fortunate daughter ii #fortunate daughter #wasteland 2011 #earth child #blood*#weiss kreuz

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kjhbsies · 4 months

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Waiting Room

Ellie Williams x fem!reader (wc: 1,156)

Synopsis: Ellie Williams married you, but her heart is occupied with someone else.

Warnings: angst??? arranged marriage trope bc i like to suffer. this is my first time to write a story, please don't mind the incorrect grammars.

pt. II pt. III

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You should be celebrating.

Finally, the girl you’ve wanted ever since you were 16 years old married you. Of all people, you really thought you would never get the chance to be with her. After all, everyone used to say that Ellie and Dina were good together, and that they were each other’s soulmate. You can’t really disagree about that. You can see how both of them loved each other, and even if they broke up, you can feel that they cared for each other deeply.

So… why did she marry you?

Ellie and Dina broke up one year ago after a huge fight between them happened. Up until now, no one knows about it. Rumors say that Dina wanted to settle down, far away in Jackson, to start a new life with her and JJ. But Ellie couldn’t leave this town, especially her family, and Joel. Apparently, this caused them to break up eventually. Shortly after the breakup, Dina and JJ went and lived in a small town in Illinois. For months, Ellie tried to remain strong, seemingly fine and unfazed about the breakup with Dina. She went on to continue her life as if nothing really happened. For months, Ellie went on to continue the routine of drowning herself with alcohol, going home with a lot of girls, and throwing them away like trash. That was her life. And you just watched it from far away and you tried to avoid her like a plague. You liked her, but you don’t want to be her sex toy.

Until Dina came back.

After a year, Dina and JJ moved in with their old house in Jackson when her older sister, Talia, got sick. Since both of their parents died before, no one is there to take care of her. So she came back, and Ellie’s life became worse.

Her failure of coping healthily about their breakup started to show up when her mood became the worst. Ellie became a ball of rage, bursting into anger even in the smallest little thing.

“You should take a vacation somewhere else. Breathe fresh air, enjoy other things, just don’t…” Joel tightly shut his eyes, “...don’t turn into a fucking monster, Ellie.”

Ellie lifted her brows before chuckling sarcastically. “So that’s what you think about me now, huh?”

“Everyone does. They’re scared of you. Do you want JJ to also be afraid when he sees you?” Joel’s voice started rising.

Ellie looked at him pointedly. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Joel sighed. “I know you were still a mess, Ellie-”

“I’m not.”

“-But you can’t keep living like this.” He says, eyes softening at her. “Forget Dina and marry someone else.”

Ellie’s brows turned into a straight line. “Are you insane? The fuck?” She coughed out a ridiculous laugh.

“You should think about it. Y/N’s family is offering up a fortune if you marry their daughter. You knew her, right? Y/N?”

“Yeah… but-”

“Good. We can arrange a family dinner tonight.”

“Are you for real?”

“It’ll be great. Her dad and I were pretty close and he always brings up that his daughter may have a little crush on you. Apparently, it’s in her grandmother’s will that she will not inherit the money, or have her farms and businesses if she’s single. She needs to be married in order to have those. Her dad offered that you will share a huge amount of money if you married her. Ellie, she’s a pretty young lady. And both of you need each other.”

“Little crush?” Ellie repeated, her ears perking up at those words.

“Think about it, kid. You’ll like her, she’s a great girl.”

And yes, you are.

Ellie thought about it for a week. Sure, she heard some great things with you. You're a prissy prim princess and the daughter of one of the richest families in the town. She’s always seen you hanging around the diner sometimes, wearing your dainty skirts and dresses, with bows clipped in your hair. She’s seen you in different spots of Jackson, immersed in your sketchbook, or oftentimes, you’re painting different portraits and landscapes. Ellie was always fascinated by you, because you and her are… contrasting.

The first time you and your family went into their house for dinner, Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes away from you. You noticed it, and it somehow made you uncomfortable. So, the whole night while your parents and her dad were talking about the future wedding, you were just looking at your plate. Sometimes looking up when one of them says something funny, cracking up a small smile or letting out a silent chuckle. But you couldn’t look at Ellie.

Ellie noticed it. The whole night you weren’t even sparing a glance at her and it made her curious as to why you seem to avoid her. Did you know about her history of girls? Did you see her at the diner, drinking her ass off? Why aren’t you looking at her?

When the dinner was done, Joel and your dad stood up and went to the living room to talk further about the said wedding. Your mom politely excused herself as she went to the bathroom to have a quick touch up. And you and Ellie were alone in the dining room.

The one time you looked up at her, Ellie was mesmerized. But of course, she wouldn’t show it, nor would she accept it. You were pretty. Everyone was right. You are pretty like a precious flower; your eyes were soft and gentle as you stared at her. You are a precious gem. And Ellie is a master of destruction.

She couldn’t touch you. She’s afraid that you’ll break. And maybe you might.

“I’m sorry.” You said, kindly, as you looked straight in her eyes.

Ellie’s brows rose. “Why? You didn’t do anything.” She said, voice raspy.

Your heart beat doubled. “You didn’t have to agree to this wedding, you know. My dad proposed this crazy scheme to Mr. Joel and I feel like it’s all my fault.” You sighed.

“I will marry you.” Ellie says, determined. “Just… don’t expect that I’ll love you. We have to agree that you won’t fall in love with me, and I’ll assure you that I won’t bother you. You will get your grandmother’s money and land, and I will share your money. Both of us need the same thing and I don’t want you to think that there’s a single hope that I will love you eventually. Is that okay?” She asked.

You should be celebrating.

Finally, the girl you’ve wanted ever since you were 16 years old married you.

But her heart is with someone else.

“Okay.” You agreed, while staring at the small picture frame at the corner of the dining room.

It was Ellie and Dina kissing each other.

#ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader angst

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pedgito · 2 years

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𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 part ii ✎ 𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: rules are meant to be bent and broken, fortunately. and while you try your best to keep your distance, it’s almost impossible around eddie and his daughter, finding the best parts of your day are always influenced by them.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), kids are assholes, non-graphic mentions of failed pregnancy, mentions of death (small mention of blood), very deep talks about personal trauma, fluff between reader/eddie and eddie/riley/reader, eddie is jealous of how much riley loves reader, cute dinner dates, smut (grinding over clothes/handjobs), this is very sweet but also very sad so please heed the warnings, i’m begging.

word count: 7.2k — part one

The morning is already going downhill when you walk into a child in the midst of a full meltdown just outside your classroom. Normally you handle it all well and find ways to distract the kids or help calm them, but then there were mornings when you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t blame the kids, you never did—but when the child thinks the best way out of this situation is to bite and kick you, it turns into someone else’s problem and regardless of how difficult it is for you to deal with, the best option is always stepping away.

And by default, most instances like that would get a phone call to the parent or guardian, which you had no problems with—regardless, after the child is dealt with you have no other option that to separate yourself and take a breather at your desk, door locked, and a long fifteen minutes of silence before you completely lost it.

Eddie had made sure to leave the house early that morning and Riley was just as eager, giving him no trouble in getting herself ready for school and in Eddie’s van before he could remind her, already buckled in and ready to go. Having Riley spend the weekend with Wayne was enough to reset both of them and made for a much smoother routine—and Riley is adamant that she doesn’t need to be walked to class, but Eddie follows anyway.

The jiggle on the knob is what finally brings you back, the fuzzy dark curls on Riley’s head peeking through the window in your door, her eyes barely reaching over the ledge of it, no doubt on the tip of her toes. She screams a cheerful “Hi!” and waves enthusiastically from behind the barrier.

If there was anyone who would cheer you up instantly, it was Riley.

Definitely not Eddie—even if his gaze was locked on you despite your lack of acknowledgement toward him.

You cross the room swiftly, pulling the door open with a joyous greeting to Riley, kneeling down to her level to hug her, puffy coat crinkling underneath your grip.

“Daddy, can I show her?” Riley asks, head turned up toward him in question.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think she—“

“Show me what?” You interrupt quickly, eyes squinting scrutinizingly at Eddie before falling on Riley, looking at her with rapt interest.

“Look,” She squeals, showing off her teeth and pressing her tongue against the top row, one of her front middle teeth looking dangerously loose, “daddy said there’s a tooth fairy that will take my tooth!”

“Yep,” You nod, “they take your teeth and trade them for gifts and wishes for the good kids—have you been good?”

“Uh—yes.” Riley responds with uncertainty. “I cleaned my room and brushed my teeth and even did my homework by myself and—“

Eddie shakes his head in amusement, patting Riley’s back as he talks over gently, grabbing your attention.

“She’s got a ton of energy this morning.” He tells you, grinning from ear to ear. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I love it.” You admit to him wholeheartedly, standing at your full height again, making a small noise as Riley slips past you and runs toward her desk, conversation forgotten.

Eddie lingers, smile gradually fading from his face as he looks over at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.

“So, I was thinking—“

“Eddie, I’m at work—“

Eddie looks at you scarcely, eyes apologetic.

“Sorry, I just—don’t know how to do this.” Eddie tells you.

“Well, not here,” You tell him firmly, “but—follow me.”

Eddie follows you skeptically, rounding the side of your desk as you lean over and grab a paper and pen, scribbling down something quickly. Eddie notes the bandage around your wrist but doesn’t say anything—you notice it when you hand the paper to him, he doesn’t want to pry but he’s curious.

“Meltdown,” You explain simply, “It’s just a small bite and a couple scratches.”

“A kid did that?” Eddie asks in sudden shock, offended by the idea that someone so small could be capable of such violence.

“Yes, but it’s fine,” You assure him, “it’s not the first time.”

Eddie looks a little mortified, glancing over at Riley.

You laugh to yourself, shoving the paper into his chest until his attention is back on you.

“It’s my landline,” You explain, “call after six during the week and the weekends are fair game, I’m usually always home.”

“Oh,” Eddie responds, surprised at how forthcoming you are after expecting a rejection or something to tarnish what had happened a couple days prior, “yeah, shit—that works.”

“Eddie.” You warn, a few kids lingering into the classroom.

“Sorry, sorry.” He quickly recovers. “Uh, I’ll call you later tonight then—if, if that’s okay?”

Eddie’s never been a nervous guy, always oozing with his overconfidence and exuberance—though most of that was left behind in high school. It’s been nearly six years since Eddie’s done any kind of dating or putting himself out there. It was like watching a baby gazelle stand for the first time and he couldn’t get his footing.

“That works,” You assure him, a gentle press of your finger against his covered arm—Eddie yearns for that touch, eyes drifting toward your hand with a subtle grin, “now go, class is starting.”

And Eddie can’t help himself, eyes lingering on you all the way to the door, leaving you with his goofy, dopey smile to get you through whatever hell this day was going to bring.

“She’s been talking about bugs for an hour.” Eddie complains through the receiver, the endless ramblings of Riley heard on your end, screaming about spiders and butterflies and every possible bug that exists in the universe.

“And you better sound damn well entertained with everything she’s telling you,” You admonish, shoving your dinner into microwave and pressing a button, stepping away briefly so the noise doesn’t drown Eddie out, “I spent half the day cutting out about a hundred paper legs for them to make those crafts, I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

Eddie’s silent for longer than usual, possibly trying to process your quick change in tone, or thinking of some lame, but witty comeback.

“Yes, ma’am.” He responds instead and you can see him smirking from here, the dimple in his cheek as he grins.

You roll your eyes adoringly, pulling your food from the microwave when it dings, “How was work?” You ask casually, hoping it doesn’t sound too mundane or boring.

“Uh,” Eddie’s brows furrow, “it was fine.”

“That sounded like a question to me.” You tease, plopping yourself down on the couch, food in your lap, television buzzing in the background.

“It’s just…some prick, they come in and ask for all this shit to be done on their fancy ass cars and expect it to be done within the day,” Eddie unloads and you can visualize the stressful hand he runs through his curls, “but those parts take days to come in, if not weeks. They’re just coming to us because we’re cheaper.”

“Daddy,” Riley’s voice is muffled on the other line, “what’s a prick?”

“God,” Eddie sighs, low enough that only you can hear before responding to Riley, “uh—it’s a bad word, sweetheart. Don’t repeat it.”

“I think someone owes another dollar.” You tease and it makes Eddie laugh which was entirely your reasoning for doing so.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, the soft hum of his breathing on the other line as he sits with his thoughts, distracted from the hectic day.

“Some of the parents are like that,” You attempt to comfort him, “they want us to accommodate to their kid in a lot of ways that we can’t do for others because they think their kids are special—and don’t get me wrong, all kids are, but it’s just the entitlement of it all.”

“I don’t understand how you do it.” Eddie sighs, from his end he’s stretched out on the couch, freshly showered, his right leg propped up on the back of the couch while Riley plays on the floor with her toys, little action figures and tiny figurines that Eddie had accumulated over the years.

Eddie from a few years ago wouldn’t be caught dead letting someone of Riley’s age near his things, but he was a much different person now. He also really enjoyed listening to her count out all the sides of his dice, her attention so laser focused as she sounded out the numbers.

“I love kids,” You tell him, “I love teaching to them, helping them learn new things, I’m sure you understand.”

“I guess it’s kind of like when Riley learned to walk,” Eddie says, a fond smile spreading across his face, “I could’ve cried, honestly.”

“They’re tiny and they’re learning, it’s really fun to witness.” You shone a forkful of your dinner into your mouth, “They aren’t tainted by all the shitty stuff outside of the reality of being a kid.”

“Daddy is that grandpa?” Riley asks, her voice nearly blaring through the phone. She’s crawled onto Eddie’s lap out of nowhere, drawing a pained huff out of him.

“No, Ri—no.” He tells her, readjusting her sideways so she isn’t squishing her weight down on his stomach so harshly, her little feet dangling over his side as he back slumps against the couch.

“You only talk to grandpa.” Riley points out.

“Riley, we talked about this.” Eddie says sternly, starting the sentence and allowing her to finish, “Daddy is a—“

Riley pouts in annoyance, arms crossed over her chest lazily, “—grownup.”

“And?”

“I’m little.”

“So?”

“Don’t be nosey.”

You laugh softly, “I can let you go if you need to spend some time with her.”

Eddie’s style of parenting was refreshing, less patronizing, more leveling with her than disciplining.

“Yeah…I probably should.” Eddie says with deep regret, his fingers running through Riley’s curls, still reeling from today’s play. “I need to get her in the bath and ready for bed.”

“Okay.” You tell him simply, knowing he shared the same smile as you. You could hear it in his voice.

“Can I call you later?” Eddie asks shyly, “After she’s asleep.”

You chuckle at his bashfulness, giving him the benefit of the doubt, knowing how eager he is to get to know you better—the sentiment was shared, but you were also exhausted from the day.

“I’m really tired, actually.” You tell him, hoping he doesn’t hate you too much for it. “Maybe when I’m not on the verge of passing out.”

And Eddie understood, “Yeah—I’m sorry.”

“Eddie,” You sigh, “I’m gonna have to muzzle you if you keep apologizing to me.”

“That doesn’t actually sounds too bad—“

“Goodnight.” You tell him quickly, cutting off his howl of a laugh on the other line by ending the call.

Eddie does call every day that week, and the week after, almost every day for the entire month and beyond the holiday nearing into December.

Eddie had forgotten about the date entirely during that time, so invested in learning every possible ounce of information about you, learning what made you laugh and what annoyed you, almost to the point where he could have you in tears over some stupid joke he made, or how his one-ended arguements always ended with Riley having the last word that left Eddie grumbling into the phone at you.

It was the most normal you’ve felt in forever, forget high school, forget college—you’d never been in a relationship, not a serious one anyways. They’ve always been casual or quick hookups, nothing that you felt had any real meaning—with Eddie, it was hard to describe, even if you two were just friends for the time being.

“No, I’m serious,” Eddie explains through a hushed laugh, “she fell asleep in the middle of dinner, face full of chicken noodle and didn’t even wake up when I moved her.”

“Please tell me you cleaned her off at least.”

“I wiped her face down but I’ll have to give her a bath in the morning—it’s the weekend anyways so I’ll take care of that and drop her off with my uncle.”

“Does he take her on weekends all the time now?” You ask curiously.

“Since they started making him take mandatory weekends off, yeah.” Eddie says, “Man is even more stubborn in his old age.”

“Well,” You say with a sweet tone, dragging out the word, “we could hang out.”

Eddie knows you’re making fun of him, but he gives into it.

“I still fully intend on taking you on a date.” Eddie promises.

“I know,” You nod despite his lack of being able to see you, “I enjoy this a lot more, if I’m being honest.”

“Would be a lot nicer in person,” Eddie hints at, letting out a soft groan as he sinks into his mattress. You were already there, turned over on your stomach with your head in your palm, phone pressed firmly to your ear, “like, a lot nicer.”

“Eddie, just ask.”

“Do you want to? Come over?” Eddie asks hopefully, “I can cook dinner again—maybe without the car trouble this time.”

“Eh, I don’t know.” You say with a sense of hesitancy, only joking.

“Hey—“

“You didn’t let me finish,” You complain, stopping his rant before it began, “I was going to say that you deserve a change of scenery, why don’t you come over to my place instead?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like a good fuckin’ idea to me.” Eddie responds lowly, free hand resting against his bare stomach, “A smart, pretty girl inviting me over for dinner? How could I say no?”

“Smart, surely. I’ve got the degrees to prove it.” You tell him proudly, “Pretty—mmm, I don’t know.”

“Fucking beautiful, in fact.” Eddie flirts openly, feeling less constrained in his language now that Riley wasn’t around.

You smile to yourself, still hung up on one small thing, “I never said anything about cooking for you, to be clear—there’s a reason I don’t even cook for myself.”

“I’ll cook then.” Eddie says in a compromise, “I don’t mind.”

And Eddie is nothing if not thorough, waiting at your door Saturday night with a trove of bags, enough to cook for a full family, complete with wine and all.

He looks a little fancier—like he put on his newest pair of jeans and shirt, still him but more done up. You stare down at your pajamas, blocking the doorway. It was a matching set of lilac satin, loose button up top and shorts to match, fuzzy socks to keep your feet warm—and now, you just felt embarrassed.

But all Eddie has to say is, “Cute.” with a satisfied smirk, bags held tight in his grip.

“Shut up.” You grumble, dragging him inside and shutting the door behind him.

You waste no time pouring you both a hefty glass of wine, spreading yourself out on the chair nestled under the island in your kitchen, giving Eddie free-roam of whatever he needs.

Eddie preps and sets up the food with little small talk, focused on the task at hand.

“You’re really serious when you cook.” You comment, halfway through your glass. “It’s…cute.”

Eddie huffs a weak laugh, stirring the food in the pan before turning toward you, “Cute? Is that all you got?”

“Hot, attractive, take your pick.” You shrug, smiling around the rim of your cup.

“You don’t drink often, do you?” Eddie asks, eyeing you suspiciously. He wipes his hands on the clean towel before tossing it on the counter, sliding his glass slowly along the island as he travels toward you, linger beside the unoccupied seat.

“I’m not drunk.” You insist. It was true, you weren’t. But given the high you felt being around Eddie like this, alone, for the first time—you might as well be.

Eddie’s eyes squint, narrowing as he judged your response, lips pulling into a tight line.

“How long until it’s done?” You ask, nodding toward the stove.

Eddie approaches slowly, shoving himself between you and the empty chair, sipping generously on the wine. “Uh, half hour—maybe a little less.”

“Oh, okay.” You nod slowly, turning toward him, legs widening wordlessly to welcome him.

You two remained relatively distant in public, given the situation—and not that he was obligated to act any certain way, but the tension was there the moment he stepped inside of your apartment. It was written all over his face, his body language.

“Yeah.” Eddie says mindlessly, eyes trailing the line of your exposed neck, the start of your top where the first button is undone, the hair that’s thrown over your shoulder and giving him a perfect view.

“Eddie.” You interject his trailing thoughts, eyes pleading.

He blinks, a silent “Can I?” that never comes. You smile welcomingly, pulling at the center of his shirt to force him toward you. His hand instantly slips around the back of your neck to cradle your head, tipping it up to meet his gaze as he bends slightly, forcing himself between the small space you had created for him, knees bracketing his hips.

He’s an absolute menace as he leans forward, lips brushing against yours to pull away just as quick, causing you to grunt in frustration, chasing his fleeing lips.

“Stop that.” You complain, mouth pulled down in a full frown as you look up at him, eyes glazed over in frustration.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie chuckles, rubbing the back of your head with his thumb, causing you to lean into the touch. “Feels good?”

“Mhm.” You hum softly, eyes falling shut as his hand trailer back down your neck, squeezing softly, pulling a pained moan from you.

There wasn’t enough massaging in the world that could fix your tight muscles, but if it was bound to bring those sounds out, Eddie would work as long as it took.

“Eddie, you’re really starting to frustrate me.” You complain, letting him work at the muscles tenderly.

“I’m just trying to help you out.” He insists and you peek an eye open, his devilish smiling and heated gaze staring right back. “If you want something so bad just take it.”

“Fine.” You retort, fisting your hand into his collar and pulling him in, lips pressing against his in a way that’s almost bruising—that metaphorical dam breaking after weeks of lingering touches and little contact, and god dammit you just wanted to feel good.

Eddie’s also a very physical kisser, something you were just now learning, his hands slipping under your silk top and squeezing at the skin, his gentle nudges of his nose forcing your head back, lips latching onto your neck just as fast, but you’re not having it. You pull away, eyeing him tensely.

“Nuh uh.” You say with a head shake, gripping his face in between your fingers, pulling his mouth back to yours, tongue dragging across his top lip until he’s parting them, and it’s the first time Eddie sighs, his tongue grazing against your own.

“The dinner…” His voice lingers, “We can’t get distracted.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t asking for it,” You counter, pulling back slightly to look at him—he’s guilty, you can see it written all over his face, “and last time I checked, we still had at least twenty minutes to waste.”

“If only I had some ideas.” Eddie says dreamily, sighing against your mouth as he kisses back lazily, soft pillowy lips grazing yours sweetly.

You pull back after a moment, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and eyes flicking up toward him—he was at your will instantly. Your hands wandered toward the belt wrapped tightly around his waist, the old and worn out belt buckle outline of metal handcuffs pairing with the leather perfectly. You tug roughly and Eddie grunts, hands flying out to his side as he stumbles forward.

“I have one.” You say softly, “How efficient are you?”

“Huh—uh, depends.” Eddie tells you, stammering over his words. “It’s been, um, a while—so, yeah—“

The words linger between you both and Eddie is expecting some judgment, but it never comes. You were in the same boat, mostly—aside from the very rare and occasional hookup with someone from the bar in town, but that had also been months ago.

Your palm flattens out and rubs over the front of his jeans—Eddie was already there from the moment his lips touched yours, his dick pressing a hard line against the seam of his dark jeans.

Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut out of habit, forcing himself to concentrate—it's not like he’s as inexperienced or young as he once was but he’s also never been the best at holding out, his eagerness always getting the better of him.

“You don’t—you don’t have to.” Eddie insists, hips rocking up into your touch despite his words. “I didn’t expect you to, you know—“

“Put out?” You tease him, smoothly undoing his belt enough that you can reach the button of his jeans, popping it open. The zipper is loud in the silence of your apartment, aside from the distant hum of your television and the food cooking on the stove. “We’re not teenagers, Eddie.”

Eddie’s tired of fighting it, feeling like he needs to be the better person instead of indulging in the things he wants. So, he gives in.

“Fuck it.” He sighs, pulling you up from the chair roughly, hands tangling into your hair while he coerced you backwards toward your couch, nudging your leg up only slightly so you don't fall over the arm, guiding you down carefully.

“Shit, hold on.” Eddie forces out, settling himself over top of you, positioned in between your spread legs as he works his jeans and boxers down swiftly, pressing himself up against your clothed body—and maybe it was a bad idea to wear silk or any clothes at all, for that matter, but you didn’t have time to worry about that. Eddie sighs deeply, nosing under your chin until your neck tips back, running his lips along the hinge of your jaw, using his hands to wrap your legs around his hips until he’s pulled flush to your cunt, the bare heat of his dick apparent even through the thin material.

You giggle softly at his touches, gentle pecks against your skin, light traces of his fingers against your sides, against your rib cage until he gradually reaches your breasts, squeezing the flesh gently.

“Now this,” You speak distantly, voice airy as Eddie tracks his mouth along your jaw, stopping just over your lips, eyes opening lazily to stare at you, “this feels like something we’d be doing if we were still in high school.”

Eddie chuckles audibly, a toothy grin on his face as he moves his hips, gauging your reaction as he rubs against you—it’s not the friction you want, but it’s what you’ll take, glaring at him just as intensely.

“You’re looking at me like you want to say something else.” Eddie comments, slightly out of breath. He adjusts himself against you, the sharpness of his knuckles dragging against your clit teasingly. He hadn’t even meant to, clearly—too distracted by the shallow rise and fall of your chest as he grinded against you, any earlier shame now gone.

You shake your head shyly, pushing his fallen hair away from his face and tucking it behind his ear carefully, admiring the way he leans into your touch, eyes falling shut as he moves, mouth falling open soundlessly, taking the opportunity to drag your thumb across his bottom lip.

“We should stop,” Eddie says regretfully, despite his still moving body, “don’t wanna—mess up your clothes.”

You laugh quietly, tipping his head up slightly to look at you, “I can change.” You tell him, seeing the stress in his face as his eyebrows pull together. “It’s fine, really.”

There’s a small pause of silence, the sound of your clothes dragging together, Eddie’s muffled moans as he buries his face beside your head, turning his head every so often to press absentminded kisses at the shell of your ear, willing himself to last longer than he knows he’s capable. But it’s there and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold off.

“Can I touch you?” You ask softly, fists pressed against his abdomen, rubbing against the cotton of his shirt, “Do you want me to?”

“Fuck, yes—yeah, please.” Eddie rushes out, creating a tiny space for you to squeeze your hand between, taking him in your hand firmly and giving him more resistance to thrust against, squeezing just enough that it forces him to lose focus, hips faltering. Your thumb swipes over the head, pearlescent precum leaking from the slit. Eddie curses again at the action, having been so starved of another person’s touch—it only takes a few more minutes of your precise but delicate touches before he’s falling apart above you, coming with a strained groan as he spills over your hand and your stomach, indeed making a mess of you.

When Eddie finally gathers himself, he’s got a look of disbelief, barely able to process what had just happened before the timer is going off, signaling to both of you that things had gone on a little longer than necessary.

“Shit—the food.” Eddie panics, tucking himself back into his pants quickly and shoving away from you, skidding toward the kitchen to turn off the stove.

You’re already mostly undressed when he turns around, though your back is to him as you trail toward your room, tossing the dirty clothes away as you reach for some new ones. He’s still watching when you return, a sated grin on his face.

“What?” You ask with a weak laugh, walking toward him. “Do I have something on my face?”

Eddie nods seriously, reaching for your face with his outstretched hand, bringing his lips to the bridge of your nose.

“Now you do.” He mumbles against the skin, leaning your head up to press an even sweeter kiss to your lips before pulling away. “Go, sit down. I’ll get the plates ready.”

“Thank god,” You sigh, patting his lower stomach gently, right at the gap of his still unbuttoned pants, “I’m starving.”

Eddie never leaves that night either. It’s not his fault or yours, an hour of conversation turning into a night. Eddie never gets bored of it, listening to your voices, watching you talk about your job for hours on end, so enraptured by all of your stories, meaningful or not. He could bore you with cars, or music, but he can’t even bring himself to interrupt—only when he decides to interject about Riley. He sees that way your face lights up when you mention her, as does his, but there’s a difference.

Riley is the love of Eddie’s life, it’s so blatantly obvious. He’s spent years trying to figure out what was missing, what he needed to fill that void of abandonment and loneliness—growing up without his mother and father, it was like he was fixing their wrongs and breaking that cycle. He wouldn’t be here without Wayne, but had Riley not entered his life, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find his purpose. Eddie was a semi-retired metal head, a mechanic, but more importantly he was a father.

For you, Riley fills that space that left you so long ago. You knew the possibility of having kids was impossible and it’s why you cherished your job so closely, you treated the children as if they were your own, but Riley takes the cake. Her vibrancy and whimsyness is something you lacked as a child and as an adult even, it’s hard not to smile around her.

Eddie’s soaking your pillow with his wet hair, but you can’t be bothered to care. His arm is tucked up under his hair, eyes following your movements as you shifted under the covers and turned to him, tracing your fingers along the tattoo just over his chest, comfortable in the silence.

Eddie uses his thumb to fiddle with the rings on his left hand, right hand twisting the ring on your own finger. He smiles slightly, bringing your fingertip to his lips to press a gentle kiss.

“Do you want to know?” You ask curiously, voice low.

“If you’re comfortable.” Eddie soothes, “If it’s hard to talk about you don’t have to.”

“It is—but I’ve shoved it away for so long,” You sigh, wrapping your hand around his palm, letting him squeeze it tight, “it was unplanned.”

“I didn’t even think I could have kids,” You explain, “but that was just me being naive—and I had sex without protection once, once.” You stress greatly, “I found out I was pregnant a month later and I was terrified.”

“Whatever happened to the—“

“I didn’t tell him.” You answered simply, “It wouldn’t have made a difference. I was a year off from graduating, I figured I could handle it myself.”

Eddie nods silently, listening as you continue.

“Nothing was wrong—at first. But they had said she was measuring small, which wasn’t that uncommon.” You take a shaky breath, crisp air filling your lungs. “I figured she’d catch up eventually but she never did.”

Eddie says your name softly, an apology in its tone.

“Her heart couldn’t take it.”

And you couldn’t bring yourself to save the words, but Eddie knew. He reaches for you wordlessly, a hand wrapped around to cradle your head, pulling you to him. He pressed a long kiss into the crown of your head, resting his cheek there. He’s silent for a while, tender fingers rubbing into your scalp.

“There were complications during Riley’s delivery.” Eddie says softly, “At least, that’s how they explained it to me. I never really knew what happened, just that she lost a lot of blood and they had to get Riley out quickly.”

“You weren’t in the room?”

“I was slammed at work, I left as soon as she called but I was stuck on the highway—I didn’t find out until after.”

“Oh, Eddie.” You frown, looking up at him.

“Things were—not good, toward the end.” Eddie explains, “We started arguing a lot, but I was really trying to fix things, make it work, you know?”

“Riley only knows her through pictures.” Eddie says, “She knows that her mom isn’t with us, but I haven’t really explained it to her.”

“She’s a force,” You comment fondly, “I’m sure she carries her spirit with her, even if she’s the spitting image of you.”

Eddie huffs a soft laugh, “Anyways, it took about a year for me to deal with it. I don’t think it’ll ever hurt any less, but I had to move on at some point.”

“You…haven’t dated since?” You ask curiously.

“No—well, not until—“ His eyes linger on you and you smirk slightly, “no, I haven’t.”

You rub your hand over his bicep comfortingly, “I don’t expect anything from you, Eddie—and I’m not expecting anything serious, either. I do enjoy spending time with you. Riley too, she’s such a ridiculous ball of energy.”

“I just don’t know how this shit works anymore.” Eddie laughs sadly, “But, I’ve never seen Riley interact with someone so easily before.”

“I’m her teacher.” You remind him humorously, “She’s around me constantly, it makes sense.”

Eddie smiles, “She keeps asking me to invite you over for another dinner and saying that we could have a sleepover.”

You raise your eyebrow in question, a laugh bubbling from your lips.

“Sometimes we pig out on junk food and watch movies in my room—that’s what she calls it, she always falls asleep halfway through the first movie.”

“I would love to—I just don’t want her getting the wrong ideas.” You tell him regretfully, not that you weren’t already enamored with them both. “Or trying to force myself into a position that doesn’t feel right.”

“Are you scared of her accidentally calling you mom?” Eddie grins and you roll your eyes with a faint annoyance, “I think you’ll be okay.”

“No, no—“ You interject seriously, “I think we should figure out what this is before we try to explain anything to her, but I don’t want you feeling pressured to label it.”

“I don’t feel pressured,” Eddie shakes his head, “but you can’t avoid Riley outside of school forever if we keep this up, eventually you’ll have to face her. She’s a huge part of my life.”

You smile slightly, laughing fondly to yourself.

“And I really hope you are too.” Eddie adds, staring down at you vulnerably, “In whatever form that is.”

Riley begs Eddie every day after she hears your voice on the phone the following week, Eddie being caught too red-handed to deny it. That night ends with you talking to Riley for almost an hour, her cadence never faltering until Eddie has to pry that phone from her tiny death grip.

“She’s asking if you’ll come over for Christmas.” Eddie tells you. Silently, Eddie was just as hopeful. “Well—demanding is more accurate.”

“Daddy,” Riley whines, “She has too.”

“You heard her.” Eddie adds, awaiting your response as Riley stared him down.

“I suppose so.” You agree, “But, only because Riley wants me too.”

“She said yes.” Eddie whispers to Riley, a cheerful screaming ripping through the receiver, “God—okay, let’s not do that again.”

“Sorry.” She giggles, enveloping Eddie in a bear hug.

“Get in your pajamas,” Eddie tells her, “I’ll be in your room in a couple minutes.”

“But Eddie, she wasn’t done telling me about her favorite color.” You beg jokingly, “It’s yellow, by the way.”

“I know,” Eddie responds with a fair amount of attitude, “you two can finish it in when you come over—on Christmas.”

Eddie would never admit he was jealous of Riley stealing his time with you—even if he did watch with a scowl as Riley made you laugh more than he did.

And when Christmas finally rolls around, Riley is stuck to your side every moment of it. You made a huge deal of the affair, buying matching pajamas and all. Eddie doesn’t put up much of a fight either, not with both of you threatening him so viciously.

Eddie hated being tickled and Riley was very persistent when she wanted something.

You had decided to come over the night before, spending Christmas Eve having the sleepover that Riley had talked about for a while—and like Eddie had told you, she was asleep halfway through the first movie, crashing hard from her sugar high.

He tucks Riley into bed with no problem before spending the rest of the night shoved up beside you on the couch, both of you falling asleep deep in the night without realizing—woken up by a proding tiny finger shoved in both of your faces.

It’s Christmas!” Riley had cheered, both of you two groggy to react immediately, “Wake up!”

“We’re up, we’re up.” Eddie repeats, using his palms to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

You and Eddie had both agreed on no gifts for each other, not wanting the other to feel obligated about spending money on one another, focusing solely on Riley.

It’s the happiest you’ve been in a while, used to spending your holidays alone, not celebrating and wallowing in your own self-pity. But, it’s a reminder how easily life can give, just as quickly as it can take away.

Riley crawls into your lap later that afternoon, a cheeky smile on her face.

“What are you up to?” You ask suspiciously.

Riley grins wide, her fist closed tight.

And holy shit—her tooth had finally fallen out. It has been hanging on for days and Eddie was dreading the day he had to pull it, already too squeamish for his own good.

You gasp in shock, thankful that Eddie was out on the porch smoking and couldn’t hear you.

“Oh my god, Ri—“ You tell her, pulling open her first to—indeed, a tooth. “How did that happen?”

“I pushed it with my tongue really hard and it went pop,” Riley responds comically, using her free hand to extend her fingers out to mimic the sound, “but now my mouth tastes funny.”

“That’s blood, sweetheart.” You explain, seeing the small amount staining her bottom lip. You rise with her, settling her on your hip until you can reach the counter, placing her next to the sink.

“Blood?” She asks in a squeaky tone, immediately panicking.

“It’s normal—that’s what happens when you lose teeth.” You explain to her, watching as she touched the tooth with her finger, rolling it around. You scrunch up a paper towel and press it to the missing tooth, “Here, keep that there for a couple minutes and it should stop.”

“Okay.” She muffles around the tissue, kicking her sock covered feet out lazily.

“Hey, I got an idea.” You whisper to her, “Do you want to pull a prank on your daddy?”

Riley giggles softly, nodding in response.

You lean forward to whisper in her ear, devising the perfect plan.

Eddie comes inside a few minutes later, face flushed from the cold wind as he hangs his jacket up, only noticing Riley when she turns to him. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, running to her side immediately.

“Woah—wha—what happened?” Eddie asks in a panic, eyes flicking between you and Riley.

Riley pulls away the blood-stained paper towel, grinning excessively wide.

“Hey! It finally came out.” Eddie says cheerfully, grilling her chin to inspect the vacant spot in her mouth, “Where is it?”

“I…swallowed it.” Riley says sheepishly, putting on her best acting skills. She frowns, eyes welling with tears.

“Hey—what’s wrong?” Eddie asks, looking up at you desperately. You shrug.

“Now I don’t have a tooth for the tooth fairy.” She says sadly and if you weren’t in on it, it could’ve brought you to tears too.

“Oh, Ri—it’s okay.” Eddie assures her.

“But the tooth fairy needs teeth.” Riley argues, “And mine is in my belly.”

Eddie wishes he had some prior experience with this, but he's at a loss, hoping your familiarity with kids and these situations would come in handy—he’s floundering, unsure of how to cheer Riley up. It’s was fucking Christmas after all.

“Just kidding!” Riley says giddily, flashing the tooth still gripped tightly in her fist, shoving it into Eddie’s face. Riley smiles up at you, waiting for your judgment.

“Good job.” You tell her, offering her your fist. She reaches over her free hand and bumps it lightly.

“Oh, ha ha.” Eddie deadpans, “You two are hilarious.”

“Thank you.” You respond genuinely, hand placed over your heart. “She’s got a real career ahead of her.”

Eddie rolls his eyes lightheartedly, “I knew putting you two together was a bad idea.”

“Horrible.” You agree, heaving Riley up into your arms as she extended her own, meeting Eddie with matching mischievous smiles.

Eddie flashes up the note at you—the one had told Riley to leave under her pillow that night with her tooth listing all of the things she’d hoped for in exchange for it. He was expecting dolls or cars or any sort of toy that she was obsessed with over the month, not even close to what she actually writes down.

He can’t even read it at first, squinting his eyes to try and make out her messy scribbles before you have to yank it from his grip. You’re only a few words in before your face falls.

It’s hard to make out, your name misspelled and illegible but the thought was there—but from what you can read, it says:

‘I want her to come live with me and daddy. My friends talk about their mommy’s and all I have is my daddy. My mommy is up in heaven but if she stays, she could be my new mommy.’

You sob without question, shoving the paper at Eddie.

It takes him a moment to catch up through Riley’s handwriting, but he gets the gist—face falling just as fast.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie attempts to comfort, “I didn’t—I didn’t expect her to write something like that, otherwise I would have let you read it first.”

You bury your face into your hands, trying to process it all.

“I didn’t know she felt that way—I mean, she loves you obviously. But, she never talks about her mom. I didn’t—I couldn’t have—“

Eddie can’t make this any better, any easier—it was a horrible punch to his chest, knocking the air out of him.

“It’s okay,” You assure him through a broken sigh, “I just need a minute.”

Eddie pulls you into his chest, letting you calm yourself down before speaking, his cheek pressed against the top of your head comfortingly, the sound of his heart pounding in your ears.

He was just as terrified as you. Kids always made everything much more complicated, but the more it settled with you, it might’ve been exactly what you needed.

“I’m scared.” You tell him honestly, “Everything in my life always ends up fading away at some point, I don’t know if I can handle losing this if I commit to it.”

“Is that why you’re scared?” Eddie asks curiously, bordering on incredulous as he turns your face up to look at him. “That you’ll fuck this up somehow?”

“How long have we known each other, Eddie?”

“A little over three months.” He answers casually, wondering why you were taking this line of questioning with him.

“Does that seem rushed to you?” You ask hesitantly. In reality, you’d never felt something more natural.

“I knew Riley’s mom for not even a day before we knew we wanted to be together—not that any of that matters, but all that is such bullshit. I like you, I’ve liked you since I saw you—“

“But—“

“No—I don’t think you realize how much this means to Riley, or me. She loves you, she tells me constantly. And frankly, I’m right fuckin’ there with her.”

You frown again, deeper as your eyes begin to sting.

“I’m never going to push you into anything, but I can assure you that Riley is going to be super disappointed if her wish doesn’t come true—not after how much you hyped up the tooth fairy.” It’s a lighthearted attempt at a joke, it hurts but it works, causing you to laugh softly.

“Do you want this?” You ask hesitantly, “Long term?”

“Are you really asking me that?” Eddie asks, eyes pleading.

“How the hell do we tell her?”

“Considering what she wrote on that note, I think she already knows.”

Riley was more intelligent than she let on, even at such a young age. And even if she didn’t fully understand, seeing her dad smile was the first sign, but it was also all she needed.

“We’ll do it together.” Eddie comforts you, “Okay?”

You nod slowly, eyes searching his. He smiles lopsided, thumb rubbing against the corner of your mouth.

“I love you.” You tell him suddenly. “I just want to say that.”

Eddie feels like his thunder was yanked out from under him, shoving you gently. “That’s so unfair,” He complains, “—couldn’t even let me say it.”

He’s only joking, causing you to smile now, tears forgotten.

“You’ll live”. You tell him, poking at his cheek to force the scowl off his face. “Won’t you?”

Eddie shrugs, falling back on his mattress and pulling you along with him. “We’ll see.”

As long as he had Riley and you, Eddie had nothing to worry about.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #my writing #1kfic

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Five

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I appreciate your support as this story progresses. Make sure to check every two weeks for an update! Honestly, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have continued this story because it's just so messed up, but even so, thank you once again.

Chapter Warnings: Larys Strong jump scare

"Let me out of here!" You screamed, pounding on the guest chamber doors. "What is wrong with you, people? You have no reason to keep me here!"

Ma must have been worried to death by now, scowering across Kings Landing and pulling any strings she could. How had you been so stupid? So immature to follow a strange man that could put you in chains if he so wished. Ma was right. She had always been right about everything, and you were too caught up in your selfish desires to see it.

Aegon was a sick and twisted man. A vile, wretched, disgusting creature to ever be blessed by The Mother. You slammed your fists into the solid wooden doors as you felt pain radiate up your arms, willing them to burst open. You refused to sit ideally and become Aegon's plaything. You slept in a room next to the women who were, seeing what men like him do.

You were unashamed by the tears that streaked your cheeks, the snot that ran down your lip, and the back of your throat. Anyone being kept as a High-Born prisoner would feel the same way.

You couldn't wrap your mind around it-- around everything that had happened in the past days. Your absent father coming to pay you a visit, the heated argument with Ma, Aegon whisking you away for a night of fun and debauchery.

Nothing made sense. You were the daughter of a dead whore and a loafer, raised by a brothel madam on the streets of Flea Bottom. The Targaryen madness people gossiped about must be true; Aegon was proof of it.

The fight refused to die out, kicking at the doors as your sore arms shook. Your leathered foot nearly collided with a man as the doors opened, his cane stopping you. You were stunned, not expecting to have your freedom given to you so soon, but that hope did not last long as they locked behind your guest.

"Who are you," you questioned the limp man heatedly, ready to throw hands at any moment.

"Forgive me, my lady," he bowed, his body leaning onto his intricate stick. "I am Lord Larys of House Strong," he answered politely as if he were speaking to royalty.

"You say that as if it means something to me," you quipped. Lord Strong walked further into your prison chambers, tired from standing so long and resting on a plush armchair. He smiled as he sat, inviting you to the one opposite him, but your feet stood planted, arms crossed.

"I do not expect it to, my lady. Being the younger, unimportant brother of House Strong is not a trait many people consider to be remarkable." He spoke in riddles as if he knew something you didn't and was proud of it, disdain hidden within his messages.

"You are Ser Harwin 'Breakbones' brother," you said more for yourself than anything.

"Yes, my late brother," he answered, bowing his head in respect. He showed all the proper body language of someone in mourning, but you could not hear a whisper of sadness. You tilted your head, stepping closer to him but leaving enough room away from his cane if need be.

"Ah yes," you smiled mirthfully, squinting your eyes as you studied him. "Your sudden inheritance of Harrenhal must have come as quite a shock. Your poor family finally meeting the Stranger. But how fortunate for you, I suppose."

If it were any other circumstance, speaking to a Lord as this would end with a flogging, perhaps a missing tongue, to ensure you never made the same mistake again. But this was nothing of the ordinary.

He chuckled sarcastically, shifting his cane as he shook his head. Lord Larys was not a man to be trusted. He embodied everything your fellow common folk poked fun at during the drinking hour. He had a pompous attitude, like he knew more than everyone around him, with elegant dark clothing and short, well-trimmed hair. The only difference was that he did not seem one for gossip and parties. You assumed it was because of his deformity, nobles not wanting to be around such a "cripple."

Lord Larys didn't need a sword or army to conquer his enemies. He only need a few moments within the conversation background, a few slips of secrets into one's ear to cause chaos. That was what made him dangerous.

"I enjoy your sense of humor," he laughed, looking underneath his lashes at you, "it reminds me greatly of someone I know. Perhaps you will meet him soon." He laughed again, a joke you were not in on.

"Speak plainly, Lord Strong; I tire of your games."

Oh, you so greatly reminded him of that certain someone.

He hummed, slouching back into the chair and lifting his lousy leg to cross over the other. "I know your stay here in the Red Keep is not voluntary," he began, and you rolled your eyes. "I wanted to be the first to speak with you. Become a sort of confidant, my lady."

"I have no need to align myself with you. You have nothing of value," you quipped, pacing to sit in the chair across from him. The man was intelligent. He could read body language like a traditional Westerosi book, writing notes in the margin of his mind for later,

"Then, let me be the first to water our newly planted friendship," Lord Larys grinned, looking away for a moment as he thought of his next word carefully. "You wish to know why you are being kept here, yes?" You refused to answer, only scowling at his smug figure.

"They believe you are the bastard child of Prince Daemon Targaryen," said plainly. You threw your head back in a laugh as your hands went to your beating chest.

"You wish to start our friendship with a lie? Men are truly unbelievable." You shook your head as your mind returned to the King's eldest son. "Did Aegon put you up to this?" You asked suddenly, not finding the humor in this anymore.

"Of course not, my lady. Do you genuinely believe I would lie to you? I, a man at a significant disadvantage, am begging for the allyship of a Princess. As a young girl being thrown into a den of vipers, surely you would want a knife to cut off the heads?"

"Not when the very hand who gave it to me was one of them. The hilt laced with poison." Lord Larys stood, using his cane for support as he slowly made his way over to you, his lips in a tight purse.

"I do hope you consider my offer. It would be advantageous for us both to become allies, not enemies."

His words hung in the thick air, an ominous feeling sinking into your stomach as he left the room, the door latching behind him. He only left you more confused, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you tried the door one more time.

You were the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, his firstborn, his bastard with black hair and brown eyes, the child of a dead whore, a member of House Targaryen.

You were a dragon born of fire and blood.

***

You should have been running around the marketplace this time of day, stealing until your pockets bulged with fruits as the City Watchmen struggled to keep up with you, but instead, you sat in the great armchair inside a gilded cage, staring out of the pane-glass windows.

You never imagined yourself as someone who would miss the foul stench of small folk in high summer, but here you sat, your chin resting on your hand as your nose was filled with the sick smells of amber and ash. To those who were not trapped in the palace, they would welcome the scents, but you, it only made your head hurt.

You needed to return home and find some way to escape these impenetrable stone walls, chisel teeth, and nails if necessary, but what would happen once you returned home? You were still in Kings Landing, where they could easily find you. Perhaps Essos or the North, where you could find your mother's family? They still had jurisdiction over the areas, but if you were far enough away...

The doors burst open without warning, a guard in armor you had not seen before marching into your elegant cell. He bowed his head, raising an arm across his breastplate as he announced your small gaggle of handmaids' arrival, leaving without another word.

You stared at them blankly, partially because you were still upset about being confined to this room and partly because you had no idea what to say. They saw you as royalty and not some common girl, treating you with respect someone of your raised status was not accustomed to.

"My name is Sara, your grace," she curtsied. Her voice matched her appearance. Seemingly around your age, with fair skin and pale blue eyes that starkly contrasted against her brown hair, a slight tremble in her hands. Their arms were full of extravagant dresses.

You still sat, blinking at them with no expression as Sara shifted the heavy gowns from one limb to the other. You were still determining what she wanted as the lack of conversation became awkward.

"May I sit your dresses on the bed, my lady," she asked quietly. You felt pity. What had this girl experienced to become so... small?

"Will they fit?" You decided to say, finally leaving your seat.

"I pray so," Sara said, seeming to be the pack's leader. A red-haired girl smiled slightly and looked at the thick pile they had carried through the many floors of the Red Keep.

High fashion was gaudy. You ran your fingertips over the fabrics, feeling an array of cotton, wool, and silk of every color imaginable. You sorted through the piles out of curiosity and not because you wanted to see the fruits of the Targaryen's coin. It must have been Aegon's doing, getting you so many dresses.

Indeed they would not look through the wardrobes of the royal family for just a bastard. You could feel Sara's eyes on your back, taking note of the white streak in your hair as you grimaced at a hideous red dress.

One dress, thank the Seven, was not entirely terrible. You made no move to indicate you liked the creamy bronzed gown, its enchanting tan designs glimmering in the candlelight, its sleeves cut halfway down the arm, and wrists flowing with an accent of fabric.

It was alright, you thought, moving the other heavy materials away.

"Beautiful choice, your grace," a girl who had yet to speak complimented, grabbing it and quickly taking you behind a decorated partition as the others hurried out of the room. She grabbed the laces of your dress, untieing them without a second thought. You gasped, raising onto the tips of your toes as you attempted to gather purchase.

"My Gods what in the Hell do you eat? You are stronger than half the Kings army!" You nearly fell backward as she yanked the threads out of their holes.

"My apologies, your grace. I did not mean to hurt you," she said in a rushed tone, dragging your dirty clothes to the floor. "We have a bath drawn for you, and I do not want the water to get chill."

You heard the several other maids return, their footfalls sounding shuffled as a loud 'thump' vibrated the floor. You peeked around the partition as the redhead attempted to comb through your knotted hair, the brass teeth catching on one.

Once nearly half of your dark hair was pulled from your scalp and you naked as a babe, she ushered you to a round wooden tub, vapors rising above the water. With your mouth agape, she removed your dirty smock, and two other women helped you in. You could have laid there for hours, inhaling the relaxing smell of Clarey Sage and Lavender as they scrubbed the sweat and oil from your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, another person also enjoyed your bath, observing how the woman rinsed your hair. Aegon wished it was him kneeling beside the tub, watching the water drip down your neck and into the pool, rubbing oils over your delicate breasts. He watched from the crack in a secret passageway as they helped you, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your damp body. He sipped at a goblet he brought with him, the cool Arbor Red sliding down his throat. Not even his favorite drink could quench his thirst as he watched you ready.

Your handmaid ushered you to a vanity, rich mahogany with intricate designs carved into the wood. One brushed your damp hair, as the others laid out some cosmetics. A fine white powder dusted onto your face with a puff to get rid of any shine, crushed rose petals mixed with animal fat to create a balm, and a subtle rouge on your cheeks.

You had not realized how much effort went into becoming presentable with nobility. The most you had ever done was do a washing once a week with the other ladies of the house. Your face felt heavy as if they had rubbed soot onto your skin, but what you saw in the mirror looked as if nothing had changed. Though you had a light flesh-toned powder, redder cheeks, and stained lips, you still looked like you. Your natural features enhanced, and you felt like a... royal. Like you truly were born of Targaryen descent.

"Why am I dressing like this, Sara?" You asked, eyes downcast as a blonde servant braided your hair, staring at your white streak of hair.

"You will meet Prince Daemon soon, and he will escort you to dinner." You turned to face Sara as she compared different pieces of jewelry. The blonde yanked your head back in place as she continued.

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until Sara mentioned the prospect of food, your stomach suddenly feeling its emptiness. But once you processed you were going to see your father, the man Madam had kept you from all your life, nausea replaced it. You were glad you had not eaten today.

"It is nothing to worry about, my lady," the blonde said. You looked at her through the mirror, unconvinced. "My name is Caldia. I have served the Targaryens for many years now, and if I have learned one thing, it's that if Her Highness Princess Rhaenyra tells the Prince to do something, he will listen."

You weren't sure what that meant but didn't question her, nervously biting your red lip as she pinned the braids to your head.

Aegon wanted a better view of you, but he could only if he made himself known. His imagination was crazy with thoughts of what you looked like. What dress did you choose? Was it the color green? What hairstyle did you wear? Was your jewelry the pointed star of the Seven?

It was odd for him to be wondering such things. He never much cared for religion, let alone women's fashion; he was more focused on what lay underneath. He took another sip from his cup, a few dribbles spilling down his chin.

Caldia put her hands on your shoulders and gave you an encouraging smile as Sare put a silver bracelet on your wrist. "I am frightened," you confessed as you stood, wrapping your arms around your torso.

The four women, now yours to command, exchanged nervous glances. They knew about as much as you and could offer no words of comfort. Not one to let people suffer, Sara grabbed your hand and leaned close to your ear.

"Madam has eyes everywhere. Just give her time," she whispered. You wanted to gasp but held it back, not wanting to make any other girls suspicious.

Eyes were everywhere in the Red Keep.

***

Two Kingsguard stood stiff at their post outside Prince Daemon's chambers, watching you with expectant eyes, breathing deeply. The bodice of your borrowed dress constricted your chest, frying your nerves. You pulled a piece of loose skin with your teeth, feeling the soft trickle of blood into your mouth as you gave the men a curt nod.

The doors opened with a loud clang of metal and a groan of wood, revealing what seemed to be a dark empty room lit only by a fire out of view. They did not announce your arrival. There was no need. The Rogue Prince was expecting you as his chamber doors shut.

You walked further in, your leather shoes tapping on the hard floor, as you saw a lithe man standing at the hearth. It was Prince Daemon; there was no one else it could be as you heard him sigh and lean against the fireplace. You were moments away from meeting your father, to a man you only knew by name. Neither of you spoke, you observing the stranger and him watching the flames.

"They say I am your daughter," you spoke with a small amount of courage. "That you are my father. But how can they claim a man who I have never met be called my father?" Though they were calm, there was a hint of malice behind your words.

You heard him snicker as he turned to you, a smirk on his face, still leaning on the hearth.

"Come," he said, inviting you to watch the dancing orange flames contained by metal. "Who is your mother?"

"My mother is dead." Daemon pursed his lips, shifting. "But her name was Elaina Black." The hole that she left still bleeds, even years later.

"How did she die," he asked, eyes never leaving their spot.

"In childbirth. A few weeks after I was born."

You couldn't read his emotions, his face blank but contemplative. A man this quiet did not fit the title of Rogue Prince.

"Come," Daemon said again, leaving his spot and going to a small table with a metal box. He flipped the latch, revealing a deep blue velvet lining, a necklace, and a matching pair of earrings. The onyx-colored jewels reflected like a lake, a midnight pool encased in steel.

You were speechless. This was the first time you had received a gift such as this. Your mouth hung open as word failed. Daemon motioned you to turn so he could clasp the necklace, the black crystals contrasting your soft, creamy dress.

"What is it," you questioned, gently stroking the fine accessories, still trying to remember your manners.

You could form no thoughts, no words other than what was expected of you. "It is zīrtys perzys, Dragon Glass, gathered from the mines of your home, Dragonstone. And Valyrian steel, some lasts of its kind."

'Your home'

"Thank you, Prince Daemon. This gift..." you struggled to form a sentence. "Is the greatest gift I have ever received." You spun, doing an awkward mix of a bow and curtsy. The jewelry was extravagant like all royal fashion was, yet tasteful, even if it didn't match your attire.

"No need for that. You are a Targaryen; we bow to no man except the King," he proclaimed, briskly walking to the exit.

You stood there confused. That was it? No questions or apologies for abandoning you?

"That is it, then," you exclaimed before you could catch it. "No apologies for the years of believing my father did not love me enough to visit? To raise me as any good man should?" Prince Daemon turned around, standing in a defensive but relaxed stance as you stormed over to him. "No condolences for the loss of a mother? For the loss of a family?"

"You have been brought to me now. That is all that matters."

Your face scrunched up in confusion, gesturing your hands in a stop motion and shaking your head. High-Borns were really that emotionally stunted.

"That is not all that matters, Prince Daemon. Do you have no concerns about how your child was raised? If I am even your child," you added, done with the treatment you have received from these Targaryen men. If this was how they all acted, you wanted no part.

"I am your father, and you are my bastard. This discussion is finished," he declared, finally letting some anger slip through his facade.

"Why," you yelled, going closer to him, "how do you know? How do you know?"

"Because I have always known! I have always known that there were bastards of mine running around Flea Bottom!" He charged towards you, grabbing you by your biceps with the strength of ten men, shaking you as a vein popped from his forehead. "You are the only one who has lived long enough to claim the title publicly!"

You settled, fear replacing anger at the implication.

"You... You murdered your own children?" Daemon said nothing, his face red as he stared.

It all made sense now. Why Ma did what she did, why she hid you from everyone, why your entire life was spent smothered into her bosom, it wasn't simply her being overprotective. She was saving you from death, from the man who gave you an extravagant present, from the man who went from being aloof to screaming, from the man who stood right in front of you.

Your father could not be as vile as him. You wanted the hands of this filicidal maniac gone.

You grimaced, mustering all the saliva you could and spitting it on the Rogue Prince's cheek. Why would he hesitate with you if he already called so many of his kin?

He let go, and you scrambled out of the way, not wanting to face his wrath.

Instead of being met with the sharp blade of Dark Sister, you heard a laugh. A genuine and honest laugh.

Daemon had a pleased look on his pale face, the same look Lord Strong gave you hours earlier but smug. He knew what to say to boil your dragon blood because you were the same as all of the true Targaryens.

"You're a mad man!" You shouted, looking frightened.

"You are my child," he declared, sauntering over to clap a hand on your shoulder. "Enough with this fun. Let us eat. I have gown rather hungry."

You had a sense of Deja Vu before the wide entrance of the dining hall, only this time, you were not alone. Next to you was your supposed father. You chewed on your lip nervously, pulling the thin scab that covered your marks from earlier.

So many things were left unanswered you had no idea where to begin.

Your mother was a prostitute; how could he be sure? How did he not know she was pregnant? That is not an easy thing to hide. How many brothers and sisters did you potentially have, was Daemon the monster Ma believed him to be, and who was watching you now, ready to report back to her?

"This is unnerving," you decided to say, not brave enough to voice your questions yet. He snorted, his eyebrows raising for a moment before he shifted his weight and took your arm in his.

"It is unnecessary, but is that not all customs to those unaware?" You mimicked his expressions but turned your gaze down, retaking your lip between your teeth. "Stop that," he chided as a father would, and you obeyed. You couldn't help it; the feeling came as an instinct.

Two guards opened the doors, and another from inside the dining room announced your presence to the family that sat upon the great table. As you walked arm-in-arm with Daemon, you became even more ridged than the crown's sworn protectors.

Master List of Series

Sorry for the no smut in this chapter. Quite dull, actually, but we have to lay the ground before the real action can happen, baby. Also, this is the dress the MC is wearing, and the necklace and earrings Daemon gave her. :)

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Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd12004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @temp-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme

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princessanneftw · 4 months

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Zara Tindall’s best friend to be appointed as lady in waiting to the Princess Royal

NHS midwife Dolly Maude, who delivered Tindall child on bathroom floor, previously wore joky ‘lady in waiting’ badge on day at the races

By Camilla Tominey for the Daily Telegraph

She once turned up to the races with her best friend Zara Tindall wearing a playful badge bearing the words ‘Lady in Waiting’.

A spokesman for the royal was later forced to clarify: “It was a joke. Zara doesn’t have any sort of lady in waiting.”

But now Dolly Maude, an NHS nurse who helped to deliver Mrs Tindall’s third child, Lucas, on the bathroom floor at her Gatcombe Park home in 2021, has been well and truly welcomed into the royal fold.

Despite the high jinks at Cheltenham last January, the 51-year-old mother of four has been appointed as a lady in waiting to Mrs Tindall’s mother, the Princess Royal.

The Telegraph understands that Buckingham Palace will announce the appointment in the Court Circular on Feb 1, when Mrs Maude will be revealed as one of four newly appointed ladies in waiting to the King’s sister, to replace others who have retired.

A lady in waiting is an attendant to a female member of the Royal family who acts as a companion on royal engagements as well as helping with their day-to-day duties.

Mrs Maude was maid of honour when the Princess Royal’s daughter married Mike Tindall, in 2011, and helped to deliver Lucas when his birth did not quite go to plan.

Mr Tindall described the birth on his The Good, The Bad & The Rugby podcast, saying: “Fortunately Zara’s friend Dolly is, she’s actually more important than I am at making sure she’s been at all three of my children’s births. She was there and recognised that we wouldn’t have got to the hospital in time, so it was run into the gym, get a mat, get into the bathroom, towels down, brace brace brace!”

One of Mrs Maude’s friends said: “She’s such a great girl. For the Princess Royal, it’s a perfect fit because of their shared love of dogs and horses.

“She’s not only extremely close to Zara, she also gets on brilliantly with the Princess. She’s fiercely loyal and discreet. It’s a great match.”

Mrs Maude and her husband Chris have four children. Billy, 26, attended Swansea University; Nell, 24, studied at the Central School of Ballet; Ted, 17, is, like his mother, a keen skier. He was a page boy at the Tindall wedding and Mrs Tindall is his godmother. Their youngest daughter, Mary, 15, is studying for her GCSEs.

Mrs Maude is occasionally spotted looking after Mrs Tindall’s children Mia, who turns 10 this month, five-year-old Lena and Lucas, at equestrian events.

Three years ago it was revealed that the Princess Royal, who carries out the second highest number of royal engagements a year after the monarch, had 11 ladies in waiting, two of whom had worked for Her Royal Highness for more than 50 years, three for more than 40 years, and five for more than 30 years.

Traditionally, ladies in waiting would be the wives or daughters of peers but they can also be a cousin or close friend.

When Queen Elizabeth II died, it was announced that Queen Camilla would not have ladies in waiting but instead be attended by Queen’s “companions”, and that their role would be much more informal.

#awww I love this!#princess anne #princess royal #zara tindall #dolly maude #british royal family #brf

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izfrogzy · 1 day

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Soft and Innocent Part II 18+ Aemond x Sister Reader(OC.)

Warnings: 18+ content eventually, this part is a bit angsty and a lot of pinning and longing, a bit sexism and such as what is expected of a woman and girl of the time period and world like Westeros and there's mentions of foot fetish (Due to Larys mention.)

A/N: .Mostly soft fluffy and angst at this part, for the most part a bit Angsty and such lots of hugging and seeking comfort from the Broody Brother. New to writing these sort of things for readers to read I am down for good criticism I try my best and never intend to offend or upset anyone with my writing with that being said enjoy...sorry for any bad grammar and punctuation :) I do apologize for any inaccuracies for certain characters just think of it as AUs scenarios.

Aemond was returning from the training yard. Sweat and dirt covered his clothing. His hair was sticking to his face with sweat and sweat also glistened off his skin. The only thing he wanted to do was have a bath and rest. He let out a tired huff. But as he walked past his sister's room. He heard crying which seemed to peak his curiosity. He raised his head and began to walk towards her room which his walking turned into a sprint.

Seanna glared as Alicent, Their mother, sighed trying to appease upset Seanna. “It is your duty Seanna to marry." Alicent said and Seanna sobbed and threw things at her mother. “But it had to be him of all people!” She cried out and sobbed.

Seanna inhales and exhales glaring at Alicent, though the queen, She was more then willing to defy her mother, Aemond entered the room upon the middle of this argument between his mother and little sister.

“I don’t want to marry him, he's old and he walks funny and he’s he’s.” Sobbed Seanna

His gaze went to his sister as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. His expression went from cold and hard to a slightly concerned and sympathetic one as he saw her in tears. He knew how she felt. Having to be married off to someone who she does not like. It wasn't fair to her. She didn't deserve that. Aemond's expression darkened slightly as he turned his head back to his mother. Who seemed so uncaring and cold to her own daughter.

“Larys Strong is the Lord of Harrenhal and he has acquired a mass fortune after his….” Alicent tries to make the situation sound better but Seanna speaks up. “You think I care about any of that Mother?!” She sobbed and sat up scowling at Her mother, Queen Alicent.

Aemond's hand tightly clenched into a fist at his side when he heard the name of the man who he sister was betrothed to. His whole body tensed....a wave of anger, sympathy and protectiveness filled his entire being. Larys Strong was not a good man. He was a perverted old man who only cared about wealth and power. Not love or family. Which made Aemond's expression darkened even more and his jaw clenched at the thought of the pervert being near his little sister.

Seanna says more to her mother trying to reason with her, “Plus I heard he has a foot thing mother would you really subject me to such a man and how he acquired his inheritance is no secret either…Hells I'd rather marry some Greyjoy or Bolton then the likes of that decrepit man.” Seanna said frustratedly from the top of bed clearly very worked up by the whole situation.

The thought of her being married off to a Greyjoy or a Bolton did not ease Aemond's darkening anger. It still would not be a happy ending. But it was slightly better than Larys Strong. Aemond's jaw clenched again at the word foot. Knowing what his little sister meant by that....it made his stomach do twists and turns in anger that his sister had to be tied to such a man. He was a pervert and a murderer.

Alicent sighs. “It has already been arranged." She said and Seanna started sobbing. “No! I won’t marry that man, Mother! I won’t!” Seanna wailed and threw her last pillow at her mother.

Aemond's hands slowly curled into a tight fist as more anger filled his being. The way his so-called loving mother was making his sister cry and treating her like she was some commodity to trade. He gritted his teeth and then grumbled out. “Isn’t there a better match mother ...or can't such a match be held off for a while? mother?” Aemond's tone hardened at his mother which made her turn her head to look at him..

“Aemond, you know we all must do our duty and it is about time your little sister did her part for this family….as you know alliances have to be made in case…” Alicent said to him and she looked at Seanna. “You will grow accustomed to Lord Strong ... .children become the greatest comfort.” She said trying to assure Seanna who shook her head and sobbed. “Is that all I am mother?” Seanna said and hopped off the bed and stormed up to Alicent. “Like my Beloved sister Helaena I too must be one of your broodmares to offer up to the highest bidder?” She said angrily in tears and Alicent's eyes widened and grabbed her daughter. “Enough of your childish tantrum Seanna! You will marry Lord Strong and that is final!” She snapped and Seanna sobs and yanks herself away pushing Alicent out of her way and storms past Aemond without a second glance, as she runs out of her bedchambers in tears and Alicent sighs and looks at Aemond. “Duty always requires sacrifice Aemond even you know that.” She said in a serious tone to her beloved son and she sighed “It’s about time Seanna learns as well.” Alicent said a bit coldly trying to be stoic in this decision.

Aemond's jaw tensed as he began gritting his teeth once more. The anger burned furiously in his body as he listened to his mother speak in such a cold and uncaring manner. He watched as his sister tried to argue and cry only to be treated like a child by their mother. He saw the push and he watched her run out of the room crying. He let out a slow and harsh breath through his nose to stop himself from screaming at his mother's seemingly cruel decision.

“I understand the demands of duty, Mother.” Aemond said with gritted teeth as he crossed his arms. His gaze was hard and cold as he stared at his mother. “However you don't seem to understand the concept of love and care.” Aemond said in an accusing tone as he continued to look at his cold hearted mother. “My sister is still a young lady who has her whole life ahead of her. And you treat her like a pig to be sent to slaughter.” Aemond said as his jaw tightened more.

“Aemond…..Larys Strong is lord of the Strongest fortress in the Seven Kingdoms ... ..as you know. plans are being made in case your father dies and we must solidify our household…..in case.” She said approaching him. “I don’t like it anymore than you do but Marrying her off is for the greater good….to strengthen the crown and house Targaryen.” Alicent said in a lowered tone of voice.

“I know all of that.” Aemond said, slightly agitated as he let out a slow breath through his nose. “But why him?” He asked in a hard and cold tone. “Why must you marry her off to such a creature as that. Why can she not marry someone else? Someone who would love and care for her. Why, someone like him?” He questioned as his jaw clenched and he began gritting his teeth again.

“You Mean Someone like you?” Alicent asked outright as if she knew what he tried so hard to keep hidden. “Aegon and Helaena are already wedded we must form alliances not just keep our bloodline to ourselves Aemond….I see how you feel obligated to her….how you wish to keep her safe….I am no fool at what I see…..But….Duty comes first Aemond.” Alicent said calmly and she placed her hand on his shoulder as if to give him assurance.

Aemond's jaw clenched further and his breathing became much more labored as he stared at his mother. How was she so good at reading him? He was always good at hiding his emotions. But with her it was different. She always managed to figure him out. Aemond stayed quiet...he almost felt as if he had been exposed of his secret feelings.

“If I had it my way it would have been you and her who were married instead of Aegon and Helaena but it was not Aemond.” Alicent said to her son.

Aemond's eyes widened slightly at the sentence his mother had spoken. So she has figured his secret out long before he even realized it himself. He would have been better fit to marry his sister.

“That would not have pleased father right?” Aemond asked as he looked away from his mother. His expression became cold and stoic

“Your father could care less.” She admitted, looking away. “But for the realm arranging proper and good alliances and marriages for his remaining children is ideal.”

Aemond's face remained cold and stoic but inside he was feeling a mix of different emotions. He understood the concept of duty and loyalty, and why they had to arrange marriages...but the thought of his sister being sent off to such a vile person had his blood boiling. “And this is the best you came up with.” Aemond hissed out as he turned to look at her again. “Larys Strong. That creature…” He said bitterly to his mother, the Queen.

Alicent sighs and averted her eyes and nodded, “He asked for her and I owe him…our family owes him for his loyalty.” She admitted.

Aemond let out a huff and looked away again. He clenched his jaw yet again as the anger filled his body. She not only arranged his sister's marriage to a disgusting man but because the crown owed him. It was almost as if they didn't care about her being sent off to a perverted man who had a foot fetish. In Aemond's mind....it made her seem like she didn't care at all for her daughter.

Alicent approaches Aemond as she knew he was filled with anger at this decision, and she rubbed his shoulder and sighs before speaking, “Larys promised to be kind and gentle with her, that is all I can hope for your sister's future.” Alicent said to Aemond but her son gave her an agitated look.

Aemond's hands slowly curled into tight fists as he listened. He didn't believe that at all. “And you believe such an empty promise from a lecherous man like him?” Aemond asked as he looked at his mother in anger and disbelief.

Alicent showed some hesitation to answer when he asked and she sighed and swallowed her motherly instincts and spoke “We must for the greater good Aemond.” She said simply looking at her son.

“The greater good?” Aemond's expression was full of anger as he looked at her. What greater good was there for marrying off his sweet sister to such a perverted man. “Why not another Lord? A good man who can give her a happy life. Surely that would be better for the realm than selling her like a pig to be slaughtered?” He asked and Alicent grabbed his arms so he would look at her “It has been final Aemond…..if I was to withdrawal there would be drastic consequences for our family.” Alicent said, trying to convince her son to accept the decisions made.

Aemond's hands clenched even more. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself before speaking again. “If you will not change the betrothal. I will.” Aemond said his voice was hardened and cold. As he walked past his mother and opened the door to step out to where he knew his sister had run off to. Leaving his mother to stew in the room behind him.

Aemond knew exactly where to find his sister. He walked quickly down to the Godswoods. He began to hear sobbing. He followed the sobbing and finally stopped as he found his sister sitting on the ground sobbing. Aemond slowly walked up to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Hoping to give her some comfort. “Seanna....sister.” Aemond said softly as knelt down and looked at her. “Shhh.”

Seanna looked at him and sniffled. “Oh Aemond I don’t want to do it.” She cried.

Aemond gently wrapped her in his strong arms and gave her a soft warm embrace. “Shhh.....shh...I know sister. I know…” His heart shattered as he saw how distraught and upset she was. He wanted to see her happy and cheerful. Not sobbing on the ground in tears.

“Why does it have to be him?” She sobbed. “How could mother do this to me?” She asked emotionally.

Aemond continued to hold her in the embrace as he gently patted her back in a soothing manner. Trying not to think about how he would have treated her if they were married nor if he was to have her in his arms. He gently moved one of his arms to the back of her head and gently cradled her.

“I don't know...but....I promise to you. Once the time is right I won't let you be married to such a horrid man. No matter the consequences.” Aemond said his voice was soft yet filled with so much promise and conviction.

Seanna whimpers and clings to him. “I won’t marry him, I don't care what mother says or does to me.” she sobbed nuzzling into his clothed body.

Aemond holds her close as she clings to him. He rested his chin slightly atop her soft hair. He felt a sense of protective affection and love for his sister. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted to see her smile. And he knew there was no way in the seven hells that he would allow her to be married to such a horrible man. “No you won't. I promise you that.” He said as Aemond nuzzled his face into her hair.

Seanna sniffled and turned her face up and looked up at him with her pouty face and tear filled eyes. “You really promise?” She asked gently, her voice trembling.

He looked down at her. Seeing her tear filled eyes and pouty face made him want to kiss her...but no. That was not, be allowed this time. He gently placed a hand on her cheek and softly held it. A small yet warm smile spread across his face as he looked at her. “I promise my little sister. With my whole heart. I will not allow that creature to take you. No matter what.” He said though it sounded more like a vow and oath to her which made her smile slightly though still feeling upset.

Seanna looked at him with her large eyes and rosy cheeks she sniffled. “Really?” she asked, tearing up again.

Aemond gazed back into her large eyes. He felt an overwhelming sense of love and adoration for her as he gently held her small face tenderly in his hand. He gently rubbed her chubby tear stained pink cheek. “Really. I promise. There is no need to cry or be scared. I will be by your side and I will protect you. You are my little sister. It is my duty to do so.”

She nodded. “I love you Lēkia.” She said Lēkia meaning older brother in Old Valyrian in a soft light innocent voice looking at him with her violet doe eyes.

And I love you, sweet sister. Aemond replied, still looking at those wide eyes of hers which he loved looking at so much. He gently cradled her face in his hand and then gently leaned in and placed a gentle, yet loving kiss on her forehead. The love he had for her was far more than what a brother should feel for his sister.

She clung to him and sighed totally content with her Lēkia.

A/N: Part III is a bit more saucy and will be short but.....the small series will get steamy I promise Also named the OCSister I will do Reader or Y/N eventually but y'all can still imagine yourselves in OCs shoes obviously.

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