#into the drowning deep moodboard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elaratyrell · 8 months

Text

Poor Unfortunate Souls {Part 1/3 -> Part Of Your World}

*All images found on Pinterest. Moodboard made by yours truly*

Dark! Ursula! Aemond x Fem! Eric! Reader x Ariel! Jacaerys

Warnings: Nothing in this chapter.. reader almost drowns but is saved. Daemon’s an asshole. *Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Synopsis: Jacaerys Velaryon, the reluctant heir to Atlantica. The moment he saw you, he knew he would never see someone who could capture him with their beauty again. You would haunt him eternally. In a desperate attempt to meet you, he turns to Aemond Targaryen, an outcast from the merfolk, to help him walk amongst the land dwellers. But when Aemond lays his eyes on you, he knows he has to have you. By any means necessary.

Part Two Jace's Ending Aemond's Ending

Jacaerys Velaryon. The son of Queen Rhaenyra and the heir to the underwater kingdom of Atlantica, the home of the merfolk. An adventurous young merman, he was often found exploring sunken shipwrecks or the deepest sea caverns in search of treasures and trinkets…

Even when he was supposed to be attending his royal duties.

He couldn’t help it. He knew his mother wanted him to step up as her heir and become the prince he needed to be for his people, but he knew he wasn’t the prince they wanted. He wasn’t the prince they needed. He lacked the drive and ambition for ruling as king. He wasn’t interested in politics, or ruling over the merfolk.

In fact, he often felt conflicted between two worlds.

His home, the ocean, was where his family and his people were. And even though his four younger brothers and two sisters often drove him insane, he loved them dearly. And he loved his mother… his stepfather, Daemon, on the other hand, he barely even tolerated. He disliked how much of an influence he had over his mother, and how much power he held in the kingdom.

The other half of him, however, wished to be above the surface of the waves, where he could feel the full warmth of the sun, the softness of the sand on the shore and the cooling sea breeze…

He wanted to be where the people were.

Out of the water and living among them.

He knew it was outlawed to travel to the surface after his father, Harwin, was murdered by humans. He was incredibly young, barely over five years old, and his brothers Lucerys and Joffrey were too young to even remember, but that didn’t stop him from sneaking off to watch them from a distance. And besides, he was certain the kingdom was so against humans because Daemon seemed to loathe them, often spreading his rather false horror stories over humans and their prejudices against merfolk. There were even whispers of him trying to convince Rhaenyra to go to war with the surface world. Jacaerys disapproved of this, but knew his mother was wiser than that.

And while Jace certainly resented the humans who murdered his father, he knew not all humans were that cruel, just as not all merfolk were like Daemon. He still found himself greatly intrigued by the surface dwellers. Whether they were sailing on their great ships, or frolicking on the beach, or dancing… he wanted to try dancing…

But he knew he could never trade his tail for legs.

And so he spent his days exploring with his companion since birth, a fish with glittering olive green scales and bright orange fins called Vermax, eagerly taking any trinket or human object he could find at the bottom of the seabed or in a long abandoned shipwreck.He would take it to the surface to have it inspected by a seagull, Cannibal, before taking it to his secret grotto, a deep sea cavern where he stored his treasures.

He was often scolded by his mother for forgetting his duties, often arriving late or failing to show up at all sometimes, just like earlier in the week, when he failed to show up to a royal concert when he and Vermax had an unfortunate encounter with a shark while exploring a shipwreck. He had completely forgotten about the concert, going to Cannibal about the two interesting objects he’d found to add to his collection. When he had returned to rather sheepishly apologise to his mother, he had both her and Daemon lecturing him over duty and his careless and reckless behaviour whenever he opened his mouth to try.

It had even gotten to the point where Rhaenyra was now sending Syrax, her golden crab companion, to watch him and make sure he wasn’t getting into trouble, reporting back to her over whether he’d been to the surface. Jace had visited the surface world far less frequently as a result, only managing to do so when he out swam the crustacean. It wouldn’t surprise him if she sent his younger brother Lucerys or his uncle Aegon after him next. Or, heaven forbid, one of his sisters.

It was after one such scolding that Jacaerys found himself at his grotto, admiring his growing collection and daydreaming about being among the people on land. Being where he could walk, run, dance… where he could ask them the thousands of burning questions he had… where he could stay all day in the sun.

Where he could be part of their world.

He smiled to himself at the thought of walking on two legs, but found that fading into a disappointing frown as he looked down to see his tale, scales glittering scarlet and ebony in the fading sunlight.

Everyone assumed he had everything anyone could ever need in life. But he didn’t. He felt torn, ad though he didn’t belong under the ocean, but above the surface.

He wanted more than this.

He let out a soft exhale of disappointment, allowing himself to float down to the bottom of the cavern and landing on a slab of rock jutting out from the stone floor.

“I just wish to be part of that world, Vermax. Up there. All these treasures I have… they’re neat. And it seems as though I have everything… but it’s not enough. I want to live among them. I have everything I could ever need, and yet I want more…” He murmured, too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the stone entrance to his grotto sliding open.

A low whistle of mild impressment did, however, catch his attention, followed by a amused voice.

“Mother’s going to kill you.”

Lucerys was leaning against the closed entrance to the grotto, his arms crossed. Both Velaryon boys were rather similar, with dark curls and deep brown eyes. But Lucerys’ hair was shorter, and a slightly darker brown, and he had more black scales than Jacaerys, whose tail was mostly red, like their mother.

Jacaerys shot up, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Luke-“

“What is all of this stuff?” Luke asked, looking around the grotto rather amusedly.

“It’s… it’s just my… collection…”

“Impressive. I always wondered what you were doing when you constantly snuck away,” He mused. “But like I said, if mother finds out about this, you’re dead. She’s worried about you, always obsessing over the surface world and neglecting your duties...”

Jace rolled his eyes at his younger brother. Above him he heard a distant booming noise. Glancing up through the hole in the cavern roof where the surface of the water was visible, he saw a thousand colours light up the sky in a flurry of sparks and fizzing. He ignored his brother’s continued chattering, transfixed on whatever was happening in the world above.

“I told her that you were either crazy, or this is a just phase…”

“What do you suppose…?” Jacaerys muttered to himself, ignoring his brother’s teasing antics and swimming up to where the noise and bright flashing colours were coming from.

“But I didn’t realise you were this obsessed- where are you going? Jace! You can’t go up there! Humans are trouble! Mother said so!” Luke called after his brother, but he was already gone, Vermax hurrying after him. Luke glanced over at where Syrax was perched on a nearby ledge.

“So… should you follow him or should I?” He asked.

Syrax, realising Luke didn’t want to be the one to do so, hopped off the ledge and hurried after the older prince, who had now reached the water’s surface.

Jace gazed up in sheer awe at the great ship sailing towards him, the illuminating the night sky in a flurry of sparks in the most vibrant shades of scarlet, blue, emerald and gold. The sails billowed in the ocean winds, the largest of which was imprinted with what Jace could only assume was a royal sigil.

As Jace moved to get closer to the ship, he let out a yelp, feeling a sharp a pinch on his arm, Looking down to the culprit, he flicked Syrax off him and rubbed his arm, the skin slightly reddened from where the crab pinched him.

Diving back beneath the waves to move closer to the ship, Vermax hot on his tail. When he reached the great vessel, Jacaerys hoisted himself up and managed to climb up the side of the ship. He knew it was a risky move. If he was caught by the sailors, he would be captured or even killed. If was caught by his mother or Daemon… it might be even worse. But his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

He kept hidden in the shadows, peering through a gap on the side of the boat. There was cheering, dancing, drinking and singing, a celebration of sorts, and it somewhat relieved Jace that the sailors were probably too occupied with the festivities to notice him.

A sweet melody filled Jace’s ears as the sailors danced. A flute, he believed, was playing. He remembered reading about them in an old book he’d recovered from a shipwreck. He’d always imagined how their tune sounded, and he wasn’t disappointed.

He wasn’t sure what was being celebrated, but it seemed to be a most joyous occasion. Everyone seemed in the highest of moods and the most joyful of spirits. It was wonderful to see this side of the surface dwellers, and he couldn’t look away.

In fact, he was so entranced by the humans that he found himself jumping back in shock as a rather strange and hairy creature, a dog he believed came bounding over to him. He had read about them but had never seen them in person before, but it seemed friendly enough, sniffing him with interest and wagging its tail.

Jace smiled, rather tentatively reaching out to the animal, only to shrink back into the shadows as a female voice called out to the creature.

“Max! Here boy!”

Jace cautiously peered back around, his eyes widening as he laid eyes on who might possibly be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

You.

He watched as Max eagerly bounded over to you, jumping up to lick your face in greeting. You laughed, gently pushing the dog away from you slightly and patting his head.

“Down boy. Good boy. C’mon what’s got you so excited?” You smiled, looking over in Jace’s direction and causing him to duck back into the darkness again. His cheeks were flushed pink, his mouth slightly agape. He knew if Luke were here, he would never hear the end of it. But after having seen numerous paintings and drawings of human women in books he’d found, as well as meeting with countless potential matches organised by his mother, be found that none of them, even the most notoriously beautiful mermaids, compared to you.

He found himself peering back around to admire you once again as you sat down with Max, rubbing the dog’s stomach and watching the ongoing celebrations. You were dressed rather simply in a white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone and a pair of blue breeches, a pair of black knee high leather boots on your feet. Your hair was down and loose, fluttering in the nightly see breeze.

You were absolutely beautiful.

A sudden loud screech to Jace’s side caused him to reluctantly tear his gaze away from you, sending the culprit a nasty glare.

“Quiet, Cannibal.” He hissed, not wanting to draw attention to his hiding place. Cannibal edged closer to Jace, seemingly wanting to see what- or who- had caught the young prince’s attention. When the bird laid eyes on you, he let out an even louder screech that sounded a little like a squawk of amusement, only to have Jace grab him by the beak to shut him up.

“I said quiet.” He shot the gull another glare before returning his focus to you. “I’ve never seen a human up this close before.” He breathed as he watched you play a small, cheerful melody on a flute, the flute he must have been hearing earlier, Max running around in circles around you as you twirled around, the both of you almost dancing together to the tune.

“She… she’s very beautiful…” He murmured, shooting yet another glare to the bird as he let out a slight muffled wheeze through his closed beak. Jace followed Cannibal’s gaze to where Max continued to dance around you. “No, not that thing.” He muttered, using the hand wrapped around Cannibal’s beak to move the bird’s head upwards to look at you. “The human.”

“Silence! Silence!” A man suddenly announced, his arms outstretched as he stood in the centre of the deck. “It is now my deepest honour and privilege to present our esteemed Princess Y/N with her birthday gift.”

“Y/N…” Jacaerys murmured dreamily, watching you step forward with a chorus of cheers from the crowd onboard. “Princess Y/N…”

The man stepped to the side to present a large object concealed by sapphire blue cloth and tied with a scarlet ribbon. “Happy birthday, Y/N.” He smiled, and with one tug on the ribbon, the cloth fell to reveal… a statue of you.

You were dressed in an extravagant gown, your arm raised in the air, your gleaming sword pointed towards the sky. Your expression was not warm as it was in reality, but one of hardened steel.

It was a warrior’s statue.

Jace tilted his head, his brows furrowing. The statue captured your beauty, that much was certain, but there was something missing from it. Maybe it was lacking your smile that sent a swarm of butterflies to erupt in his stomach, or the sparkle in your eyes. Whatever it was… it made the statue seem… unlike you.

“Wow… Grimsby you shouldn’t have.” Your voice sounded rather exasperated. “It’s… truly something to behold.”

Jace smiled. He could tell you were struggling to muster a compliment, but didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“You like it?”

“It’s… really something…” You muttered, staring up at the statue, your lips pressed into a thin line and your eyes crinkled at the edges as you winced slightly, looking physically in pain at the sight of the gift. “Although it seems rather-“

“I commissioned it myself,” Grimsby declared rather proudly, his hand placed over his heart and making you immediately close your mouth. “Although… I had hoped it would be a wedding gift…”

“Oh don’t start, Grimsby,” You groaned, turning away from him and leaning on the side of the boat, just above where Jacaerys was hiding. “Are you really still sore that I rejected the proposal from that Dornish prince?”

“It isn’t just me, Y/N,” Grimsby sighed, stepping forward. “Your parents, the entire kingdom wishes for you to happily settle down with the right man-“

“Exactly, Grimsby! I need to find the right man,” You argued, sitting down on the side of the ship with one hand holding the rigging of the boat to prevent yourself from falling. “I know he’s out there somewhere. But I don’t want to marry for duty. I’ve always devoted myself to that. I want to marry for love. I want to find someone who… who has the same ambitions as me. Who… wants to see the world and sees past the fact I’m a princess. Someone who understands what it’s like to yearn to be out there exploring the world. Someone who understands freedom, and who wants to break free… and who understands that a part of me belongs out there in that world. Out there in the seas.”

Jace’s expression brightened at your words, his heart fluttering in his chest at you possibly sharing similar struggles to him.

It was like you were too good to be true.

That could be him… he could be that man for you…

“I’ll find him one day. He’s out there somewhere I… I just haven’t found him yet.”

“Well, perhaps you haven’t been looking hard enough.”

“Not helpful, Grimsby.” You grumbled, rising to your feet and looking out at the ocean, as black as the clouds brewing overhead. “Believe me, when I find him, I’ll know. Without a doubt.” Your words were firm, your expression one of clear resolve. “When I see him, it’ll… it’ll just hit me like… like lightning!”

No sooner did those words leave your mouth, you and Jace looked up as the deep growl of thunder rumbled overhead, a flash of lightning lighting up the sky.

“Hurricane!” A sailor yelled. “Stand fast! Secure the rigging!”

You immediately sprung into action, leaning forward to pull on the ropes as the waves lapped against the ship more aggressively than before, the wind whipping through your hair and rain beginning to pelt down from the sky as though the heavens themself were opening.

Jace grabbed ahold of the ship, failing to grab Cannibal as the gull was blown away by the wind torrents with a loud screech of protest. While the others focused on untying the lifeboats, Jace watched as you leaped up the stairs two at a time to reach the steering wheel of the ship that was spinning out of control, trying to stop the ship from capsizing into the water. A large surge of water passed over the ship, drenching you completely and those onboard.

Despite gripping onto the ship as tightly as he could, Jace soon found himself falling back into the water, barrels, crates and even the sailors following him beneath the surface. He swam upwards as quick as his tail could move, breaking through the surface to see a jagged flash of lightning hit the main sail of the ship.

Flames blazed through your royal seal emblazoned on the sail, burning through the cloth and spreading to the mast of the ship.

Jace gasped as he saw the ship uncontrollably heading towards a cluster of jagged rocks jutting out from the sea, you still at the wheel struggling to gain control of the ship. He wanted to scream at you, to climb onto the boat and help you steer the ship to safety, or to just grab you and get you off the ship, but he knew he couldn’t. He watched with a horrified expression as the ship rammed against the rocks, throwing more sailors and cargo, including you and the statue, overboard and into the depths below. The mast snapped, falling forwards and spreading the fire to the rest of the ship.

Jacaerys swam forward to see you help Grimsby onto the lifeboat to join several other of your crew mates. He felt a small sigh of relief to see you safe as you hauled yourself into the small boat, but it the feeling was short lived as you frantically looked around the small cluster of life boats, your gaze ultimately returning to the raging inferno consuming the ship.

“Max!”

No, no, no, no.

You couldn’t go back.

Jace couldn’t watch you do that.

To risk your life and possibly lose it.

He followed you as you swam back to the burning ship, hauling yourself back onboard to save your beloved dog.

“Jump, Max! Come on, you can do it. Come on, boy, just jump!” You desperately cried out to the animal, unable to move further forward thanks to the flames and the collapsed mast.

Jace squinted, trying to see you through the billowing smoke, his breath caught in his throat. As he saw your silhouette emerge through the smoke, he released the breath he was holding, but it got caught in his throat as your foot suddenly fell through the deck and out of his sight.

Max fell off the boat and into the sea where he was pulled onto the lifeboat by the surviving sailors, who cried out to you as you desperately tried to free yourself from where your foot was stuck, the flames flickering higher and higher around you, the smoke filling your lungs and choking you from any oxygen.

You managed to loosen your foot enough to pull it out of your boot as the inferno raged on, but it proved feeble as a barrel of gunpowder rolled past you and into the flames. As soon as the ship exploded, Jacaerys surged forward to where the ship wreckage was sinking beneath the waves, frantically looking around for any sight of you, the flames providing enough light for him to see clearly. Upon seeing no sight of you, he rose back to the surface. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you, unconscious, balanced on a plank of wood from the deck. No sooner did he see you, the violent waves caused you to slip from the plank and under the water.

As you sank deeper and deeper, Jacaerys swam after you, managing to grab ahold of you and heading in the direction of the shore. He made sure to keep your head above the water so you could hopefully breathe, not even caring whether you were dead or alive at that moment. He just needed to get you to safety.

His arms ache as he finally reached the shallows, struggling to drag both you and himself onto the beach. He cradled you in his arms, his chestnut eyes scanning your form for any sign of life. For any slight twitch, any movement, any breath. Yet your eyes remained closed, your skin pale and your mouth slightly agape.

“Is she… dead?” The word almost got caught in Jacaerys’ throat as he turned to where Cannibal landed beside them on rather shaky legs.

Please don’t be dead… please don’t be dead…

“She… she can’t be dead…” Jace murmured, a finger gently opening one of your eyes. Upon seeing them up close, he realised how beautiful your eyes were. Cannibal hopped between you and Jace, pressing his head against your foot, letting out a small, sorrowful caw.

“Wait… wait look! She’s breathing!” Jace exclaimed as you let out a small exhale, your chest beginning to gently rose and fell. He sent a small disapproving look to Cannibal. “You know that’s not where they breathe, right?” He muttered as Cannibal leaped the air and landed on a nearby rock.

Jace rolled his eyes, looking back to where your breaths were becoming less shallow and more even. “She’s so beautiful…” He whispered as he looked down at you. Your clothes were torn, and one of your boots was gone, your dripping wet hair plastered over your forehead. Jace reached over to gently brush it away from your face.

As his hand moved to gently caress your cheek, he found himself humming a small tune his mother used to sing to him at night. It was an old tune from generations long since passed, sung in an ancient language that was no longer spoken by merfolk other than the royal family, although Jace’s was a little rusty at best after missing so many lessons. It was a lullaby that always soothed him after a night terror when he was young.

His humming soon evolved into him softly singing the song, and a smile spread onto his face as he saw your eyelids flutter and open ever so slightly, your soft, small hand reaching up to place over his. When your hand made contact with his, Jace felt his heartbeat quicken, his skin feeling as though it were on fire from your touch.

A loud bark made him flinch back away from you, spotting Grimsby and Max on the horizon. He dived into the water as the dog bounded over to you, eagerly greeting you by slobbering on your face as you slowly sat up, one hand- the hand that touched Jace’s- resting on the side of your head as you groggily looked around.

“Y/N! Oh thank goodness,” Grimsby breathed in relief, his hand reaching into his pocket and taking out his slightly damp handkerchief, which he used to dab his clammy forehead. “You really delight in these sadistic strains on my blood pressure, don’t you?” He muttered, leaning down to help the princess to her feet. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“I… I saw… a boy. He… he rescued me…” You muttered, one hand still clutching your head as you regained your balance. “He was singing to me. He had the most beautiful voice…” You trailed off, swaying slightly.

”Oh, Y/N,” Grimsby sighed. “I think you’ve swallowed a bit too much seawater.”

“No, I saw him.” She protested, looking out at the shore. “I heard him.”

“Of course you did, my dear,” Grimsby sighed, wrapping an arm over the girl’s shoulders. “Come on. Off we go. Come along, Max- Max! What is that dog barking at now?”

“Max!” You called out, followed by a sharp whistle that got the dog’s attention from where he was barking in Jace’s direction, the prince hiding behind a rock.

As you, Grimsby and Max left the small beach and headed towards your castle, Jace watched you go, Cannibal perched on the rock in front him.

“I don’t know when, I don’t know how… but watch and you’ll see, someday I’ll be part of that world. I know I will be!” He declared to his feathered companion, a steely determination set in those deep brown eyes of his. “No matter what it takes.”

A short distance away, Jacaerys was being watched by an ancient beast. A large, bronze eel, one eye a glittering green and the other glowing a vibrant sapphire blue. She watched him silently for a moment before dipping beneath the surface to return to her master.

It was only a matter of time before the young prince sought him out.

“You summoned me, mother?”

Queen Rhaenyra smiled fondly at her second born son as perched regally on her throne, her golden trident, the source of her power passed down from her father, resting beside her.

“Yes, Lucerys. I wished to ask you about your brother.”

“J-Jacaerys?” Luke stammered.

“Yes. I tasked you with watching over him but you have yet to report back to me. Your sisters have noticed certain things…”

“O-oh?”

“Apparently he’s to himself, daydreaming even more than usual, not swimming to sunken shipwrecks looking for trouble… it’s almost as though something has consumed his mind completely.”

“Well… he seems normal to me mother.” Lucerys chuckled nervously, making Rhaenyra raise an eyebrow.

“Rhaena and Baela said he swam past them in very high spirits this morning, putting flowers in their hair and singing to himself.”

“Well… well I-“

“Lucerys, I know you’re keeping something from me, sweet one.”

“Ke-keeping something, mother? I would never.”

“Really? Because Rhaena and Baela told me something else rather interesting.”

“They… they did?”

“About Jacaerys… his mood. His high spirits and his daydreaming. It’s as though he’s come alive. I’ve seen the signs before, both in myself and others.”

“You… have seen what?” Luke visibly gulped as Rhaenyra beckoned him closer.

“Isn’t it obvious? Jacaerys is in love, is he not? Or at least infatuated?”

“I… I don’t know mother-“

“Come now, Luke. I understand that you and Jace are at that age where you don’t feel the need to tell me everything, but this is important…”

Luke felt face flush slightly. If Rhaenyra found out, she’d be furious. But what would be worse is if Jace got captured, or killed.

“Mother… I do not know-“

“I only wish to know who the lucky mermaid is…”

“Mother-“

“Or merman perhaps? He is rather good friends with Cregan of the Arctic waters, is he not?”

“I- I wouldn’t know, I-“

“Unless you simply do not wish to fulfil the task I have given you and have been neglecting your duty-“

“I tried to stop him mother!” Lucerys suddenly exclaimed, making Rhaenyra raise her eyebrows in slight surprise at her son’s outburst.

“Stop him? From what?” Rhaenyra’s expression changed from one of mild amusement to immediate concern.

“I tried to stop him from doing it but he never listens to me. Just because he’s older, he thinks he can swim to the surface even though I warned him about the humans-“

“Humans? What about humans?” Rhaenyra demanded, gripping her trident harshly and making Luke stop in his tracks.

“Hu-humans? Why mother, who said anything about humans?” He chuckled, glancing away from his mother.

“Luke…” Rhaenyra warned, rising from her throne. “What has your brother been doing? Tell me. Now.”

“I… I don’t know what happened mother. He saw these flames in the sky and he followed them to the surface. I tried to stop him, I promise I did. When he returned the next morning he was a completely different person. Happier. And yet somehow more annoying-“

“Luke…”

“Anyway,” Lucerys cleared his throat. “I asked him what happened and… and…”

“And what? And what, Luke?”

“He said he’d saved… a human…” Lucerys muttered. “A princess.”

“He saved a human? Those murderous savages.” A voice spoke from the shadows.

Lucerys felt his heart sink as he realised he’d failed to notice Daemon’s presence, too focused on trying to protect his brother’s secret from their mother.

“I…” For once, Lucerys had found himself at a loss for words.

“I think that’s everything we need Lucerys… you may leave.” Daemon ordered, but Lucerys stood his ground.

“No. I want to know what you’ll do-“

“Luke, go to your chambers.”

“But, mother-“

“Lucerys. Go.” The sternness of Rhaenyra’s words and the fire within her eyes made Lucerys reluctantly comply, swimming off with his heart sinking at what he’d done.

“Humans? Love? He’s going to get himself killed.” Rhaenyra sighed, looking over at her husband. “What do you suggest I do?”

“The only way we can save Jacaerys is if we rid him of these absurd thoughts. We need to act quickly.”

“I do not want to push him away more than I already have.” Rhaenyra said as Daemon swam over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“If we don’t act now, you’ll lose him to the surface. You of all people know what they do to our kind. He’s your heir, Rhaenyra. Your first born son. To protect him, we may need to hurt him.”

“But, Daemon-“

“Do you want him to resort to extreme solutions like your brother did? Do you want him to suffer that same fate as Aemond? Or turn to him for a solution?”

“Jacaerys isn’t like Aemond in any way. He is not cruel, or cunning like him. He would never seek him out. He knows better.”

“For now.” Daemon replied. “But love can cloud and deceive the mind in ways that can make the greatest of men fall.”

“Vermax, what’s going on?” Jace asked as the small fish attempted to herd him in the direction of the grotto. Jace rolled the stone away, moving forward to enter, but his companion stopped him in his tracks, swimming right up go his face and turning, flicking his tail into Jace’s eyes.

“Ouch! Vermax,” Jace rubbed his eyes, wincing slightly at the small sting. “Okay, it’s that important of a surprise.” He sighed, complying with Vermax’s wishes. “If you wanted me to close my eyes you could just ask nicely.” He muttered, feeling himself being gently nudged slowly into the grotto, his arms held out in front of him in case Vermax decided to steer him into a wall. Again.

Jace had been in his grotto so many times he knew where he was when Vermax moved in front of him again, this time flicking him on the hand to stop him in his tracks.

“Really? Again?” Jace sighed. “At least it was more gentle that time.” He muttered. Vermax nudged his hand, and Jace opened his eyes, letting out a small gasp at the sight in front of him.

There, placed in the centre of his grotto, the new centrepiece of his treasure collection… was your statue. He turned to the small fish, a wide smile growing on his face.

“You’re the best, Vermax,” He grinned, swimming over to the statue. “It’s perfect. How… how did you find this- how did you get this in here?” He asked. “Nevermind, I know I’ll never find out. Oh gods, it’s perfect- she’s perfect. It looks just like her- well, her eyes have more sparkle in real life, and they’re kinder too…”

He swam circles around the statue, analysing every angle. “It really is a work of art,” He murmured, a hand reaching up again to rest on the statue’s stone cold cheek. “If only it were real. Then we could run away from all our troubles… and find a place where we can belong. Don’t you think that would be the best thing, Verm-“ As he turned to address his closest friend, he was instead greeted by the face of his mother. A face that was half concealed by shadows and that was twisted in both sorrow and fury.

“M-mother. I can explain-“

“I think everything is quite clear to me, Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra interrupted, swimming out of the shadows, golden trident glinting in the fading light. Jace felt himself wince at the harshness of her tone when she spoke his full name.

“I consider myself a reasonable mermaid. A reasonable queen. And a reasonable mother,” She continued, her voice although soft in volume, was also cold in time. “I set certain rules to protect my people. To protect you. And I expect those rules to be followed.”

”But, mother, it’s not what you thi-“

“Is it true you rescued a human from drowning?” She demanded. Jace felt his mouth dry up. She knew? Luke… or Syrax, somehow?

“I… I had to. She… she would have died…”

“Contact between the human and mer worlds is strictly forbidden. You know this, everyone knows this. And I thought you of all people should understand this.”

“She would have died mother!”

“And that would only be one less human to worry about,” Daemon spoke up, emerging from the shadows behind Rhaenyra.

“You don’t even know her!” Jace protested, placing himself in front of your statue, as though he was protecting you.

“Know her?” Daemon let out a mocking laugh. “We don’t need to know her.” He snarled. “Humans, they’re all the same. Spineless, savage, harpoon, fish- eaters who are incapable of any feeling-”

“I love her.” Jacaerys blurted out, stopping Daemon in his tracks and making Rhaenyra’s expression morph into one of horror.

“No…” She breathed. “No, Jacaerys it… it cannot be true… have… have you lost your senses completely? You haven’t even met her! She’s human.”

“And you’re a merman.” Daemon sneered.

“I don’t care.” Jace retorted defiantly. “I’ll find a way.”

“Jacaerys, so help me, please do not escalate this.” Rhaenyra warned.

“Escalate it? What can you do mother? I’m not a child anymore!”

“We clearly aren’t getting through to him,” Daemon said. “You know what you have to do, Rhaenyra.”

“W-what’s he talking about, mother?” Jace asked, backing up so he was blocking the statue completely, a weary edge to his tone.

“I need to get through to you Jace,” Rhaenyra’s voice was solemn. “And if this is the only way…” She looked away from her son, raising her arm so the trident was pointing to an upper shelf of the grotto. “…So be it.”

“Mother, don’t!” Jace exclaimed, the realisation finally dawning on him. But it was too late. The trident was now glowing with lightning and flames, casting the grotto in a harsh orange light. Beams shot from the trident, perfectly landing on their targets.

His entire book collection? Gone.

His paintings, his jewellery collection, his candlesticks and compass? Reduced to dust.

Everything, from his gadgets and gizmos to his whozits and whatzits, were completely destroyed.

“Mother, mother please stop,” Jacaerys pleaded, desperately grabbing onto Rhaenyra’s arm, his eyes glassed over with tears threatening to spill at any moment.

But he wasn’t going to give Daemon the satisfaction of letting them fall.

“Mother- mother no, please no!” He yelled, following her gaze to where she aimed the trident at your statue, reducing it to rubble mere seconds later.

Jace let go of his mother, letting himself float to the grotto floor in front of where your statue was standing so proudly moments ago.

Rhaenyra, tore her gaze away from her eldest son, quickly swimming away from the irreparable damage she’d caused, both to herself and Jace. She too didn’t want to let the cracks show. Daemon stayed where he was, admiring the destruction of the treasures created by the beings he despised so.

“If you truly loved the humans, Jacaerys, if you truly wanted to be where you belong, you should go to them,” He said coldly, cruelly. “Because you certainly don’t belong here.”

As Daemon swam from the grotto, followed by his companion, a blood red moray eel called Caraxes, Jace finally let the tears spill, his chest heaving with the sobs that racked through his body.

“Jace…”

“Go away.”

“Jace, I’m sorry-“

“Sorry? Sorry that she destroyed everything?” Jace exclaimed, turning to glare at his younger brother. “Look what she did Luke. Look what Daemon made her do.” He turned away again as his voice cracked, another wave of realisation hitting him that his pride and joy, his wonderful collection that had taken him years to put together, was gone.

And your statue along with it.

“Jace, I didn’t know this was going to happen. I thought you might get in trouble and-“

“Just go away,” He whispered.

Luke hung his head low, reluctantly leaving his brother alone and joining Syrax, Vermax and Arrax, an infant ray who shimmered a pearl white, with the exception of his golden underside and eyes to match. Like Vermax, he was not yet fully grown.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t leave him, and… I hate seeing him like this, annoying as he is. It’s all Daemon’s fault, that son of a-“ Lucerys’ ranting was cut off as Syrax pinched his lips between her claw. Before he could prize her off him, a large shadow loomed over the group, and the three sea creatures ushered the younger prince behind a rock, hiding him from sight.

It was an eel, but it was considerably larger than Caraxes, by two times at least. She looked more like some ancient sea serpent, for she was an ancient creature. Her bronze scales that once gleaned brightly had dulled with age, but her eyes still gleamed just as bright, as did the small clusters of blue and green streaked along the top and underside of her body. One eye was a vibrant green, like grass in the height of springtime. The other was an unnaturally vibrant blue, glowing brightly in the night like a sapphire.

Vhagar was surely an fearsome sight to behold.

Lucerys watched the beast slither into the grotto. He went to follow her, but Syrax stopped him by pinching his side.

“I can’t let him be eaten, can I?” He hissed, rubbing the reddened skin. “I have to do something!” He protested, but Syrax and Arrax blocked his path adamantly. Even Vermax was more focused on keeping the younger prince hidden than going to Jace, grabbing long stems of kelp and dropping them over Luke, who brushed them off him immediately.

“You have to let me help him? It’s just some old eel, right?”

Jacaerys had wiped his eyes, but was still staring down at the rubble, not wanting to lift his head to be greeted with the sight of his former grotto, once a proud collection, now reduced to nothing. He didn’t want to cry again.

He let out a deep, shaking breath, trying to slow his hammering heart and calm the tremble in his hands. And yet every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was the princess he saved.

“Mijegindita riña… Mijegindita dōna riña…”[Poor child… poor sweet child…]

Jace’s head shot up to be greeted with the sight of Vhagar circling him like a constrictor about to suffocate it’s prey, her blue eye glowing violently in the darkness. He recognised the language as High Valyrian, the ancient language of merfolk. But he was far from a fluent speaker. In fact, he was rather terrible.

“I-I’m sorry I… I don’t fully understand…”

“It seems as though you have a very serious problem… if only there was something that could be done…”

The beast continued, this time in a modern tongue. Her voice was more of a deep, ancient rumble, coming from within. She didn’t move her mouth when she spoke, but Jace saw the glinting of those dagger like teeth. It was as though she were a vessel for someone else to speak to him. As though someone was speaking through her.

“Perhaps there is something that could be done for you…” Vhagar continued, circling closer and closer around Jace, turning her head towards him so he could clearly see her in the silvery glow of the moon above.

“I… I know you…” Jace breathed, and she retreated back into the inky murkiness of the shadows. “But that’s impossible… you… you and him… you were both banished… after what happened with- with Luke…”

He was only young when his uncle Aemond was banished, and Lucerys was too young to properly remember everything, but the memories still stuck with the elder prince vividly. He remembered the glint of the blade in the torchlight, he remembered Lucerys lunging at Aemond, and the young man’s screams wailing through the kingdom.

That was many years ago. Over a decade.

“Don’t be scared…” The voice spoke. “I represent the person who can help you. Someone who can make all your dreams come true…”

“I don’t think-“

“Just imagine-“ The voice cut him off, Vhagar’s head slithered past him, that piercing blue eye focused entirely on the prince. “You and your princess. Together, forever.” There was a slight mocking edge to the voice as it spoke, making Jace frown.

“No… no I can’t.” Jace faltered, knowing the offer, although tempting, was surely tainted with something far more sinister in return.

“Aemond has become incredibly powerful. He can use his power to help you...”

That stopped Jace in his tracks. He’d heard the rumours of his depraved uncle turning to dark magic in his exile. Some said he’d saught out the sea witch, Alys Rivers, who had mysteriously vanished months after his banishment.

“No I... I couldn’t possibly go to him. No. Get out of here! Leave me alone!” He exclaimed, lunging forwards and out of Vhagar’s reach to sit on one of his now empty ledges and facing away from the beast.

”Suit yourself,” The voice said as Vhagar retreated. “It was only a suggestion.” As she left, her tail flicked upwards, causing your statue’s face, still somehow intact unlike the rest of the statue, to land beside Jace. He reached over and picked it up, cradling it in his arms, Daemon’s words echoing over and over again in his mind.

“If you truly loved the humans, Jacaerys, if you truly wanted to be where you belong, you should go to them…”

“…Because you certainly don’t belong here.”

And for once, Jacaerys agreed with Daemon.

He was his mother’s heir, and yet he had no qualities of being a king. He wasn’t studious, or particularly charismatic in the eyes of the people. He did his royal duties when he remembered, but he had never aspired to be a king.

He remembered every little slip up, every time he’d been late to an event, every time he’d disappointed his mother and his siblings. Even little Viserys and Aegon could do a better job that he could. Even Luke with his mischievous ways, and young Joffrey, carried out their tasks to perfection. And his sisters, Baela and Rhaena were born to lead.

He wasn’t born for that.

He didn’t belong.

When he watched you on that ship, when he watched the people celebrate your birthday, and dance and sing and tell stories, he felt more at home. Like he could belong.

Daemon was right.

His mind was made up.

He was going to see Aemond.

“Wait!” He called out, and Vhagar’s face loomed into view once again.

“Take me to him.”

A/N: I know, I know, and I’m sorry to the Aemond girlies who are disappointed he didn’t show up. But I can promise you that he will be centre stage throughout most of Part Two

Masterlist

Tag list:

@thekittyxo-blog @iamavailablesstuff @eggofpower @thatbitchanna27 @aleemendoza2425-blog @ekavamonfort @rhaenattargaryen @ewwwitsel @marytargaryen @snowprincesa1

If you want to be added to the tag list for this story feel free to ask

#Aemond Targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen #Jacaerys Velaryon x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon #Jacaerys Velaryon x reader x Aemond Targaryen #House of the dragon x reader #House of the dragon #Aemond Targaryen imagine #Jacaerys Velaryon imagine #House of the dragon imagine

351 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 7 months

Text

The Vanity and Variability (5)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, masturbation, sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, character death ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that it had all been a dream. The fact that she'd found out about his affair with Alys, which had gone on for years in London, his long, desperate letter that he'd cried over while writing it. That she had come to him, that she had said she wanted to stay with him.

That he had touched her.

He could still hear her sweet, innocent moans of surprise in his head, smell her scent in his nostrils, taste her on his lips after he placed loud, greedy kisses on her neck. He could feel her juices between his fingers, how hot she was, how intensely she responded to his every motion, exploring her body with him, her path to pleasure.

He felt like he was going to explode with arousal, that he was simply going to cum from just touching her and watching the reaction of her sweet body.

When she finally came, when he felt how much moisture flowed from inside her straight onto his fingers with the residual strength of his will, he refrained from throwing himself at her and sliding inside her, feeling how wet and hot she was inside from his treatments, how much she craved him.

When she looked at him with that hazy, beautiful gaze full of heat and affection he kissed her so shamelessly that he was surprised at himself.

And then she stood up, terrified, without letting him get a word in edgewise, announced that they could no longer be friends and ran out of his room with tears in her eyes.

He sat still for a few minutes, staring blankly in front of him, not knowing what to do. Even though he was ashamed, even though he knew he should be thinking about something else right now, about how he would convince her father to give her to him, his hand headed under the material of his trousers.

He groaned loudly as he squeezed his length in his hand, imagining that he had done what he desired, that he had slipped deep inside her, that she was lying beneath him and looking up at him with that same wonderful, hot gaze, that she was moaning just as innocently, heated with pleasure and exertion.

He began to massage himself with quick, aggressive movements, panting hard, thinking of slipping his tongue between her lips again, of giving her everything she wanted.

He came so hard that he pressed his face against his pillow, trying to drown out the sounds coming from his throat, his own semen spilling down his fingers onto the sheets beneath him. He was panting loudly in elation and thought with surprise mixed with despair that he had never before come as hard with Alys as he did now, thinking of his friend.

The thought that he subconsciously wanted her so much surprised and embarrassed him.

He thought he had to make it all right and realised that even if they had not done that he would still have chosen her.

His friend.

He realised this on one of their walks into town, during which they were accompanied by Mr Baratheon himself, longing for some fresh air. They were walking together at the front, and he was surprised when he began to speak suddenly of his late wife.

"When I met her, she was not fond of me. She thought I was immature and incapable of being a serious man. She was right. All I thought about was women, cards, alcohol and having fun with my friends without caring what other people thought of me. I had a huge fortune, but she still didn't want me. She said her husband could not be like a stranger to her, but had to be her friend. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I know that when I really started to listen to her and she saw how valuable she was to me, I myself started to open up to her. During one walk I told her about my whole life and she just listened to me. I wept like a child in front of her and thought I had completely lost respect in her eyes, but the following day she sent me a letter saying that she would marry me. It was the most beautiful day of my life." He said with his voice trembling at the last sentence, he could see from the corner of his eye that his eyes had reddened and he swallowed with difficulty as he tried to continue speaking, folding his hands behind him.

"I tell you this because I can't imagine a more unbearable thing than a wife I wouldn't even like. You must like your future wife, moreover, you should be a devoted friend to her, and she should reciprocate. Life itself is too difficult to share it with someone you don't even like." He finished his statement and grunted, turning towards Royce, who asked him something loudly from a distance, walking by his youngest sister's side.

Aemond turned towards them, and when his gaze met hers she smiled broadly and warmly, as she had always done in recent days when they ran into each other. He swallowed loudly, turning his face towards the road, feeling a strange warmth spread through his body, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Life itself is too difficult to share with someone you don't even like.

He thought, swallowing hard, that he could have pretended to go on wondering who he would choose, which of his daughters he liked most, but he knew he had made his choice the moment he danced with her at the ball.

Some sort of understanding had developed between them, he felt relaxed in her company, even when they discussed her approach was full of openness and understanding, she never squeezed anything out of him by force, she never asked him which of her sisters he intended to choose.

He realised, however, that he had been waiting for what had happened to him when he saw Alys, for that thought that he must possess her and have her, that he would feel a sudden flame which, however, was extinguished as quickly as it had appeared.

When he thought of the youngest Miss Baratheon a small candle flame came to his mind, surrounding itself with the care of his hand as he walked down a dark corridor. Its flame did not scald, but gave a sense of security and solace.

He thought embarrassedly that he would propose to her as soon as he had sorted it all in his head and figured out how he should present his feelings to her so as not to frighten her.

So that she would agree.

However, afterwards it seemed to him that his worst possible nightmare had come true and Colonel Strong had completely destroyed his image in her eyes. It wasn't until she shouted the truth in his face about who he was that he realised in the back of his mind what he had actually done, and thought with shame that it made him want to cry.

He had spent years of his life having an affair with a woman who didn't really mean anything to him just so he could feel desired by someone.

He knew that she would never want him again, but what overwhelmed him the most was the thought that she would avoid him again, that she would not forgive him this time.

He wept as he wrote his letter to her, recognising at last that if he wanted to share his feelings with anyone, it was with her, his friend. So he wrote her everything, without bluntness or hiding, admitting everything with shame and humility, hoping that she would give him a chance and at least read his explanation.

As he slipped the letter under her door he locked himself in his room, sitting down at his secretary's desk and hid his face in his hands, feeling empty and tired.

He wasn't sure he had ever cared so much about anyone's good opinion, and thought with painful amusement that he had fought all his life for attention and a good word from his father and grandfather, only to suffer perpetual humiliation from them.

She would never humiliate him.

She was warm, kind and full of joy, always finding an explanation or solution to problems that seemed to him to be lost in advance.

However, he thought nothing could be done this time and shuddered when he heard a quiet knock on his door.

Then all he could hear was the rapid pounding of his heart, and as he lay down next to her on the bed he swallowed loudly, clenching his eyes shut, keeping his distance from her just enough so that she couldn't feel his throbbing, hard erection on her.

He was embarrassed and surprised at how much he desired her.

After she left he practically didn't sleep through the night, twisting and fidgeting, thinking about what he wanted to say to her. He felt that he should ask her opinion first, rather than going directly to her father, considering in fact her decision as the most important one, without which he had no right to do anything more.

He had been ready to go down to breakfast since early morning, and when he heard the sound of the door opening he literally ran out of his room, eager to see which of the sisters had come out.

He headed for the dining room, but only came across servants preparing the table for the meal, laying out clean plates and cutlery. He heard the loud slamming of the front door and walked out quickly, spotting her silhouette walking ahead.

"Miss Baratheon." He called out after her. She stopped and turned over her shoulder, pale and terrified, her eyes wide.

He thought with pain that she regretted what they had done and he needed to make amends quickly.

He approached her breathing loudly through his mouth, folding his hands behind him, wanting to hide how much they were shaking.

"I'd like to take a moment with you, if you'll allow me." He said in a slightly trembling, throaty voice, thinking with embarrassment that he was scared like a little child.

She looked at him with big eyes, breathing hard, terrified, not saying a word, so he continued.

"I realise that what has happened over the last few days, and last night, may reflect badly on me as a man and a gentleman, to say the least. I will also understand if you have a completely understandable grudge against me for not doing what I am doing now before I dared to touch you. However −"

"− Mr Targaryen −"

"− however, I wish with all my heart to rectify my mistake and humbly ask you to agree to become my wife." He choked out with difficulty on one exhale, feeling that if he stopped speaking he would not be able to gather his thoughts again.

He felt uncomfortable when her silence answered him, she swallowed loudly, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

"I am obliged and grateful for these words, sir, but I must refuse you." She said in a quiet, trembling voice, and he looked at her in disbelief, not knowing for a moment what to say.

What?

"Why?" He growled in a more aggressive tone than he would have liked, his jaw clenched in rage, in a sense of rejection, his heart pounding like mad. She turned her gaze away, looking everywhere but at him.

"I have no intention of becoming your wife because of your remorse, sir. All my life I would only think of you proposing to me by showing me favour, not affection." She said trying to sound dispassionate, biting her lower lip, struggling not to cry in front of him.

He stared at her with his mouth wide open, breathing loudly and shook his head, chuckling nervously under his breath.

"I'm afraid I'm not following you, Miss Baratheon. Will you explain to me why you visited my room, why you laid in my bed, if you did not desire to become my wife?" He hissed in frustration, but it was only when those words left his mouth that he heard how bad they sounded.

She threw him a sudden, surprised look full of pain, her lower lip trembled in disbelief, tears that she had tried so hard to hold back flowed down her face.

"I am sorry if I have confused you, sir, and given you false hope. I am entirely to blame and hope that God will one day forgive me for what I did last night. And now, with apologies, I would like to be left alone." She whispered in a voice washed out of emotion, from which shivers went through him, and then she turned and moved ahead along the dirt road, wiping her cheeks with her hands.

He stared at her dully, watching her walk away, his chest rising and falling in quick, anxious breaths.

He covered his face with his hand and wept helplessly, thinking only that he didn't mean what he said, that he simply hoped that she came to him because she reciprocated his feelings, because she desired what he did.

That his proposal would bring them both relief and make her not feel guilty about what had happened between them.

He returned to their mansion pale, not knowing what to do with himself, where to go, not completely anticipating this course of events.

Royce snapped him out of his reverie by saying that a letter had come for him, handing him an envelope, and he opened it without thinking, staring dully at the two sentences written with his grandfather's handwriting.

Your father is dead. Return to London immediately.

He felt as if the whole world had just collapsed on his head.

He informed Mr Baratheon immediately of what had happened and asked him to lend him his horse and send his belongings to London separately, wanting to be there as soon as possible, while asking them to look after Vhagar in his absence.

He thought that after what had happened he could not bear to stay here any longer.

He set off immediately, without waiting for her return, without saying goodbye to her.

He thought that she didn't want to see him anyway.

When he arrived he had to take a bath and change immediately, and then he joined his family, gathered in his father's bedroom, all of them sitting in mourning garments. His mother ran up to him and hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear that she was glad he was able to return so quickly.

His grandfather grunted, lifting his chin high so that everyone could hear what he was going to say.

"Now that we've all gathered, it's time for the reading of the deceased's will." He said and nodded to one of the lawyers, who was holding an envelope in his hand.

He slit it open in front of their eyes, they all looked at him in suspense, Rhaenyra sitting by her dead father's bed lifted her head, looking at the man with her lips tightened.

"I, Viserys Targaryen, in this document signed and sealed by me announce my last will,

I bequeath the Yorkshire estate and a quarter of my estate to my widow wife, who may do with part of her property as she sees fit. I bequeath the estates in Harnway and Dermore successively to my first-born son Aegon and to my second son, Aemond. My estate in London I pass to my eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, along with all the family possessions located there for generations. The rest of my estate is to be distributed fairly among all my children."

An uncomfortable, long silence fell, Aegon laughed aloud, burying his face in his hands, subconsciously knowing that this was what awaited him.

He was the first-born son, but their ancestral estate was to pass to their sister.

"The law states that ancestral estates can only pass to sons or be passed down the male line. We will challenge this will as illegitimate." Said Otto in an indifferent, impassive tone, Rhaenyra stood up, looking at him with rage and hatred.

"How dare you. For years you poisoned my father's mind and pushed me away from him. You can see that at the end of his life he understood who really loved him and who was just preying on him." She hissed, breathing heavily. He decided he didn't have the strength for it and walked out, leaving the loud arguments behind, heading to his room.

He sat on his bed, looking down at his hands and laughed out loud, shaking his head, leaning forward.

He had nothing.

His only inheritance was a country manor in Dermore, unvisited by anyone for years, overgrown with mould and damp for sure.

That's how much his sacrifice meant to his father.

He squeezed his eye shut, thinking about the morning, about what he had done, what he had said, and closed his face in his hands, wanting to disappear, to simply cease to exist.

Whatever hope he had gained in recent weeks, God seemed to laugh cruelly in his face.

It seemed to him that he was destroying everything valuable in his path.

His father's funeral was a grand event, attended by crowds of aristocracy from all over England at their family estate. He felt a squeeze in his pit and a kind of discomfort when, from among dozens of people, Countess Rivers emerged in front of him, smiling at him in the same catlike way, her eyes dark with desire, her gown completely black but revealing her full, shapely breasts.

She approached him, fanning herself, looking at him curiously.

"It has been a long time since we have seen each other, dear Mr Targaryen. You do not write back to my letters. Have the country daughters of Mr Baratheon taken your fancy?" She asked with amusement, revealing rows of her white teeth.

He knew that she was teasing him, that she was convinced that he was furious about having to travel there, about having to choose among them.

Only a few weeks ago he would have told her that he missed her and locked himself in a room with her, disregarding the fact that he should be mourning his father.

Now, however, when he looked at her he felt only pain.

She was so different from her.

There was no warmth in her gaze, only an expectation to entertain.

There was no openness and lightness in her demeanour to encourage confidences, discussion, trust, only some dark, feminine licentiousness, meant to tap into his physical senses, his subconscious desires.

For some reason he felt like crying at the thought.

He turned away without answering her, disappearing into the crowd of people, startling her completely.

He wanted to be left alone.

Only she could find words of consolation for him now.

She would know what to do, she would know what he would need, she would give him comfort and reassurance, her boundless understanding.

The next few days merged into one mass for him, he didn't know when the day was setting or when night was falling. He knew he should return to Chelsfield, but he had no desire to do so, knowing that the only woman he wanted to marry did not want him.

What was he to look for there?

During one of their dinners together a few days before Rhaenyra was to officially move into their estate with her family, Aegon said something from which he froze in horror.

"Hurry, brother. If you procrastinate like this, every one of Mr Baratheon's daughters will be engaged before you return." He said softly, slicing a piece of meat. Aemond lifted his surprised, concerned gaze to him, looking at him intensely.

"What are you talking about?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to reveal how terrified he was. Aegon smiled, seeing the hesitation on his face, deliberately extending his silence.

"Apparently Mr Strong's son asked one of them to marry him and was accepted." He said reluctantly, and he felt a tightening in his throat, his hand lying on the table in front of him involuntarily clenched into a fist.

"Which one?" He asked coolly, feeling that his breathing was laboured, that his whole body was trembling with uncertainty and fear of his answer. Aegon raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, putting a bit of potatoes on his fork.

"How do I know, after all there are so many of them. Apparently one of the younger ones." He said dispassionately, lifting his eyes to see his reaction. He stared ahead with a blank gaze, trying to calm himself, then stood up and asked one of their servants to get his horse ready for him immediately.

He only arrived at Chelsfield in the morning, raspy and in complete disarray, entering their estate unannounced, guessing that they had just had breakfast.

Everyone got up at the sight of him, and he stood in the entrance, breathing loudly, some of his hair slipping out of its ribbon and he guessed that he looked inappropriate to say the least.

He didn't care, quickly finding her with his eyes, she was looking at him with her mouth wide open, all flushed, her eyes big and warm.

He wanted to ask if she did, if she said yes, but he didn't know how to do it, so they stood in an awkward silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Mr Baratheon, seeing this, grunted saying that they had not expected him so soon, offered his condolences and asked if the funeral ceremonies had gone off without a hitch.

"− yes −" He muttered, not looking at him however, just at her, in her gaze tenderness, compassion, concern, everything he needed, everything he wanted. "− yes, thank you −"

There was an awkward silence again, so he involuntarily licked his lower lip, strenuously thinking how to ask this so as not to betray himself.

"− it has come to my knowledge that one of your daughters will be getting married soon −" He said forcing himself to be calm, still looking at her, at her expression, her eyebrows arched in pain, as if she suddenly understood what he was asking.

He was asking if she was the one getting married.

He heard Floris giggle loudly, rising, showing him the small ring she had on her finger.

"Please see what I got from Colonel Strong. What excellent taste he has. My silly sister rejected his engagement, but I was smarter than that." She said and jumped up with a smile, flushed with happiness, as if this was the most joyous day of her life.

He looked quickly at Mr Baratheon's youngest daughter, her breasts rising and falling quickly in uneven breathing, her pink lips parted slightly, tears in her eyes.

He felt that he looked just like her.

He felt like crying with happiness, with relief, with joy.

She did not accept him.

Mr Baratheon suggested that, after such a long journey, he should join them at breakfast and then rest, and he nodded, suddenly relaxed and light, not quite hearing or seeing what was going on around him, nodding at Floris's words, her stories of how she imagined the whole ceremony, though his gaze kept escaping to her.

They looked at each other from opposite ends of the table far too often, drawing the attention of Royce, Mr Baratheon and Cassandra with it, but he didn't care.

As soon as breakfast was over he did not let the youngest Miss Baratheon leave the dining room, asking her straight away if she would agree to speak to him in private. She swallowed loudly and nodded, saying she had to put on her cloak.

He waited impatiently for her in the park behind their mansion and spotted her a moment later, walking towards him with an uncertain, quiet step. He felt his heart pounding hard, pleased to see her. She lifted her warm gaze to him at last, sadness and concern in her gaze.

"I have not had the opportunity to offer you my heartfelt condolences. I am so sorry." She said warmly, softly, sincerely, and he felt her words like the prick of a needle stuck in his heart. He sighed quietly, pressing his lips together, he felt like his gaze expressed everything.

Desire, affection, longing.

"Thank you, Miss Baratheon." He replied softly and they looked at each other in silence for a moment, embarrassed and uncertain.

"As I understand it, you have rejected Colonel Strong's engagement." He said lowly, lowering his gaze to his feet, swallowing loudly, wanting to hear it from her. He saw out of the corner of his eye a blush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks.

"Yes. It was probably the most miserable engagement I could have imagined." She mumbled, involuntarily smiling out of the corner of her mouth. He smiled too and snorted at her words.

"Worse than mine?" He hummed teasingly, and she lifted her gaze to him quickly, even redder, and snorted a quiet laugh, looking up at him affectionately.

"Please, sir, don't be hard on yourself. I didn't behave properly then either." She said softly, looking down at her hands, playing with her fingers, and he swallowed loudly.

"My father, in his will, deprived me of almost all my property, leaving me only a small country manor in Dermore. I wish to sell it and with those funds buy or rent an estate in this neighbourhood." He said calmly and she looked at him shocked, her lips parted in disbelief.

"You're not staying in London?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he hit the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue and chuckled under his breath.

"There's nothing waiting for me there. There's nothing there that I want. What would make me happy." He said quietly, looking at her, and she closed her mouth quickly, swallowing loudly, looking at him in a way that made him feel like throwing himself at her.

He smiled at the thought that flashed through his mind as he looked at her now, after only a few days of separation.

"I hope that this property will soon be filled with the laughter of our children." He said softly and she furrowed her eyebrows as if in pain, pressing her lips together, her eyes welled up with tears, her whole figure tensed in anxious breathing.

He approached her slowly feeling light, feeling confident, wonderful, for the first time in his life having the premonition that he knew what he was doing, that he knew what he wanted, that he knew what would make him happy.

He grasped her warm, tear-wet cheeks in his hands, and she didn't move away, her bottom lip trembling slightly. He ran his thumb over her soft skin and shuddered as she placed her trembling fingers on his, running them gently up and down.

"My sweet friend." He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers, and she smiled so warmly, so tenderly, that he didn't even know when their lips were pressed against each other in a soft, gentle, wet kiss.

He ran his nose over the tip of hers only to kiss her again, a sticky, loud click accompanied each movement of their lips. He felt her small, warm hands on his neck and cheeks and thought he could die now, fulfilled at last.

"Yes." She whispered to him between one sweet kiss and another, and he hummed softly at her words, involuntarily smiling. He fell deeper into her lips, knowing what she wanted to say, their hands clenched tightly on their skin.

She pulled away from him and embraced him, cuddling her cheek into his chest, and he embraced her immediately, one hand laying on her back, the other slipping into her long hair tied back with a blue ribbon, kissing the top of her head, taking in her wonderful scent.

"I need to speak to your father."

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

224 notes · View notes

corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

Text

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter four

well it’s love, make it hurt series

four: some place we can be ourselves

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: The Mandalorian buys you a present.

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, Dom!Din and sub!reader, soft Dom!Din, pain play, nipple play, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), collaring (collar in the moodboard is not completely what I wanted. tell me not to have it commissioned just for the purpose of a photo lol), some feelings

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 6: Collar, inspired by @absurdthirst's wonderful prompt list, without which I probably would not have written anything.

also on ao3

3 ABY - Fall

Neither of you were squeamish; you couldn’t be. Injuries were inevitable in your line of work. You had seen Mando burn his skin back together. He had seen you stitch up a gash on your leg.

So why was the slowly fading ring of bruises around your neck so hard for him to look at? Was he still mad about the botched job and your behavior that night? Or did it simply disgust him to see marks on you made by any other hand?

Whatever it was, he needed to get over it. The worst damage had been healed by the bacta spray on the first night, and you refused to waste more over bruising.

You were starting to get mad, now that you thought about it. You had just been examining the wounds in the mirror of the fresher. You had just gotten out, dried off, and dressed when you caught sight of your reflection.

You were up on your toes, neck craned to see around the sides. It was healing up nicely. You ran your fingers over the delicate skin, and it was far less tender. It was almost pleasant, the dull ache when you pressed on them.

Mando chose that moment to walk past. He stopped, staring at you for a half second, and hit the button to close the fresher door on you.

“Hey!” you smacked the door with your hand. “What was that for?”

But when it slid back open, the hull was empty.

You were heading out in the morning for a hunt, one that promised a challenge. As glad as you were for an interesting job, it also meant you and Mando were essentially hands-off until there was a new carbonite slab on the ship.

So really, he was going to have to get over it or live without getting his dick wet for another week. Given the voracity of his libido so far, the latter seemed unlikely.

While Mando putters around in the hull eating his dinner, you curl up in your seat in the cockpit with a book on the datapad. Your routine had settled quietly into this rhythm—he could eat without rushing, you could read without him groping at you, and you both got time alone. For two people who had been mostly solitary before, it was invaluable.

“I’m running into town,” he calls up the ladder.

“What? What for?” you yell back, but it's drowned by the pneumatics of the ramp. “What the fuck?” you say to the empty ship.

By the time he returned, the suns had set, and the moss-dripping trees outside were thick and dark. You had dozed off in your seat, feet tucked under you and head resting on your folded arms. The datapad had slipped down between your knee and the seat.

He shook your shoulder, and you stirred. Not for the first time, you marveled at how deep you could sleep here. How you had stopped flinching for your blaster. You blink up at him, a smile breaking out, until you remember why you had fallen asleep there.

“Hey, what the kriff was that? You just took off, like—” You helpfully demonstrate with a little wave of your hand and a whoosh.

He stares down at you, head cocked, hand still on your shoulder. “What’s with the outfit?” He waves a hand at you in what you're sure is a rude mockery of your previous gesture.

Oh, right. The outfit. It didn’t seem so clever now. You had wrapped yourself in an elaborate headscarf that hung over you like a hood with a tasseled cowl. And, well, nothing else. Your blanket had slipped when you sat up.

You were supposed to be waiting for him bare. Accessible. Ready. And to the little bratty voice in the back of your head that was so mad at him earlier, this was compliant. He didn’t say you couldn’t accessorize. It wasn’t denying him access to your body.

Right now, though, as he put a hand on one hip and glared down at you, it felt like maybe you were in trouble.

“I, um.” Stars, why did you think this was a good idea? You thought you could confront him about the bruises and maybe get a little roughed up in the process. And you would have enjoyed it earlier, but now, suddenly, it feels like you might cry if he yells at you.

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You know when you’re being given a second chance, so you swallow hard and look back up at him.

“I’m sorry. I was kind of trying to push you, it seemed like a good idea, but I don’t want to anymore, I promise.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I want to, or why do I not want to?”

He sighs heavily. “Why did you want to?”

You look down at where the datapad is lodged, picking at the edge of the cushion with your nail. “I was trying to make you mad,” you mumble.

He tilts your chin up with a bare hand. You hadn’t even noticed him take the gloves off, but it feels so nice that you almost forget you're trying to talk your way out of trouble.

“Sweetheart. Why would you want me to be mad at you? If you want me to hurt you, all you have to do is ask nicely.”

At the low rumble of his wicked words, you no longer feel the cold of the cockpit. Your mouth waters, and you’re hyper-aware of how hard your nipples are, how exposed.

“I—kind of? No, I mean—” You can’t concentrate anymore. His finger that was stroking your cheek brushes across your bottom lip, and you open automatically, waiting. Begging. He pulls it away, and you whine.

“Hmm. Not yet. I want you to finish explaining yourself.”

“I had hurt feelings.” It punches out of you, and you’re mortified to realize it's the truth. You had been telling yourself you were mad, and maybe you were, but you had been lashing out like a hurt massiff.

Mando squats down beside the chair, and you turn, crossing your legs so you can face him. “What did I do that hurt your feelings, pretty girl?”

“It’s stupid, I’m being stupid. I’m—”

His hand snaps out, and unlike the gentle touch earlier, he grips your jaw tight before slapping you sharply across the face with his other hand. You yelp, more from surprise than pain.

“What have I said about that? Are you allowed to talk about yourself that way?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“And why not?”

“Because I’m yours, and if I’m disrespecting myself, it means I’m disrespecting you.” It was a lesson you had learned over his knee on more than one occasion.

“Good girl. Now tell me why you’re upset.”

“It’s like you can’t even look at me anymore, when you can see my neck. I’m sorry I fucked up; I’m sorry it’s ugly. I thought if I covered it up, maybe, maybe…”

Your words die in your throat as he stands up off the floor, rubbing a tired hand over his helmet. He snaps his fingers, jerking a thumb toward the pilot seat. “Get up, c’mon, I’m not doing this here.”

You scramble to your feet, confused and a little scared. Doing what? Oh, kriff, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Grab your pillow, baby,” he called from across the room without looking.

You double back for it. He was settled in his chair when you reached him, so you let it fall with a soft thwomp before lowering yourself to your knees.

“Look at me,” he orders. “And take that off.”

Fuck. Someday you’d get it through your head and stop giving in to the urge to hide. He hated it, but it was one of the few holdups you still had.

When you obey, tossing the scarf out of sight, he reaches down and wraps his hand around the side of your neck, avoiding most of the bruising. “I didn’t look because I didn’t want you to be disgusted by me.”

You furrow your brow, opening your mouth to speak, but thinking better of it.

“You were so upset about what happened on that hunt. And I hate that it was someone else who put those there. But stars, baby, do you look beautiful all marked up. I want to sink my hands in until you’re wearing my fingerprints all the time.”

Your mouth falls open, throat dry, and you shift around on your knees. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What, no. Just. Fuck, that’s so hot.”

He leans back, studying you. “You know, I never want you to try something you’re not comfortable with just because it’ll please me.”

“I’m not, I swear. I couldn’t stop looking at them in the mirror and wishing it had been you.”

He swears darkly, leaning forward so suddenly you flinch back a little. His hand cups your cunt between your spread legs, and he swipes a finger through your folds and holds it up. It’s soaked. He chuckles. “Good girl,” and shoves the finger between your lips with no pretense.

You close your lips around the digit, sucking and watching him through wide eyes. You whine when he pulls it out.

“As much as I would like to mark you up, cyar’ika, it’s not safe. But I did have an idea for something almost as good.” He reaches into a pouch on his belt and holds up a strip of leather.

It doesn’t register right away. You stare at it and then at him. He holds it out to you flat on both hands, and you gasp. You've never seen one outside of the holos he's shown you, but you recognize it all the same.

The leather is soft and supple in the same brown as his bandolier. It has a simple double-loop closure. You run your fingers over it for a moment before he snatches it back to dangle it just out of your reach.

“I take it you like it.”

You hold your hands in your lap, biting your bottom lip and whining. He laughs and runs a hand through your hair.

“You want it, sweetheart? Want to wear my collar so everyone knows you’re mine?”

“Please,” you beg over and over.

“You are mine, right? My sweet, obedient girl.”

“Yes, sir, please. I’ll be so good for you.”

He laughs. “Of course you will, needy thing. You’re already all mine. Look at you, trying so hard to please me.”

Your face goes hot. After the last few months of him talking to you like this, you thought you’d stop being embarrassed, but it only seems to get worse.

“C’mere,” he says, voice softer as he leans back. “Want you up here so I can see.”

You scramble onto his lap, straddling him. He pulls you closer so your wet cunt smears where he strains against the flight suit, and you moan.

“Can I put it on you?”

You’re already whispering a litany of pleas before he finishes the sentence.

You stop breathing when he reaches around you, holding as still as you can. You want to feel every second of it. He gently lifts your hair out of the way to settle the strap behind your neck before pulling the ends to meet in the front. He slides it into place, tucking two fingers between the collar and your neck.

“How’s it feel, ner cyare?”

You don’t ask about the new Mando’a. He’s never told you what cyar’ika means, either. Not that you’ve asked. He says it with enough fondness that you trust it’s not mean, and this sounds the same. Not that you aren’t curious. But the only things you know about Mandalorians are things he’s told you of his own volition, and you’re afraid to push.

Your eyes are watering. You trace your fingers over the collar with shaky hands. You’re terrified, actually, because this feels like something heavier than the other ways you play. “I love it,” you whisper.

He tugs on it, yanking you closer to him, before pulling it back, grinning at the way you let your body be moved at his will. “I think I like this a lot.” He holds you in place with it, pinching and tugging on your nipples. He gives your tits a few sharp smacks to feel the way you jerk in his lap.

“Ready for me, baby?” he teases.

You know it’s rhetorical, especially given that he’s already pulled his cock out, but you moan a “yes, please, sir,” just to see the way it makes him twitch. He smacks your clit twice with the head of his cock and then just shoves it all the way in.

He tugs the collar, pulling you to bend forward at an awkward angle.

“Watch, pretty girl. Look how greedy your little pussy is. Look how well you take me.”

You can’t look away. He’s splitting you in half, the pressure sharp and incredible, but you’d never know it from the way your walls and lips are hugging his shaft, beckoning him in. He flicks your clit while you’re watching, but you still jerk back at the sting. You’re stopped short by the collar, and he laughs and does it again.

He pinches and twists at it while you make broken little sounds, moans and cries, and you squirm to get out of range of his cruel fingers. But you can’t. He’s got you pinned so well between the cage of his thighs, bent up behind you, and the grip on your collar.

He only takes pity on you when he moves his attention back to your swollen nipples.

“S’it hurt?” he pants.

You whimper.

“Really? 'Cause you’re fucking soaked, cyar’ika, and your cunt keeps squeezing me so tight. I think you like it.” He flicks your nipple to punctuate his words.

“I do, I do like it, please. Like anything you do to me.”

“Those are dangerous words, sweetheart.”

“Nuh-uh,” you grunt, face twisting as he tugs hard before switching back to your clit. “Nnn. Trust you.”

He pinches a little harder than he means to, struck by the sweet way you bare yourself to him. His fingers dip down to gather some of the slick you’re leaking around his cock, and he brings them back up to your clit, rubbing firm, tight circles.

He drops your collar and grabs your jaw, pistoning his hips up harder so the wet slap of your bodies echoes in the cockpit. “Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, sir,” you gasp.

“Yeah? Whose beautiful, perfect slut is this?”

“Yours, sir.”

“Cum for me, cyar’ika.” He presses down hard on your clit, and his hips stutter when you immediately clench down, body jerking. He grabs you by the collar and holds you upright so you don’t fall as you twitch and scream.

He doesn’t ease up, rubbing hard at your clit. “Another one. Now.”

You don’t know how he does it. You never have to force it. He knows your body like his armory, knows how much pressure it takes to pull the trigger, knows right when to fire. You’ve never not cum when he commanded.

“Down,” he snaps after you’ve come apart on him a few more times over.

You slide off immediately, sinking down onto the pillow, mouth open and tongue out. Your hands lay in your lap, palms up, and you even remember to keep your eyes open.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groans, stroking himself furiously before shoving into your throat as he spills. You take it all, eyes on him as you watch him fall apart for once. His shaky hand strokes through your hair as he comes down before settling around your neck just below the collar.

He pulls you back up into his lap, askew so your legs dangle over one side of the chair, and he can tuck your head against his chest. You’re shaking and softly crying as he wraps you up in your forgotten blanket.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “And cyar'ika?”

You look up at him, sniffling and trying to blink back the last of your tears.

“You did so good telling me when you were upset.”

You bury your face in his unforgiving chest plate, and he allows you the moment to hide. Someday, he thinks, maybe you’ll believe him.

*Title from "Beat Up Car" by Taking Back Sunday. (what is the Razor Crest if not a beat up car persevering?)

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #kinktober 2023 #corazondebeskar-reads and writes #mistakes have been made #i love them your honor #make it hurt verse

132 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 4 months

Text

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Prologue:

“Go,” Feyre whispered, hands pushing against Elain’s back. It was frigid outside, their boots cracking the ice crusted over the cobblestone streets. It should have smelled like pine and snow, should have been utterly silent as everyone waited for the coming Solstice and the gifts that so often accompanied it.

War had shattered the once idyllic peace, inching closer and closer to the capital of Ellesmere until Elain and her family were forced to flee in the night. Just ahead, her mother grasped Nesta’s hand, weaving through alleyways unfamiliar to the ransacking soldiers.

She knew where they were going. They had practiced this before. One more left, ducking beneath a half-ruined awning, and then a sprint to the docks where a ship was waiting. Her father was nowhere to be seen, though Elain supposed he had a head start on them.

“Go,” her mother urged, pushing Nesta, then Elain, and finally Feyre into the little vessel. A man was waiting, hoisting them beneath with hurried, impatient fingers. “Get down—”

A flaming arrow screamed through the night, missing Feyre by mere inches. It took Elain a minute to realize what had happened—the shield that had saved her youngest sister’s life. Their mother stared, blue eyes like glassy mirrors against her ashen face. Golden brown hair graying at the temples was set aflame. Nesta began screaming, the words ringing in Elain’s ears.

“Go,” their mother mouthed, hitting her knees before she pitched forward. Hands pulled the three of them roughly back into the boat as orders were given to pull up the anchor. Was she crying? It seemed as if she must be given how frozen her face felt.

The world was moving too slow for Elain, making it impossible for her racing thoughts to process. Even as the ship pulled away, dragged by roaring wind, Elain was certain their mother was going to get up.

She didn’t.

“Princess,” the captain was yelling at Nesta, unsteady against the choppy northern sea. “Princess, we need—”

Elain never heard what they needed. The wind drowned out the command which Elain didn’t care much about, anyway. Was Nesta Queen, now? The few sailors moving about eyed her fourteen-year-old sister warily and though Elain couldn’t hear what Nesta said, she recognized the sharpness of her eyes. Nesta was used to giving out such commands. Feyre was gripping the railing of their ship, staring at the water below with a hollow gaze. Elain knew what she needed to do—put on a brave face and take Feyre into the interior of the ship where they could get some sleep, if only to forget what was happening to their home.

Everything was going to be okay. They’d get to the safehouse where relatives would be waiting to usher them to safety. Everyone was okay. A healer would attend to their mother who would be bedridden but otherwise safe.

Deep, deep down Elain knew it was a lie. She needed those lies, at least for now. As the ship rocked, Elain made her way toward Feyre who was still looking outward. The once beautiful city she’d spent her life in was a mere haze of smoke and fire in the distance, half lost to the fog of sea.

“Feyre,” Elain began, though that was all she was able to say before the ship violently lurched to one side. The gods were moody that night, unwilling to offer safe passage despite the circumstances. Elain lost Feyre, hitting her back against the wet wood so roughly it robbed her of breath.

Please, she thought just as water rushed over her. It was shockingly cold, leaving her paralyzed like a rag doll, flung from one end to the other. She could hear nothing, could do nothing, utterly helpless to even draw breath though she desperately wanted to.

Get up get up get up! Her mind screamed with panic. Elain did try to grasp at something when the ship tilted sickeningly again, though her fingers were utterly stiff and unwilling to bend. The world was upside down, a swirl of dark hues of navy and gray.

And then it was silent and salt and made entirely of water. Elain’s body constricted, lungs demanding air though none arrived when she opened her mouth. More water, more fear. She could feel nothing, could see nothing. Just a blur of her own hazy fear and the terrible fear she was going to die.

Elain did try, though it amounted to nothing. There was nothing to cling to, no light to tell her which way was up and which way was down. And as the cold seeped in, somehow driving out the horrible chill, she thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was better to be without fear.

Maybe this was a mercy.

In the end, it was nothing at all.

[ten years later]

Lucien Vanserra stretched out his legs, neck stiff. “Bastard,” he spat, tossing his sword to the muddy ground beneath him. Behind him, the boisterous laugh of his best friend and second-in-command Jurian followed him out of the training pits.

“You’re a sore loser,” Jurian crooned, likely catching the way Lucien’s fists curled and uncurled. “I have half a mind to tell your father you were bested in training again.”

“And I have half a mind to punch you in the face ahead of Lady Vassa’s visit,” Lucien retorted hotly, wiping the smile off Jurian’s face. “Oh. Did you not hear she was coming to court?”

It was Jurian’s turn to look as though he’d like to hit Lucien. Lucien had intended to tell Jurian though it had slipped his awareness given all the other things happening. Now was as good a time as any, besides.

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? Now that mother and father insist I marry, every lord with a daughter under the age of forty will descend upon us hoping to secure a match.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Lucien snapped, wiping his sweaty brow against his bare forearm. “And Lady Vassa is hardly on mothers shortlist besides. This little ball of hers is not in good faith.”

“Ah, but it will be one last night of debauchery and fun,” Jurian teased, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “This is every firstborn son’s duty, is it not? Get married, carry on the family line, etcetera and so forth?”

Lucien’s mood only darkened at the prospect. It wasn’t that he minded the thought of one day having a son, of becoming king and ruling the empire his father had so strategically built. It was the manner in which he was expected to do it. His own father had been allowed to choose his wife, however ill-advised it had been at the time. Lucien had no intention of stealing another man's wife as his father had done, sweeping her away and leaving six furious sons behind.

He merely wanted the ability to say who he wanted when he wanted.

And, perhaps, he was still a little burned by Jesminda’s rather abrupt dismissal of their courtship. She was gone, left to the countryside with her new husband she loved. Lucien told himself he ought to be happy for her. It had been nearly two years since she’d left, married and beaming—practically glowing, now that he thought about it. He’d been too bitter at the time to notice. He didn’t begrudge her that.

Lucien merely wished she had felt that way about him. He was convinced there was no one else in the world for him and perhaps he’d told his mother so drunkenly a few months earlier. If he’d only kept his big mouth shut, he’d have been allowed to carouse as he liked for at least another year.

Possibly two if he was careful about it.

Now he’d be married by solstice—just in time to parade his new wife around the summit in Velaris while making not-so-veiled threats to Archeron, the utter bastard. He was in the process of marrying off his eldest daughter so he, too, might have a successor to the throne, looking west toward Lucien’s half brother which was a threat in and of itself.

Everyone knew the Vanserras would love to see the southern empire laid to ruin. It was important Lucien married more than ever—ideally into a family with deep pockets to fight the war they all knew was coming. Peace was tentative, brokered when the northern royals lost their queen and a princess all in the same day. Ellesmere ceded territory laden with gold, enriching Lucien’s family and in exchange his father returned their remaining two daughters, rescued at sea.

He still remembered Nesta Archeron. They’d been allowed to live in the palace rather than as prisoners and while Feyre had been mostly mute, glassy eyed and silent, Nesta had raged like a wild animal.

If she still harbored even a lick of resentment, Lucien knew she’d be the driving force behind Eris Vanserra’s throne and her father's bid for revenge. Eris was coming on a diplomatic mission, too, which was the polite way of saying Lucien’s mother was going to throw herself at his feet and hope she forgave her for leaving, while offering up all the same women she was pushing at Lucien, too.

As if Eris were the type for a love match.

Shaking his head, Lucien pushed through the wooden gate to make his way back toward the city. It was unseasonably hot even for summer, the humidity drawing sweat even when he was sitting in the shade. It was miserable just then, boots hitting the sunstone streets with a loud thwack. Behind them, the sounds of clanging metal and groaning soldiers were half drowned by the cheerful white sands and foaming ocean, while ahead of them the bustling city created a chorus of voices. It was Lucien’s favorite sound.

And his favorite sight. The looming palace on the hill made of ivory and gold and the multicolored buildings that circled around, built on a sloping mountainside. Purple flowers dotted along spiky grass while towering palm trees occasionally dropped coconuts to the streets. As a child, Lucien had collected them, begging his father to puncture them so he could drink the milk inside as he strutted about, a pretend sword strapped to his hip.

Now when he stepped onto the main road people lowered their eyes and bowed their heads. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man they might one day call king. Lucien missed being the former, though—missed the way they’d reach for a strand of his auburn hair or how they’d sneak him little treats when they thought his parents weren’t looking.

Jurian straightened, his expression shifting from Lucien’s friend to Captain of the Guard. One day Jurian would be his General, but for now, this was enough. Jurian was one of them—just another man from Rhodes who had risen through the ranks while making Lucien feel less isolated when he, too, had been shoved into the army. Everyone else treated Lucien with respect.

Jurian had shoved his face into the dirt.

“There’s a way out of immediate marriage,” Jurian began, reminding Lucien once again why he was both Lucien’s best friend and closest advisor.

“Go on,” Lucien murmured, inhaling the smell of grilled meat.

“Velaris is filled with beautiful women. Tell your mother you’re interested in a more political marriage.”

“And when she realizes I’m not interested in a more political marriage?” Lucien asked dryly, trying to think of the last time he’d been inside Velaris. Had he ever? Maybe once when he’d been a boy, the memory eluding him.

“It’ll be winter and half the ladies who visited will be married to other lords. It’s not forever, but maybe another year or two. Nothing will save you from the marriage bed forever.”

“It’s better than anything I considered,” Lucien agreed, dodging a donkey hauling a cart filled with sunmelons.

“And who knows. Maybe the love of your life is up in the mountains,” Jurian added, elbowing Lucien once again.

“I doubt that,” Lucien grumbled, his thoughts once again turning toward Jesminda. How long before she was pregnant, he wondered? How long before she brought her firstborn to court for his father’s blessing, forcing Lucien to see the man and family she’d wanted over him?

Why not me?

Knowing full well Jesminda had never wanted to be a princess and had never wanted to be queen.

He couldn’t shake the thought from his mind even as he entered the opulent palace to a loud argument between two of the philosophers his father insisted be allowed to live at court. Sidestepping them and mumbling a goodbye to Jurian, Lucien took the steps two at a time toward his bedroom. He needed just a little silence and a chance to clear his head.

Flopping onto his bed, still sticky from heat and sweat, Lucien closed his eyes, intending to find a way through the tangled mess that was his mind.

All he found was sleep.

“Come with me,” Vassa urged, reaching for Elain’s hands. “Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—”

“I don’t belong at court,” Elain interrupted, looking up from her book. Vassa plopped beside her, spreading her hands over the cerulean blue of her skirts. “And you’ll have more fun without me.”

“I won’t. I never do,” Vassa protested, pretty face twisted into a scowl. “The prince is a bore and his court is far too self-satisfied to be of any amusement.”

“Stop, you’re making it sound too fun—”

“Come with me anyway. Rhodes is a wonderful city filled with libraries and museums and amusements beyond your wildest imagination. Plus there will be parties and dancing and you love parties and dancing.”

“Yes, and there will be all these well-bred ladies–”

“You’re a well-bred lady, and my sister to boot.”

Elain offered Vassa a look of exasperation. They were sisters in name only, but not by blood. Elain’s family was yet another casualty in the brutality the north inflicted upon them, razing her village to the ground and tossing her body into the western sea. Had she not been found by Lord Koshington, Elain might have succumbed to exposure. Her life before Vassa was lost to her and in some ways, she knew she was quite fortunate. She’d been given the education of a lady and one day a marriage would be arranged on her behalf.

It was far better than whatever she’d been expecting before the raid, she supposed. But just because Lord Koshington had taken her in didn’t make her an actual lady. Elain had never been brave enough to go to court either, choosing to remain behind rather than be reminded of her inadequacies.

She wanted to see it all, if only once.

“I should stay–”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Please. I’ll do your latin homework for a week if you agree. Or…I’ll give you my gold dress—”

“You wouldn’t,” Elain replied, facing the book in her lap to fully look at Vassa. “You love that gown.”

“I love you more. Is that an agreement, then? You’ll spend a month in Rhodes with me in exchange for my gold dress?”

“And my latin homework. And you’ll work harder on the piano when we return as well. I’m tired of being the only one asked to play when guests come over.”

“Done,” Vassa agreed, blue eyes as bright as the sun itself. “Lucky you agreed because I may have told father this morning you’d agreed to accompany me. We’ll serve as each other's chaperones so he can waste his time droning on and on with the king about politics.”

“Chaperones? Who are you hoping to see?”

Vassa’s bronzed cheeks darkened, her freckles lost beneath the wash of color. Elain forgot her book entirely, surging forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “Tell me his name at once!”

“Swear to keep it between us. I would die if he ever learned the depth of my affection. He thinks I loathe him and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“You’re cruel, Vassa.”

“Men prefer to work for our affection and this man is no different. Worse, I suspect, which is why I like him. The prince’s mother is hoping to match someone with her son but I am far more interested in the Captain of the Guard.”

“Is he handsome?” Elain asked, resting the back of her head against the rough bark of the tree behind her.

“Terribly handsome. And horribly stupid, but in an endearing sort of way. I’m certain he’s good at many things…just not winning an argument.”

“Well, no one can win an argument against the likes of you,” Elain said with a laugh. “What will the lord say about it?”

Vassa’s smile dipped a bit. “No, I’m sure. He has no title, no money and will always serve the prince. Still. It’s fun to imagine a world in which we could select our own husbands, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Elain admitted. “It seems risky.”

“That’s just what men want you to think. But we’re perfectly capable of knowing our own minds and deciding for ourselves. We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.”

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of planning or plotting.”

Elain rolled her eyes, wondering for the first time just how much Vassa actually liked this man and how far she might be willing to go. Elain pondered it all evening, wondering if she shouldn’t tell someone that sending the two of them mostly alone to Rhodes was a bad idea.

But Vassa’s words lingered in her mind.

We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.

Because Vassa was right. She’d been educated within an inch of her life just for men to waltz around her acting as if she were as new as a freshly born baby. Treated as though it were cute she had opinions when she was supposed to be nothing more than ornamentation while Elain brushed it off because what else could she do?

But Vassa was right, just like she always was. They weren’t stupid—men wanted it both ways. They wanted a wife smart enough to one day oversee the education of their sons, but stupid enough they were always the unchallenged authority. It didn’t mean Elain wouldn’t acquiesce when her time came—she had no other option and no other skills but to be married—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help Vassa escape the expectations.

That was what Elain told herself, anyway. And it helped her sleep at night for the following week as preparations were made to leave the idyllic countryside estate they resided on and make their way further south toward the coast. Lord Koschington was still accompanying them and would be the one to introduce Elain to court—as his niece rather than his daughter. That was the more believable lie without besmirching Elain’s reputation right from the start.

With the gold gown packed in a trunk and the promise of being allowed to coast in her lessons when she returned—assuming Vassa returned with her at all. Elain was dreading the carriage ride not because the journey was long and it was already oppressively hot, even at dawn, but because Lord Koshington loved to hear himself talk.

And in the carriage he had a captive audience.

For five miserable hours, Vassa and Elain sat straight backed and silent while Lord Koschington droned on and on about King Helion’s feud with the King of the North, Archeron. Elain loathed the name like any good southerner, having learned to fear those silver armored warriors that often ducked across the border to raze whole villages to the ground.

He had two daughters and Koschington was fascinated with the oldest, said to be unparalleled in her beauty and destined for the prince to the west, Eris Vanserra. For five hours, all he talked about was the disaster it would be if those two territories united and how Lucien would be the last Spell-Cleaver to ever sit on the sunlit throne. It was the sort of conundrum that kept men like Lord Koshington awake at night but to Elain, who couldn’t remember the war and had been living in nothing but peace for the last decade, it felt more like unwarranted anxiety.

Who cared about a princess’ marriage? Why wouldn’t she marry a prince, besides? Elain had heard rumors that Eris Vanserra was the most handsome prince in the realm, still unmarried as his ancient father crept toward the grave. She imagined there was a line from his bedroom door to the edge of his coast hoping to secure him as a husband.

As for herself, well. She was glad to not be in such a position. Elain didn’t think she cared for that kind of responsibility.

Eventually, even Lord Koschington was silenced by the heat, sweat sliding down the temples of his face. His once onyx hair was threaded with silver and his face lined with age though he was easily a good-looking man. Elain sometimes wondered why he’d never remarried after the passing of his wife though she’d never had the guts to ask him. That was private—personal.

He wasn’t her father, either. He’d cared for her, taken her in when that had never been his obligation and treated her as well as his own daughter.

Elain knew better than to upset him. Though he’d never given her a reason to believe otherwise, some part of her suspected that if she acted outside of his will, he might withdraw his support. Better to be above reproach in all things so he felt his investment was worth it.

Elain had never been more grateful in her life to stumble out of a carriage. At first glance, she saw the women in the capitol wore far fewer layers than they had been out in the country. No laces, no petticoats, no sleeves. Gods above, but Elain was desperate to update her wardrobe with the breezy fabrics and shorter sleeves, even if some part of her felt slightly scandalized by the scooping backs and the clingy bodices.

She noticed the palace itself next. Set atop a rather steep hill and half-carved into a mountain overlooking the southern sea, the sprawling structure was made of ivory and gold, lined with swaying green palms, while purple flowers dotted against the lawn.

Rows of carriages circled to the front of the drive spilling ladies in all manner of garb toward the towering pillars where they were greeted by an elderly man draped in white. Elain and Vassa both dipped into curtseys when it was their turn as Lord Koshington announced, “My daughters, Vassa and Elain.” Elain’s pulse hammered.

My daughter.

He’d told her she would be introduced as a cousin. Daughter? Blinking rapidly lest she burst into tears, Elain grasped Vassa’s hand so hard she was certain there was no blood flow. Putting aside his kind words and his willingness to pretend she was wholly his, Elain and Vassa stepped into the palace. She’d expected more of the miserable, oppressive heat but somehow it was cool. Not cold, but chilly enough a shiver raced up her spine the moment the air hit her skin.

They were hardly the most anticipated guests—no royals to greet them, no decadent rooms. Lord Koshington had his own while the girls were given a suite of interconnected bedrooms that were larger than anything Elain had ever seen. Draped in cream and gold, her bedroom had the good fortune of overlooking the sea and the gardens just below.

Elain was living in a dream.

She didn’t want to wake up.

Nesta Archeron took the spiraling, stone steps two at a time, navy skirts gathered in one hand to keep her from plummeting right back down. Chilly hair nipped at her cheeks, drawing color that wouldn’t otherwise exist. The air itself stung her eyes, making them seem glassy like she’d been crying.

Nesta Archeron never cried.

Hiding at the top of the tower stood her younger sister Feyre, fingers bright red from the cold. “Have they arrived?” Nesta asked, shouldering beside Feyre to peer out of the little arched window overlooking the whole of the city.

“There,” Feyre said, nodding toward the black and silver banners marching toward the palace gates. Nesta’s eyes were drawn to the man sitting atop a black steed, his matching cape fluttering in the wind. She couldn’t see him well, but every ounce him screamed warrior king.

King Rhysand of the East.They called him the King of Nightmares for his reputation for being ruthless—he didn’t kill those who slipped over his border looking to destabilize his regime. Rhysand had them tortured, broke their minds, and sent them back home.

He was flanked on either side by two men who might have been brothers. The distance obscured their features, though Nesta could make out the broad shoulders and lethal sword hilt of the one on the left and the slimmer build of the one on the right. She supposed the one on the left was the terrifying Lord of Bloodshed, Rhysand’s general, and the other was the torture master himself, Azriel.

For the first time in living memory, the North was welcoming the East into their borders. Nesta wasn’t foolish enough to think it was mere diplomacy, though she’d already promised the prince of the west her home, her throne, and her body, too, if he returned with a way into the south.

But should he fail, she’d do what her father was hoping and she’d marry Rhysand if he could offer her the revenge she was so desperate for.

Nesta’s nightmares were still plagued of Elain, wide-eyed and shivering as she made her way toward Feyre in the dark. She still dreamt of the ricocheting canon that slammed into their ship and how she and Feyre were whisked into a lifeboat. How they’d been kept political prisoners by Helion himself, their lives used to forge the treaty that now bound both nations.

While Elain had never been found, her body still haunting the sea bed.

And Nesta might have been able to forgive the death of her mother. But she’d sworn her life to protecting Elain the very night she’d failed. It was the only way to convince Elain to leave.

I’ll protect you. Please. Come with me.

How she’d failed.

Nesta was old enough to inherit her father’s throne though law dictated she needed a husband and so Nesta had begun a campaign of finding the right man. She didn’t need love—didn’t want love. She wanted vengeance and none of the men at court were equipped to give her that.

Eris Vanserra wanted it nearly as badly as she did, and was just as practical. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a love match and would look the other way if she chose to take a lover so long as she was discreet about it—and he had no question regarding any future offspring.

Fine.

He would be there now, poking through Helion’s secrets. Looking for weaknesses, mapping out their borders, the walls of Rhodes, and anything else he could glean. Nesta would give him everything, ruining her father’s careful legacy in favor of turning her family into Vanserras, giving her husband total control her territory, her wealth, her armies.

And she’d be the one to drive the blade straight through Helion’s blackened heart.

Rhysand was her backup plan and her father’s first choice. Eris Vanserra was a snake in the grass, untrustworthy and perhaps more damning, a Vanserra. Their family had ruled longer than any other on the continent, with a legacy that predated the oldest written record.

But for all Eris’ faults, Nesta knew vengeance was personal for him. Helion had stolen his mother away in the night, forced her into marriage, and made her his wife. Those kinds of scars lingered, lasted. Rhysand wasn’t that sort of man from what she’d gathered.

He was a shadowed mystery, his motivations unclear. She didn’t know if he even wanted conquest, or if he was merely interested in seeing her home. She’d sent several letters which he’d returned with short, polite answers. Nothing helpful, no hidden message she could read between the lines. Only a gentleman’s words that were utterly banal and uninteresting to her.

Gentleman be damned.

She needed someone bloodthirsty and cruel.

Beside her, Feyre turned her head, chestnut hair whipping against her face. She knew, even if Nesta had never once explicitly said what she planned. Feyre knew, watchful as she was. Whether she approved or not didn’t matter, though Nesta had never known Feyre to be terribly soft-hearted. And she suspected she carried the same weighty guilt over Elain’s death, held the same deep-seated need to see someone pay for it.

“We should be ready to greet them,” Nesta said, well aware Feyre would slip up into the rafters to listen without anyone watching.

“You go, then. I have no interest in any more princes or kings,” she replied, blue eyes flashing with defiance. “Nor do I wish to assist father in selling us off like livestock.”

“Not us. Me. You are safe—and once I’m married, you can pick whatever lovely northern gentleman is hounding your steps. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t want a husband. We don’t need any of these horrible men to get what we want, Nesta. Take the throne, rewrite the laws—”

“The nobility would revolt. They’d throw me in prison or worse, force a marriage on me, wait until I gave them a son, and then stage some timely yet tragic accident. It’s better to have a say in it. To decide for myself and direct it as best I can.”

“None of them are trustworthy and I fear this king—Rhysand— is the worst of them.”

“Worse than Vanserra?” Nesta replied, genuinely curious which Feyre would prefer ruling their home.

Feyre glanced back out the window, eyes narrowing. “He looks like a liar.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

Feyre blew out a breath, crossing her arms over the rosy pink dress she wore. Neither of them would acknowledge what they were both thinking—Lord Tamlin Rosewood, who’d asked for Feyre’s hand in marriage and then struck her in a fit of frustration over some problem with the dowry. It had been, he claimed, an accident.

He had been expelled from court, banished to the countryside and Feyre locked in her room until the bruising on her face faded. Everyone wanted to pretend it had never happened but to Nesta, it merely highlighted that she needed to be the one to secure their family so Feyre could have a small sliver of peace.

Love was for the lower classes, besides. Perhaps Ferye understood that, now.

“Come on,” Nesta said, hoping she wouldn’t have to go alone. She would, but she would feel less anxiety if she weren’t by herself.

For once, Feyre didn’t put up a fight. Perhaps she recognized Nesta’s own vulnerability. Or maybe she wanted to stare the foreign king down with that lethal gaze of hers that made men wither to dust. Nesta thought it would be something to see them cower before her petite sister rethinking whatever strategy she was certain they must have.

The halls were utterly emptied, leaving only the watchful sentries posted by windows and doors, none of whom were allowed to meet their gaze. She still remembered Elain trying so hard to get the ones at the throne room door to smile and how she’d nearly always succeeded.

Feyre and Nesta didn’t bother.

Their father was waiting, sitting on his icy, iron throne crowned in the blue diamonds that could be found only in the ancient mountains of the Spine, the natural border between their home and Rhysand’s. Nesta wondered if Rhysand would come wearing them, too. Nesta was wearing them around her neck, so heavy it made her spine ache. She’d carefully braided her hair off her face and put on a rather sumptuous, though conservative, gown.

She was beautiful and she knew it. Nesta also knew that men liked a woman who presented herself well—Eris Vanserra had certainly been taken with her presentation, and she assumed Rhysand would be, too. There was no harm in letting him see what he wanted. A wellbred, obedient wife was the expectation. It wasn’t the reality, but that was a problem for another day.

Nesta and Feyre took their place on either side of their father, staring across the room lined with nobility as the sounds of heavy footsteps began echoing louder and louder. For one moment, something in Nesta quaked with fear, blood icy as though death itself was making its way for her.

It was only a man—a man she didn’t want, didn’t like, and would never love. Rhysand and his right hands were the only ones who came in, strangely unadorned.

He was, objectively, attractive enough. High cheekbones set in a symmetrical face, with eyes so blue they were nearly violet and dark hair styled to look as though the wind had merely tousled it. A silver circlet of stars adorned his brow and one heavy ring was perched on his middle finger while the rest of him was rather bare in comparison to her father.

He looked like a warrior king in his dark black leathers and the heavy cape hanging from his shoulders. He lacked all the pomp and circumstance Eris had brought with him along with the warmth, too. His whole presence exuded ice and instinctively, Nesta took a step back.

His eyes were on her, and then her father as he swept into a bow. Nesta watched, as he came back up, how his gaze slid to Feyre.

And remained there.

“Rhysand,” her father began, his voice sharp and clear. “I hope the journey didn’t give you too much trouble.”

A cat’s smile slid across his features, eyes flicking back to their father. “None at all.”

Nesta didn’t hear her father’s response, buzzing filling her ears as she took a moment to survey the other men who’d come to join their king. The tallest one had removed the heavy helmet he wore, tucking it beneath one muscular arm and oh, Nesta wished he hadn’t. His face, scarred just at the eyebrow and again across full lips, was perhaps the most beautiful face she’d ever laid eyes on. Not classically, of course—for one, he was far too large. The sconce on the wall across the room was, perhaps, as tall as this man was and the muscle packed on his body spoke to an active life, never mind the twin, curved swords looming over his shoulders.

A light layer of dark stubble graced a perfect jaw while strange, whirling black inked tattoos peeked from beneath the neckline of his armor. She wondered what they meant, what their purpose was. Nesta drank in his slightly crooked nose, likely broken in some battle he’d won and the curved scar across his throat that must have been brutal when he’d first received it. He had his large hands clasped in front of him and when she looked up to take in the color of his eyes—hazel, more green than brown—she found he was grinning at her.

He’d caught her looking at him and wanted her to know it. Nesta immediately looked away, unable to hide the damning flush creeping up her own neck.

Nesta swore he’d never catch her looking at him again.

Hands in his pockets, Rhys allowed Archeron to show him around the palace. These visits never failed to bore him. Look at this painting, survey my wealth. Did you see my daughters? Aren’t they lovely?

Usually the answer was covert eyerolls and shared smirks with Cassian and Azriel. Today, though, Rhys felt moody. Unsettled. Disturbed, even, by the younger daughter he hadn’t known existed and hadn’t expected to see.

Rumors swirled about Nesta Archeron and the possible marriage her father was considering with heir apparent Eris Vanserra. His father was on death’s door and a marriage between North and West almost certainly promised a brutal and bloody war.

When Helion had learned, he’d sent word to Rhysand. What is going on in the Spine?

Nothing smart. Rhysand intended to do what he did best—lie. Pretend he had interest in Nesta, jerk her around for a year while he drew up marriage contracts that had to be written and rewritten and written again, wasting her time while Eris inevitably moved on to some nice noble in his own court.

And then Rhys could withdraw, free to continue philandering until his advisors put their foot down. His presence was purely nefarious—two months freezing his balls off in the frigid north while Cassian inspected the army and Azriel devoured secrets.

And yet…and yet.

Rhysand’s mind slipped toward the younger daughter and those eyes. They looked like the same stars that hung over the Illyrian Mountains, silvery and bright and so very alive. Rhys had spent his entire life gazing up at them—he would have recognized them anywhere. Even in the face of that woman, who spared only a passing glance before she fixed her stare on the wall behind him, clearly underwhelmed by their presence.

He wanted to talk to her. He’d seen beautiful women before, though perhaps this was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that beauty was often exhausted the moment they opened their mouth to speak to him.

Easier said than done. Rhys tried, but Nesta Archeron became the ambassador for the Archerons, silently watching him without ever speaking a word. He found that unnerving all through dinner and wasn’t the only one. The moment he, Azriel, and Cassian were locked away in the suite of rooms, Azriel was the first to speak.

“This place feels like a tomb,” he said, looking around the dark interior.

“Why don’t the princesses speak?” Cassian added, pulling open the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the dim light. “Are they allowed?”

“We should have brought Morrigan,” Azriel grumbled, flopping gracelessly onto a floral sofa.

“She doesn’t deserve the archaic practices of Archeron,” Rhys replied, running a finger over the marble mantle of the fireplace. A thin layer of dust came with it, proving the North rarely hosted guests.

They were far too untrusting.

He supposed he didn’t blame Archeron given the horror of that final invasion. Rhysand couldn’t imagine losing both a wife and a daughter, no matter how, frankly, deserved Rhysand still found the entire thing. After all—Archeron had marched into a neutral city, the third largest in the West, blocked all routes in and out, and burned it entirely to the ground in the matter of a week.

War was hell and there were no heroes. Helion’s father had retaliated, breaking into the capital city and sacking it over the course of a night. In the aftermath, he’d taken the two surviving daughters hostage and only agreed to return them when a peace treaty had been brokered, redefining old borders and returning both stolen land and land long contested.

Oh, but it was all such a mess even a decade later. Those wounds had been left to fester and no matter how Rhysand looked at it, he could see no path forward that didn’t explode into utter disaster. Maybe if Lucien Spell-Cleaver married an Archeron they could avoid war, but he’d heard the prince was far too spoiled and sheltered to be offered up like a political pawn.

And having seen Nesta, he doubted she was willing to subject herself to another hurt at the hands of the West.

“What did you think of Nesta?” Cassian asked, his words carrying a strange ribbon of curiosity. Rhys opened his mouth before closing it again, trying to find words that were both honest without being cruel.

“I doubt a marriage is in our collective futures. Still—maybe she’ll surprise me.”

“With a dagger to your throat,” Azriel commented lightly, causing Cassian to grin at the thought.

“We don’t need to worry about them other than distracting them. Any one of us can accomplish that,” Rhys declared, wondering why the image of Azriel and Feyre annoyed him so much.

“Let's get what we came for and let’s get out of this miserable city.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Azriel murmured, stretching out his legs.

“I can already tell you their military is weak in compared to our own,” Cassian half whispered, his gaze sharp. “I’m going to ask to train with them tomorrow—”

“Trotting out the dumb brute act?” Azriel questioned, a gleam in his eyes.

“My favorite,” Cassian agreed. “I just love swinging a sword and no one ever taught me to read.”

“There must be more of them. Up in the mountains?” Azriel suggested, glancing toward the windows. “Archeron wouldn’t be so stupid to leave his entire kingdom undefended just to protect one city.”

“Helion decimated them a decade ago. Men don’t grow up so quickly,” Rhys reminded them both. “The north has gold, and diamonds from the Spine. Vanserra has manpower and a navy none of us could fend off should he bring it to our shores. It makes sense that Nesta would go to Eris first if she lacked manpower.”

“Then why are we here?” Cassian asked, drumming his fingers against his knee.

“Perhaps Vanserra isn’t sold on the idea?” Rhys suggested, uncertain himself. “Or her father wants to explore all his options? We’re here to prevent another war that would almost certainly drag us into it,” he added, looking at his general and spymaster.

“We’re just waiting out the summer, then?” Azriel questioned.

Rhys nodded. “We can give them all a little taste of what war might mean for them this time.”

Knowing his objective didn’t do much for Rhys’s restless mind, though. While his brothers got ready for the evening, making jokes and generally amused by the entire situation, Rhys slipped from the suite of rooms they shared to walk the halls. It unnerved him how many people were watching under the guise of not watching at all. The sentries and guards never looked at him and he knew his steps would be reported to the king before breakfast.

Getting around undetected was Azriel’s domain. Rhys had never tried, commanded too much attention. He was always the distraction, besides. No one gave Azriel and Cassian much thought, certain he must be the knife in the dark. Slick smiles and double entendre made everyone assume he was far more clever than he was.

Cassian was the dumb brute, Azriel obsessed with cruelty which left Rhys as the one worth watching. He just seemed like a two-faced bastard. And to be fair…he was. But he had help, had chosen his inner circle carefully.

His feet took him to a set of stone steps that spiraled upward into a tower. It was a decent vantage point over the dreary city. Fog hung like a curtain, floating from the mountains that kept the warmer air Velaris received from reaching them. Rhys heard there were years where Ellesmere experienced nothing but rain every single day.

No wonder they liked war so much. What else was there for them?

At the top of this tower, rather than more oppressive fog, sat the younger princess. Rhys hesitated, drinking in the sight of her propped up in that window, one leg dangling precariously over the edge. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and propped on the wall beside her, a bow with a quiver of arrows.

Another sentry, far prettier than any of the others he’d seen. Rhys couldn’t help himself, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Keeping watch?”

She turned her head to look, those starry blue eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she replied, causing Rhys to take a step into the candle lit, chilly room.

“Oh, but you seem like such fine company,” he crooned, holding her gaze. “Maybe you could give me a tour—”

“I’ll leave that to Nesta,” Feyre snapped. It was a dismissal given she turned back to looking out at the city and any rational man would have turned around and left.

But Rhys was famously stupid, if his cousin Mor was to be believed so he came closer, desperate for anything to say to her. He was a fool to have any interest in this woman at all, to want a moment of her time when he’d come here to betray her.

“Why are you here?” she asked when Rhys couldn’t think of anything eloquent to say.

“I’m looking for a wife, darling,” he heard himself say. Heart thudding, Rhys recalled telling his advisors not a week earlier he had no interest in a wife and to stop pushing him on it. What absurdity to say it while looking at her, knowing damn well she wasn’t for the likes of him.

He barely knew her at all.

“It's strange how many men suddenly find themselves desperate to be married,” Feyre commented, swinging her legs over the edge of the window before righting herself. “We came of age years ago. Surely you’re not interested in women as old as we are.”

“You think me so shallow? I like a conversation partner—”

“You don’t worry we’ve been ruined?”

Oh, what man touched her he wondered? What man would Rhys have to murder? The urge washed over him stronger than any other emotion he’d felt in recent months. It wasn’t that she had potentially been with another man but the defiant way she asked him if that somehow diminished her worth.

“A lot of things keep me awake at night, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred, taking a measured step toward the princess. “Your activities in the bedroom are not one of them.”

“That’s good, given you’re here to court my sister.”

“I’m here for the princess of the North. You are a princess, are you not?”

“I am a princess, I live in the North,” she agreed, those eyes of hers flashing. And Rhys knew whatever words came out of her mouth next were about to wreck him. His whole body went tight at the prospect.

“And I will never be your wife,” she added with that same, light tone. “I am not interested in a husband, especially one who looks like he lies as easily as he breathes.”

Rhys flashed a smile. He wanted her. What a revelation. “We’ll see,” he replied as she sauntered past him, shouldering her bow with ease.

Feyre only shook her head, eyes rolling upward in her skull. “That wasn’t a challenge. You repulse me.”

Rhys only laughed.

They’d see about that, too.

#im gonna upload on a tues/thurs schedule until its done (i only have 5 chapters written)#elucien #feysand #nessian #DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME OR WAS I SUBTLE?

120 notes · View notes

call-sign-shark · 5 months

Text

Bird of A Feather || Peaky Blinders x OCs

A short story for the wonderful @evita-shelby inspired by her moodboard gift Bird of A Feather.

Words: less than 1k

TW: Tommy and Heaven together (this is real warning for any HYE reader😂), allusions to drugs, overdose and sex. Ethical slur because of the show. Also this is not proof read, we die like men.

Notes: Reference to this chapter of HYE.

None of this was supposed to happen.

It was what Heaven thought when she watched her own reflection in the mirror of the ridiculously expensive suite's bathroom Mr. Shelby had booked for their stay in Boston. As she reflected on her new life, her slender fingers nervously tried to untangle the long gold and diamond earring chain Tommy had gifted her prior the trip. The vortex of her raging thoughts was so wild that she didn't hear the door opening, nor the husky and charming voice that called her name. Her body suddenly jerked when she felt one strong yet warm hand resting on her shoulder — She turned around in one vivid movement, the angelic complexions of her face only relaxing when they met with familiar turquoise eyes.

"Are you ready?" Tommy asked, one of his brow slightly arched as his piercing and ice-cold iris carefully observed the white-haired woman's features.

"Almost, but I can't seem to get rid out of this damn knot."

"Let me check." Three words again, said with the same collected tone whose deep and sultry voice sent shivers down her spine. Without wasting more saliva, Tommy brought his hands to the jewel and started to untangle it. "Don't you like it?" He broke the silence, "You always wear gold, but diamonds make a delightful echo to your crystal eyes." The thought of Tommy noticing such trivial details about her still felt odd considering how profound their mutual hatred had been for years. But Lizzie taking the kids had given them a little push.

"I do." She reassured, offering him a faint smile. They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating off him, as well as the elegant fragrances of his cologne tingling her nostrils.

"So why do you look so unhappy, ay?" He finally succeed in rearranging her earring, his calloused fingers gently grazing her reddened earlobe before finding rest on one of her cold cheeks. Tenderly. Lovingly.

"I'm just a bit anxious. I always hated big gatherings, let alone when the whole crowd is made of political figures, rich heirs and nobs." The way her lips pouted and her expression turned into a childish one as she pressed her face harder against his comforting palm snatched an amused snort from him, and yet… Tommy understood — her wild soul belonged to the forest and mountains no matter the expensive jewels and finest, seductive dresses. Heaven was not cut for this hypocritical world. The gangster leaned over her dainty frame and brought his face closer until their fiery breathe mixed and their nose touched.

“Think of them as your stupid little preys, just like you did in the forest. You might be on their territory but you are the predator here, and they should be the ones quivering with fear. Not you.” He pronounced this in intoxicating whispers that manage to lull her anxiety — or maybe it was because she was focusing on how his breath had quickened now that their mouths were so close. Batting her eyelashes, the white witch slowly nodded: they would be the real menace of the whole ballroom. Tommy drowned himself in the frost desert of her eyes for a bit, his thumb slightly pulling her fleshy lower lip down, “And if it is not enough, remember that I’ll stay by your side and keep you out of sorrow.” As he concluded, his placid face split in a wide and fierce grin that showcased his teeth. A genuine Tommy Shelby’s smile, scarcer than the rarest gem.

“And I’ll keep you out of it too.” She replied, mirroring his smile but with a more moderate one.

“That’s it, Devil.” He affectionately called the petite witch before his sweet liquored lips crashed against hers, the whisky taste blinding all her other senses and making the world outside fade to black. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, surges of electricity cursing through her body as the infamous gangster deepened the embrace. Amidst the chaos they had left behind in Birmingham they stood, his free hand pressing on her lower back to pull her closer until his strong chest flattened her small breast and every of their curves fit snugly altogether. After all that separated them, Tommy had finally won: his brother’s beloved angel belonged to him and only him… Conquered and with her wings pinned, Heaven forgot how wrong it felt and gave in, her tongue shyly waltzing with her old enemy’s. With that wicked brother-in-law she wished to see dead not that long ago. When their mouth parted and Heaven tried to break the embrace to go back dolling herself up, Tommy grabbed her wrist firmly, pupils dilated with pride and lust.

“No. Kiss me again.” His husky voice ordered.

The whole party was probably the most boring one she had ever attended and to make her evening worst, Americans proved that their awful tastes also encompassed alcohol. Not the smallest bottle of red wine had been put on tables, only dry and bitter champagne they were proud to show off as if it was the pinnacle of the French culture. Heaven winced after the first sip and immediately put the glass back where she had taken it, hoping no one had notice her bad manners — she definitely wasn’t one of them, and navigating among the upper-class crowd was not as easy as Tommy made it look. Her mind started to form the words “Arthur would never…” but soon her heart tightened in her chest and she forced herself to chase away the thought of her beloved former husband. “Arthur is not here anymore.” Tommy’s voice echoed in her head. In truth, the lanky gangster had stopped being there the moment he relapsed in drug again, trading cocaine for opium. It had been too much and, loyal to her principles, Heaven left. Never ever she would have imagined that Arthur would be found months later in the Chinese quarters with a syringe in his arm, devoid of life. And while she was spitefully musing over and over again on these cursed memories, two vicious pair of eyes stared at her.

“She looks like she’s about to murder everyone here.” A bewitching feminine voice resounded, catching the attention of the tall American man standing next to her, “I like that.” Eva added, bringing the fine crystal of her glass to her blood-red lips to sip the fancy cocktail she had ordered. At her words, Jack’s mouth curled in a shark-like smile, the scar on his upper lip stretching as he did.

“And she’s hot.” He said, the couple giving each other a conspiratorial glance, “That’s what you were about to say, weren’t you, Goddess?” His manly hand discreetly slipped from her lower back to her ass, grabbing one of her cheeks firmly. Eva snort in reply, side-eying her cheeky husband before focusing her attention on the delicate but wild angel that was impatiently waiting for Tommy to come back from his smoke outside. Lost in her contemplation for a short while, the Mexican witch wondered how such a seraph-looking creature could wear a stare that cold. How could she radiate off something that… Unsettling? Anxiety-inducing? Threatening? She couldn’t even find the right word.

“Feeling sinful, Daddy?” The Mexican beauty, sublimed by an overtly expensive red dress, cooed with a sultry tone that would have turned the meanest man to a brainless drooling dog.

“With you? Always, Goddess.” He winked at her before leaning for a kiss on her temple but a few seconds later the two future presidential couple saw their new associate coming back to the ballroom and heading straight to the lonely white-haired brat, “So you were right, she’s Thomas Shelby’s sweetheart. The Gypsie bastard got himself a fucking pretty pussy.”

“A witch.” Eva corrected, her tone stricter as she pronounced the word, “And he’s rather handsome too. Both are highly fuckable.” She mused, her dark eyes never leaving the newlyweds.

“Well, let me introduce you to them then! After all, we’re in business together now.” Jack suggested, burying his nose in his wife’s long dark hair to relish on her enchanting perfume. Fuck — if they weren’t that busy he would have ruined her cunt in another room right now.

“Excellent idea, Jack. Introduce me to them.” Eva emphasizes on the word, finally looking at the tall American with the flames of sin dancing in her evil eyes. It was all it took for Jack to understand his wife’s intentions… And they were in total harmony with his. “I hope we could officialize our partnership with them in a more intimate and fun way than just a handshake.” As possessive as they were together — as possessive as the English and French mirror facing them — Eva foresaw their agreement about her perverse suggestion, but the truth was there was no need to be a clairvoyant witch for guessing right.

The four of them were all sinners.

#Peaky blinders #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x oc #Tommy Shelby x reader #Cillian murphy #Jack Nelson #Jack Nelson x Oc #Eva Smith Riley #Heaven Shelby

85 notes · View notes

goldustwomun · 2 years

Text

no one knows (e.m.)

pairing: modern! eddie munson x secret gf! reader

summary: it had been your idea to keep your relationship with eddie a secret, but when a party gets out of hand and the jealousy (and alcohol) kicks in, you begin to regret your decision.

warnings: everyone is JEALOUS; possessive eddie; swearing; alcohol; a modern eddie that looks basically like joe but with tattoos and darker hair!; smut smut smut!; fingering (female receiving); dirty talk; a very soft dom eddie; oral (male receiving); bestie chrissy and robin -- i love them; sleepy reader; pet names galore (sweetheart, sweets, petal, a singular pet); not completely edited but i’ll do that in a few hrs!

wc: 4.8k+

note: i have wanted to write this for over a week after listening to THIS AUDIO (18+ -- THIS IS ALSO 18+ LOL SO MINORS DNI!). Hope you all enjoy this horrible but turned dreamy night with our favourite eddie munson <3 oh oh! here’s a little moodboard type thing i also made for modern! eddie :))

The walls were buzzing. From the people, the music, the booze – you weren’t sure. It was just past midnight and you were only now starting to feel the effects of the worryingly cheap wine you’d scored at the minimart. It seemed appropriate, though, needing something more sophisticated than the usual tequila and breezers – all to celebrate the end of another year.

Everyone and their dogs had shown up. People you’d barely even spoken to in tutorials, their friends, significant others, neighbours. Your one bedroom apartment could barely tolerate a night-in with your small group of friends – with Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Robin, Chrissy, and Eddie – so you were all but certain that, come morning, the place would be trashed.

But fuck it, as you’d told a worried Steve, as friends of friends began pouring through the open door. No more dragging yourself to nine am lectures, barely enduring midterms every few weeks (why were they even called midterms?), being nudged awake by the library after you’d passed out during a late night study session.

You’d all survived another year in hell, so surely, you’d survive this night, as well.

That is, if the handsy girl currently pushing herself into Eddie’s lap didn’t move it before you stormed over there and did it yourself.

You were silently fuming into your half-empty glass, picturing all the ways in which you could saunter over there and (not so) accidentally dump the contents of your glass down the front of her annoyingly low dress.

What was worse was that Eddie was fucking loving it. He wasn’t encouraging the girl’s nefarious intentions, but he was too polite to blatantly push her away.

Plus, he craved the attention, the sly touches and subtle smirks. Would grin in that cheeky way of his that had your toes curling and clinging to his side like he was your anchor and you were lost, helpless and drowning, at sea.

And you knew he did because he loved being showered with praises and endless compliments when he was balls deep inside of you, fucking so hard you saw stars, galaxies, the whole universe. Loved it when you moaned extra loud, talked extra dirty. You could read that man like the back of your hand and, unfortunately for you, no one knew you were seeing each other.

It had been your idea, to keep it all hush until the year was out. You didn’t want it to complicate the dynamics of your friend group, or to distract from assignments and exams, so while the two of you cuddled up with one another on the weekends, slept in each other’s arms when it rained too hard and you wanted him off the roads, you still made him keep up the pretences when others were around.

To anyone else, the two of you were just friends. Close friends, best friends, platonic soulmates – whatever they wanted to think. But never anything more (despite the fact that it was the furthest thing from the truth).

So that meant as much as you wanted to walk up to him, yank that bumbling bimbo off his lap and kiss him, hard and fast, right there, in front of everyone – you couldn’t.

You blew out a slow, calming breath, knocking back the rest of your glass before heaving yourself off of the bar stool, wandering into the kitchen to find a familiar face.

“There you are!” Robin hollered, perched on the kitchen counter, resting her head against the side of the fridge. Chrissy was sitting next to her, a bowl of stale popcorn between them. You slumped into a chair in front of them, leaning forward to grab a handful from the bowl before stuffing it into your mouth. They snickered at the crumbs that rolled down your front, and you only pouted in response.

“What’s up, sweets? Why so down?” Robin cooed, fingers dramatically pinching your cheeks. You scowled, threatening her hands with a snap! of your teeth and she immediately retracted them. “That’s not very nice of you.”

“Yeah, this is your party. Get shitfaced, get up on a table and dance, hell, even kiss a guy, or two, or three…” Chrissy trailed off into a fit of giggles.

You shook your head, slumping back into your chair. “No, no, and no.”

“Well, with that attitude–”

“Robin!” you whined, slapping her thigh in admonishment. “I’m having fun– I am! I’m just– tired, I don't know. It was a long week of finals and I probably shouldn’t have invited sooo many people.”

“Hm. You think?” Chrissy questioned thoughtfully. She hopped off the counter, tugging you up to your feet, and grabbed your face in the palms of her hands. “Look at me. You are an intelligent, independent women, who, by the way, looks so fucking hot right now, and you deserve to celebrate. We can’t have our girl hiding in the kitchen with that pouty look of hers, now can we?”

Robin whooped in agreement, yanking your fridge open and pulling out the bottle of somehow-cheaper-than-the-wine tequila you’d hidden for when you needed a pick-me up. She poured three shots, handing them out as you all grinned at each other, like you knew something the others didn’t.

“Okay– on the count of three. One. Two–” Robin knocked hers back, face scrunching up in distaste as the alcohol burned her throat. You wasted no time, emptying your cup in one go as Chrissy followed your lead.

“F-fuck! That’s– Well, that’s really bad,” you noted, grabbing the bottle from Robin’s hand to inspect the label. “Does tequila expire?” you questioned suddenly, scanning the bottle for any indication of whether you’d live through the night.

“Don’t be silly! We’ll be finneee!” Chrissy insisted. “Now, let’s have some fun.”

Eddie was losing it, watching you from the corner of the room, barely hearing a word anyone else was saying because you looked unnecessarily good, but he had to keep his hands to himself. He’d promised you that, but he couldn’t, at that very moment, remember why he’d agreed.

And wasn’t it the end of the year? That had been the deadline, the goal, make it through finals and then he could shout your name from the rooftops for all you cared. But the two of you had been so busy with de-stressing post-exam and clearing out notes and flashcards that you hadn’t had a chance to talk, to discuss the status of your secret relationship.

He was seeing you for the first time in just over a week, and he couldn’t walk up and kiss you, hard and fast, right there, for everyone to see, and it was killing him.

“Eddie, babes, are you even listening to me right now?” His head snapped in the direction of the girl – Mila? Mary? Mona? – who had been glued to his side like a second skin. It’d be too suspicious for him to pass off the attention of, what he supposed, was an objectively attractive girl, so he entertained her flirtations enough to ward off suspicion.

He’d caught a quick glance of you as you walked into the kitchen. You weren’t facing him so he couldn’t see the look on your face, but from the tension in your shoulders and the way you all but stomped your feet on the ground – you were pissed.

He needed to get out of there.

“I am! I am!” he assured, peeling her hand, which was clutching a little too high up on his thigh for his liking, off of him. “I actually need to use the bathroom, I'll be right back.” He stood up, already scanning the room to find you. You must still be in the kitchen, he decided.

“Do you want me to join you?” she offered, coupled with a suggestive smirk.

“I think I’m alright, but thank you.” Eddie tried to ignore the way she moped into her fist and instead made a beeline for the kitchen. He’d barely gotten a foot past the threshold before you were stumbling into him, and he only just caught you before you face planted into the sticky tile of the floor.

“Eddie! Baby!” You swayed in his arms, steadying yourself by snaking your arms around his neck and staring, glazed over, into his eyes.

You were pissed.

“How much have you had to drink?” he questioned, voice tight and holding your hips so you stopped moving so much.

“I don’t know. Two? Three?” you guessed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck but moaning when his stubble-turned-beard scratched roughly against your face. “God, you need to shave.”

“Two, three, what? Shots? Glasses?” he asked again, trying to keep you focused on the matter at hand.

“Bottles!”

“Are you–!”

“I’m joking, Eds! I had two glasses of wine, and we just had a few shots right now. But I’m fine, sweetheart, I’m so, sooo gooood!”

It was hard to take you seriously when you were stumbling over your words like a baby deer trying to walk, so he turned you around, hands still firmly gripping your waist, as he led you to your bedroom.

“Let’s go lie down for a bit, yeah, sweetheart?” Eddie knew by then that trying to get you to follow basic orders when you were drunk was somehow harder than when you were sober. Being as stubborn as you were, he had learnt that the best course of action would always be a gentle nudging in the right direction.

“Bed? Nooo!” Eddie was trying his best to not laugh at the stubborn pout gracing your features. “I don’t want to go to bed!” You stopped abruptly, twisting in his arms and planting a sloppy kiss on his face, though missing his lips by a few millimetres.

“Come on, petal–” you loved it when he called you that, could disarm you completely until you liquified in his embrace, and this time was no different. “--everyone’s watching, and you’ll be fuming tomorrow morning. Let’s just go to bed,” he pleaded, pecking your cheek.

But his lips were so dangerously soft and you were really beginning to fill the odd mix of alcohol you’d inhaled and there was still that lingering, green-eyed jealousy nagging at the back of your mind and–

Robin rammed into your side before you could say anything else. “I’ve been looking for you! Come on! Come on!” She didn’t stop to hear your protests, yanking you out of Eddie’s reach and dragging you to the centre of the living room.

The speakers were blaring unintelligible indie rock – the kind that you loved to play when you wanted to annoy Eddie (“This isn’t music!”). Chrissy was already bouncing up and down, her usually neat waves of hair whipping wildly around her face. The infectious joy in her movements, in those of the crowd around you, had you jumping around yourself, arms swinging and belting the few lyrics you could decipher.

It was midway into the song when you noticed someone’s hands were on your waist. The pulse of bodies made it impossible to turn and see, but your hazy mind assumed it was Eddie. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to get a little more handsy when tipsy (or way past); physical touch was how you communicated your love for each other and your friends.

But when the crowd parted in front of you and Eddie pushed his way through the crowd, your heart dropped. Craning your neck back, an unfamiliar face stared back at you and before you could say anything, you were being yanked out of his arms. He was too out of it to care or notice, but you could see Eddie’s face growing more and more red by the second, and you had an inkling of a feeling that it wasn’t because of how hot it was.

He pushed you behind him easily, Robin and Chrissy holding onto you as they watched, unsure, as Eddie roughly grabbed the offender by his collar.

“Don’t you fucking dare put your hands on her, ever,” he threatended, words low but somehow loud enough to be heard over the music. The dancing had stopped and someone must have turned the music down because you could hear the murmurs around you.

Eddie stepped back, looking around in time to see how everyone was gaping at him. “I think the party’s over,” he stated decidedly, and with that smouldering look in his eyes, no one even attempted to argue.

It was impressive, really, how quickly your apartment emptied. Chrissy and Robin sat with you in the kitchen, forcing you to chug down glasses and glasses of water, but what they didn’t know was that after that incident, you didn’t need help sobering up.

“Will you be okay?” Chrissy asked, concern laced in her words as she plucked a straying hair from across your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Everything's fine, I just think we need to talk a few things through…”

They both nodded, collecting their bags to leave, but Robin hesitated at the front door. Turning to face you, she asked, tentatively, “So you and Eddie…?”

“Me and Eddie,” you confirmed. Their faces lit up and you were hit with an instant bout of regret, wishing you hadn’t over complicated everything and just told your friends about you and Eddie. But it was what you needed at the time, feeling so out of control with every aspect of your life that you wanted to safeguard the peace and comfort you felt with Eddie.

“We’re happy for you, sweets,” she cooed, giving you a tight hug and shutting the door behind them.

You sighed, forehead resting against the cool wood. You’re not sure how long you stood there, simply breathing, before someone cleared their throat behind you. You turned and Eddie was standing just a little too far away for your liking. There was this distant look in his eyes you’d never seen before. The two of you were open books when it came to communication, and you read him with the same familiarity of your favourite novel.

“Eddie,” you began, worried by where this conversation was headed. The thoughts had already begun – maybe you’d pushed him a little too much, not listened enough. You wouldn’t blame him if he ended it right there, you could see the exhaustion in the way his shoulders hunched forward.

You’d never seen him so deadly, so inconceivably angry. He hadn’t frightened you, he could never frighten you, but you hated knowing you’d done that to him. Caged him into a corner where he’d stewed quietly, only for the rage to build and explode in your face, in everyone’s face.

But he never let you finish because he’d closed that distance between you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you so desperately, you were certain he’d swallow you whole (and you’d happily let him). He held you like he never wanted to let you go, would rather mould you to his body so you’d be stuck with him forever. “Can we not do that again? I think I almost punched the guy,” he mumbled into your mouth, voice still hoarse.

“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” you agreed eagerly, leaning up on your tiptoes to wind your arms around his neck. Then Eddie pushed forward, your back connecting, or slamming more like, into the door as he slipped his fingers into yours, yanking them off his body and holding them above your head.

You realised, then, that he was still seething, only quietly, under that calm exterior of his. You just needed to bring it out, provoke him a little, let him expel that anger in the best way you knew how.

Turning your head away from his prying lips, you admitted,“I told Robin and Chrissy.”

“What?” was all he managed, panting and entirely focused on capturing your mouth again.

“I told them. We don’t have to keep us a secret, Eddie, not if you don’t want to.” He was frozen, rooted to the spot like a predator stalking its prey, and fortunately for you, you were spread out, exposed, for him to take you as he pleased.

He rushed forward, mouthing his way down your neck, leaving bruises across your collarbone with your hands still pinned to the door. “Everyone’s going to know you’re mine,” he growled into your skin, making his way back to your mouth where he nipped and sucked your already swollen lips.

“Fuck– yeah, yeah, I’m yours, Eddie.” You were already whimpering under his ministrations, though he hadn’t even touched you, not properly. But the way he spoke to you, the way he kissed and held you like he owned you – it was impossible to resist; you had no choice but to comply and let him take care of you in the way he knew best.

With his hands, his lips, his hard cock that you could feel pressed against your quivering thighs.

“Bed, Eddie, bed–” you choked out, shoving your body against his so he stumbled back, eyes wide as they traced over your heated, heaving frame. He nodded, grasping your hand in his as he tugged you towards your bedroom door. He turned the handle, cursing in frustration when it resisted.

“What’s fucking wrong– It won’t–” You pushed him out of the way, reaching into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the key (you always locked the door when you hosted anything). But the way your hands were shaking, feeling Eddie’s warm breath against the shell of your ear with how close he was stood behind you, large hands grasping onto your hips.

Fuck– you couldn’t get the key into the hole, and when one of Eddie’s slid down the front of your jeans, teasingly lowering the zipper of your jeans. He was cruel, so fucking cruel. And he was so good about it as well, could have you begging for it meaner, harder, faster.

His hand dipped into your pants, cupping you – a crude image to behold let alone be on the receiving end of – and you groaned defeatedly, free hand slamming against the door. “What’s wrong, petal, can’t get it in?” He was mocking you and you could do nothing but take it, legs now trembling beneath you because his hand was where you wanted, but there was no pressure, no friction, nothing to make it feel–

You all but shouted when the key slipped in, the door giving way and you would have face planted into the carpet if it hadn’t been for Eddie, holding you up. “That’s a good girl, got there eventually, didn’t ya’.” He walked behind you, urging you forward, and using the toe of his boot to shut the door behind him.

“Eddie– Please–” you whined, head leaning back into his chest as he refused to give you what you wanted.

“I know, pet, I know. It hurts, doesn’t it?” You could only nod, words escaping you as you threw the key at the wall, your hands scrambling to reach behind you and tug on his short curls.

You didn’t expect it, couldn’t have, but he let out the most delicious groan you’d ever heard, your brain must have short circuited because the next thing you knew, he was spinning you around and claiming your mouth once again.

“That was– That–” He must have felt it too, barely managing to form a sentence between his frantic kisses and wondering, squeezing, hands. “Do it again, sweets, tug it for me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He’d never asked for it before, and it wasn’t that you didn’t like it, Jesus, you were worried you liked it a little too much, but you were both high on jealousy and relief and–

“It’s fine, I swear– It hurts, but it’s good, just– do it again, please.” He was begging and really, how could you say no to him? He was tugging your pants down and you slipped out of them easily, all the while you took the opportunity to tug on his short strands of hair and bite into the hard line of his jaw.

“Such a quick learner– that’s it,” he encouraged, walking you back until your legs hit the edge of your bed.

You stopped him, grasping his face in your hands so he had no choice but to halt his movements and look at you. He looked worried, worried that he’d misstepped or taken it too far, but the haze in your eyes and the dopey smile on your face had his thoughts venturing elsewhere.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was deathly sweet. “Want something, don’t you?”

There it was, the familiarity, the telling look or feeling the both of you shared. He knew you– knew you so well that you didn’t even need to speak for him to figure out what exactly it was you wanted. But he’d make you say it anyway, relished in the way you stuttered over your requests.

For someone so incredibly dirty in bed, you could get shy real fast under those dark doe eyes of his.

“Can I taste you Eddie, please?”

Eddie grinned, slipping his hand around your wrist and guiding it to the front of his pants, where he was hard and aching and the outline of his cock was so blatant, just begging for attention. “What– my lips not enough for you?” he asked breezily.

“No! They’re good, so good, but I just– want you to feel good, too,” you insisted, already undoing the button of his jeans and tugging the zipper down.

“Well, when you ask so pretty,” he admitted, breathing heavy with the way in which he watched your nimble fingers reach into his pants. “Of course, sweetheart, you can have a taste.”

“Get on your knees, petal.” You obliged immediately, tugging down his jeans along the way. “That’s it, now pull me out,” he instructed gently, tucking your hair behind your ear. You couldn’t help but tilt your head to the side, sweetly pecking the palm of his hand before reaching to pull his boxers down as well.

With how hard he was, you were surprised he wasn’t even more of a desperate mess. “Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you moaned at the sight of him, unable to hold back, so you shifted closer, carpet burning your knees but you ignored it— attention entirely transfixed on Eddie and his pleasure.

You held him in one hand, the other gripping his thigh for balance. His hips flinched the second your cool skin connected with his, and he moaned brokenly. “Go on, sweetheart, you know what to do,” he crowed, unbuttoning the sheer material of shirt and tossing it blindly behind him. He was afraid to look away, even for a second, not wanting to miss a moment of you.

The both of you were eager to pleasure the other, but Eddie would always manage to coax you onto your back so he could drop between your thighs and pull one, two, sometimes three (if he had the time) orgasms from you. It wasn’t often he let you return to the favour so you were eager to please.

Kissing the leaking tip of him, you whined at the salty taste, nails digging into the skin of his thigh, surely enough to leave marks you’d kiss at in the morning. “F– Fuck– Teasing me, are you?” he growled, entire body tensing as he held back the urge to fuck into your mouth himself. “Don’t be so cruel, sweets, thought you wanted me to feel good?”

You stared up at him, the picture of innocence if it weren’t for his pulsing cock in your mouth. So you took the opportunity, the heated eye contact, to take as much as you could of him into the wetness of your mouth, almost gagging before you pulled back, warm, panting breaths caressing him.

You traced your tongue against the bulging vein that covered the entire length of him, stopping to suck on his blooming tip and lap messily at the sensitive slit. He jerked then, unable to stop himself, as his hands gripped your head still.

“S-Stop. Don’t wanna come, not like this,” he insisted, and you whined in disapproval. Eddie tugged your head back by your hair, bending at the waist to kiss you hard on the mouth, groaning at the taste of himself on your lips. “Think that’s enough. Your turn, pet.”

On trembling legs, you pulled yourself up, pulling your top off and reaching back to unhook your bra – all in one go. Eddie could only watch, suddenly helpless, as more and more of your skin became exposed, all for him to touch and hold and kiss.

You really were going to kill him one day.

“Lie back on the bed,” he ordered, moving forward with you. You waited for him to do something, anything.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, sweetheart, not sure I like it,” he noted, tracing the tip of his nose along the cut of your jaw. Eddie stopped at your ear, whispering, “Do you think you're wet enough?”

He shifted back to hear your answer, and you took his hand, placing it right where you wanted him, ached for him, before responding, “I dunno, Eds, what do you think?” His mouth dropped open as he felt the slick coating you, grazing your clit as he tore his gaze from you and stared at where you gaped for him.

“Fucking hell,” he swore under his breath.

If this was Hell, he didn’t want to leave, would let the fire consume him if it meant he had you spread out like this. And if this was Heaven, he surely hadn’t done enough to deserve it, to deserve you.

“For me?” he asked, completely in awe of you. Eddie wasted no time in slipping two fingers into you, moaning with you as he fucked in and out at a tantalising pace. You fell back into the mattress, hips lifting in search of something more, more, more.

“We have all night, sweets, no need to rush,” Eddie insisted, watching intently where his fingers slide into you.

“Please– Please–” You weren’t making sense, words mumbled incoherently under the loud, wet noise of his fingers. But you just needed him to move the slightest bit faster, the slightest bit deeper. You were right there, on the verge of falling apart but unable to free fall into oblivion.

“I can’t hear you, petal, gonna need to speak up,” he cooed, forehead resting against your own so he could watch your pink, nipped-at lips form the words he was just waiting to hear.

“Please, Eddie,” you whined louder, fingers gripping the sheets so tight you were sure they’d give in and rip soon enough. “I want to cum, please, let me cum.”

“You wanna cum?” he asked again, the hand not currently pulling you apart, bit by bit, skimming the bed to hold yours in a tight grip. He squeezed your hand once, twice, before giving in. “Okay, sweetheart, I can do that for you,” he promised with a kiss to your cheek as if he wasn’t taunting you only moments ago.

His fingers sped up immediately, insistently pushing against that spongy bit inside of you that had you quivering in his arms and your eyes fluttering shut. That, coupled with his thumb pressing into your clit was what finally pushed you over the edge.

You must have blacked out for a moment or two because once you opened your eyes, there was Eddie Munson, slipping his drenched, shining fingers into his mouth as his gaze trailed across your spent frame.

You couldn’t help but gape up at him, and he only smirked, leaning down to burry his face into your neck. “I think I’m dead,” you mumbled, tracing the tattoos inked onto his bicep.

“Had a feeling, sweetheart. We can stop if you want.” He was smoothing your hair back, covering your face with kisses – on your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, either eye – anywhere he could reach, and you scrunched your face at his attack.

“What about your–” you stared pointedly at where he was still hard, and he giggled into her mouth.

“I’ll deal with it myself, don’t worry. You look exhausted.”

“Well that’s real sweet of you.” He got up, blatantly ignoring your glare and instead, mockingly pinching your nose. You leaned up on your elbows, watching as he pulled his boxers back on, rummaging through the pile of clothes before throwing your underwear and t-shirt at you.

“Thank you!” you called as he disappeared into the bathroom, probably to ‘deal’ with himself, as he’d put it.

You woke up what must have been a few hours later, the lights in your room turned off and a sleeping Eddie tucked in, close, against your back. You don’t remember falling asleep but Eddie wasn’t wrong, you were absolutely exhausted.

Swivelling under his arm, you burrowed into his front, your head tucking neatly under his. He sighed in his sleep, face devoid of those usual lines of joy, worry, whatever it was. He was completely, blissfully, at ease.

Neither of you were that good at hiding your feelings, and you were just glad you wouldn’t have to anymore.

The world had to know – you were in love with Eddie Munson, and you think he might even love you back.

Love you allll! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things 4 #modern eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #my #no one knows #joseph quinn #joe quinn

783 notes · View notes

late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

Note

Congrats on the milestone 🎇

How about a little bit of lifeguard!Ari and enemies to lovers? Maybe he saves you and loses his shit at the thought of losing you!

Shallow(s)

AN: Thank you, Zoey my love! Here’s some angst and fluff with our bearded beach daddy.

Beta’d by @flordeamatista, dividers by @firefly-graphics, moodboard and banner by me

Main Master list | Challenge Master list

Summary: You hate working with Ari, mainly because you have a crush on him and he barely notices your existence, too busy flirting with all the pretty, skinny young things.

Relationship: Beach Lifeguard Ari x Beach Lifeguard Reader

Word Count: 2k

CW: Reader is mid-sized and muscular (no other descriptors), Miscommunication, Immature behaviour, Peril and angst (reader almost drowns), Fluff, First kiss.

A loud, deep belly laugh sounded across the open sand, making you instinctively look over to where it was coming from. You weren’t sure what else you expected other than the sight that greeted you.

Ari stood there, a beaming smile on his face as several sand bunny’s literally hung off him with a tighter grip than their skimpy bikinis had on their bodies.

Ugh.

You rolled your eyes. There was no doubting that your shift partner was good at his job, but why did he have to be so obviously shallow? He was always chatting to the skinny and beautiful, and it made you painfully aware that you were neither. Admittedly you couldn’t ever be classed as fat, but you were… sturdy. You worked out a lot and were muscular, which was handy in your job as a lifeguard. You had strength and stamina, and could easily bench press one of Ari’s fan-club.

However, you were mainly cross that you cared. You’d never admit out loud, cos you barely admitted it to yourself, that despite how much he annoyed you, you had a tsunami-sized crush on Ari. It was probably because he was one of the few men that made you feel small and delicate.

But he didn’t treat you like one of those girls. In fact he barely spoke to you, and when he did it was in the most derisive tone, almost like it was beneath him to even acknowledge you, let alone converse with you. You both cursed and rejoiced when you were rota’d on with him.

He had a variety of nicknames for you, none of them you enjoyed being referred to; Jungle Gym, Kaboose, Anne of Cleaves, Unit. Each one obviously picked to point out how unfeminine you were.

Well, fuck him.

You were good at your job, and you worked hard to maintain your fitness. You'd just have to try to ignore him.

Another day, another shift with Ari. He was sitting up on the lifeguard chair, while you patrolled the sand, chatting to beach patrons and keeping an eye on those you recognised as perennially light-fingered.

Suddenly, a shout rang out, and you turned to look out toward the water. You could see the thrashing of a pair of arms in the surf, and before you could think on it any further you were running out towards the waves.

You dove in, your float trailing behind you as you made your way out towards the person in trouble. As you got closer you saw that it was a very large man, much larger than you, and you were very glad for your strength training. When you came alongside him, you started your rehearsed patter.

“Just keep calm sir. Just relax and let me take you to shore.” You tried to place your float in his arms, before looping your arms under his armpits and started to swim back towards the beach.

However, he was either caught in his terror or not listening, or both, because he continued to thrash about, causing you to sink under the waves a few times and come up spluttering.

Just then, he was pulled away. You panicked for a second, worried that you’d accidentally swum into the riptide, but then realised that Ari had arrived to back you up. You were happy to hand over your charge, although you knew that later Ari would probably rib you for it and make comments about you couldn’t manage.

Treading water for a few moments, you coughed up the rest of the sea water and took a few deep lungfuls of air. Setting off, you quickly caught up with Ari and his charge, but the big man was still fighting the rescue.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were swimming and the next one of the guy’s feet flailed out and struck you in the face. The sea span in front of you and then it all went black.

“Don’t you die on me, Kaboose. Come on! Breath damn it.”

You could feel pain in your chest and then a pressure on your face and in your lungs…

You rolled over, vomiting up water, following it up with a hacking cough. Your eyes watered and your nose stung from the salt and the bile.

“Alright, everyone. Back up, back up. Give us space.”

Ari’s voice made your ears ring and you tried to get everything straight in your mind. A warm hand settled on your back, gently rubbing up and down.

“Take it easy. You’re gonna be okay. Just take some deep breaths for me.”

Later you’d blame the disorientation, but you pushed him away.

“Get your fuck-boi paws off me, Levinson.” You tried to stand, but you didn’t even get to your knees before a wave of dizziness hit you.

“Sit down before you fall down, Kaboose. You should really go to the hospital; you weren’t breathing there for a few minutes.”

You ground your teeth. “I’m fine. And stop calling me that! I get that I’m not the smallest or most dainty of women, but you don’t have to keep reminding me in such an unkind way.”

This time you were determined to get your feet, and although you wobbled a bit you managed it. And despite the fact that you were wet through, and probably had seaweed in your hair, you put your shoulders back and raised your chin.

“Now, I’m going home. Thank you for saving me. I’ll see you next shift.”

It was only as you walked away you realised that Ari had given you the kiss of life.

Fuck.

The only time his lips would be on for you and not only was it the most unromantic thing ever, you couldn’t even remember it.

Mid-evening and you were lying on your sofa. You’d had a bath when you got in, then gotten changed into your comfiest sweats and hoodie, ready to spend the rest of the day becoming one with your couch. You were in a foul mood, your chest aching and bruised from where Ari had given you CPR so you ended up putting on some horror films so you could laugh at how rubbish all the teenagers were for falling for all the blatant traps. You probably should have gone to the ER.

When there was a knock at your door, you groaned out loud. Who the hell was disturbing you at this time, unannounced? You looked through your peephole and groaned again when you saw who it was.

Ari.

“Go away!”

He leaned forward as if to look at you from his side of the fish-eye lens.

“Need to check if you’re okay. Open the door. Please.”

“I’m upright and I’m talking. There. I’m okay.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I bet you haven’t eaten yet, and I brought pizza. And cheesy garlic bread. C’mon!”

Your brain really wanted to tell him to fuck off, but your stomach had other ideas and rumbled loudly, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Fine.” You undid the complicated series of locks on your door before opening it and gesturing for him to come in. The smell of hot cheese, tomato sauce and garlic filled the space and your stomach rumbled again.

“So it is your stomach that decided to allow me in.” He grinned at you, and although you’d seen him smile before, it had never, ever been aimed in your direction. It was like being hit by a tonne of bricks. His eyes sparkled, cute crinkles forming either side of them. With his free hand he pushed back the hair that had fallen in his face, drawing attention to the shaggy mane. Thoughts of running your own fingers through that hair flashed through your brain, and you quickly tried to shake it away.

“Come on through.” You turned your back and walked towards your living room to take back up residence on your couch. You thought that Ari would sit in the opposing arm chair, but were taken aback when he scootched your feet out of the way and sat down next to you.

“What are we watching?” Your brain was malfunctioning, you were sure. Ari passed you the takeout boxes as he shrugged out of his coat and you couldn’t stop your eyes from being drawn to where the soft fabric of his t-shirt clung to his ridiculous biceps. This was getting out of hand.

“Ari. Why are you here?”

He opened the top box and pulled out a slice. He took a bite and you watched the cheese stretch between his mouth and the rest of the slice.

“To check on you. I said that.”

“I call bullshit.” You pulled out your own slice. “You don’t even like me. Why do you even care?”

It took you a moment to realise that Ari had frozen, slice halfway to his mouth and a stricken look on his face.

“What?” Your voice was muffled around your mouthful of pizza.

Ari put his half eaten slice down in the box, took yours from you, and then moved the cardboard containers to your coffee table. You looked on in confusion, a confusion that got even more pronounced when Ari took your hands in his. And damn the man, his enormous paws had you feeling dainty, and caused a flutter in your chest.

He had never touched you like this.

Ever.

“I need to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I ever made you feel less than the magnificent woman that you are. If you were ever hurt by the things I said. You’re so different from the other women that I know. You made me question things about myself and that kind of introspection was uncomfortable and I took it out on you. I resented you for making me feel things. Strong things. Unknown things.”

Your thoughts raced. Was he really saying this?

“Are you telling me that you were being all ‘schoolyard’ on me? Pulling my pigtails because you liked me? Totally mature, Ari.”

He hung his head and dropped your hands.

“I apologise again. And I’ll keep on apologising until you accept it. Even if it takes forever. Because you deserve better than the shitty way I’ve been treating you. You are strong and beautiful and kind, and so totally out of my league…”

The most unladylike snort came out of your mouth, interrupting him.

“Me? Outta your league? Hold up - it’s you that’s outta mine. Ari. You’re so hot it actually hurts to look at you. Do you know how long you’ve pissed me off, just by being handsome?”

At your outburst his lips started to twitch.

“Who’s immature now?”

“At least I didn’t take it out on you.”

He inclined his head in your direction, causing his hair to waft slightly, the light in the room turning it golden in places.

“Good point. But are you basically saying that you like me, after I said that I like you? But both of us thought we weren’t good enough for each other, so we’ve just been increasingly antagonistic?” His smile grew wider, his expression laced with something that could be hope. You returned his smile with a small giggle.

“Seems like it.”

His expression turned serious then and he shuffled closer to you, practically dragging you onto his lap and taking back hold of your hands again.

“You scared me today. I thought I’d lost you. You were so still and you weren’t breathing…” His eyes started to glisten and you pulled one of your hands free to cup his bearded cheek.

“Hey. You saved me. You saved me, Ari.”

Your hand travelled up to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear, and you marvelled at the shifting colours within it; brown, auburn and gold.

“And you’re a warrior. A warrior queen. My Boudicca.”

You didn’t know which one of you moved -maybe it was both of you - but his lips were on yours and this time you were going to ensure you committed it all to memory. The slightly chapped texture of his lips, despite all of the lip balm he applied while on duty, the soft scratch of his beard on your skin and the warmth of his hand as he cradled the back of your head. Unfortunately there was also a painful ache in your chest as you pressed up against him, and you lurched back with a gasp.

“Oww!”

Ari looked at you with soft concern.

“Now will you agree to go to the hospital?”

You nodded, although you hated to admit he was right.

“Let’s go, Boudicca. The sooner you’re fixed up, the sooner I can kiss you again.” He scooped you up easily in his broad arms and you rested your head against his chest as he strode toward the door.

“Sounds good to me.”

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @bodeckersdiamonddoll @krissy25 @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @marvelstarker-mha98 @talia-rumlow

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fic #late writes #jen's 1k follower celebration #jen's 1k challenge

260 notes · View notes

emilykaldwen · 5 months

Text

mini moodboard challenge

throw together four pictures that best encapsulate the vibes of your fave/most recent fic/idea/brain worm

tagged by the lovely and talented @acrossthesestars!

This is for The Maiden and the Drowning Boy (aegon ii targaryen x abrogail strong)

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

tagging: @selfproclaimedunicorn, @jadore-andor, @songsonacliffside, @stannisfactions, @ewanmitchellcrumbs, @theladyelizabeth, @mihrsuri, @corporalicent, @lya-dustin, @godswood-girl, @lavellenchanted, @starcrossedjedis, @arcielee and anyone else who would like to join!

(probably will end up making a jacelaena one later but I'm neck deep in these two today)

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii x oc #ocappreciation #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon x abby #my edits

42 notes · View notes

sailor-aviator · 3 months

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Content Warnings: Panic attack, Mentions of dog attack, Tense Daggers, Arguing, Skipper sneaking away, Cursing, Monster appearance, Crying, Begging, Murder confessions, Execution, Gunshot, Descriptions of blood. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.5k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

When you were little, your grandmother had a dog. It was a sweet thing, always eager for pets and treats. You always liked that dog, but the dog tended to be a bit skittish.

You remember walking into your grandmother’s living room one day, no older than five at the time, and seeing the dog - Mitzi you think her name was. You had walked up to her, paying no mind to the fact that she was sleeping, and you stuck your little face by her to greet her. You hadn’t meant any ill by it, but the dog had snapped at you anyway, drawing blood and a screech from your tiny lips. Your parents and grandmother had come running into the room, finding you in tears and Mitzi trying to console you.

Of course, you knew that it hadn’t been the dog’s fault, but it didn’t stop you from shying away from her every time you saw her after that, afraid of the teeth of the otherwise sweet as could be creature that always happily greeted you.

Now you stood on the boardwalk, the ringing in your ears drowning out the laughter and chatter around you, sending you spiraling into a panic as you came to terms with what had just happened. You knew that it hadn’t just been Mandy or Jake to sing to you, but you had allowed yourself to be lulled into a false sense of security, sure that Mandy had been the one to kill the others.

After all, she had tried to kill you.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps as your body went into panic mode, your fingers and toes growing numb as you continued to stare after the space where Cole just stood. He had been the one to tear Mandy apart, but why? To protect you? Why had he killed those other girls then?

In order for a sea person to claim their chosen mate, they have to drag their partner down, down, down beneath the waves, cutting them off from air until they’re to the point of death.

Your breath caught in your throat. Had he been trying to claim them? Is that why he had been singing to you? To drag you beneath the waves of the ocean as well? Your head whipped around to the darkening blue just passed the rails of the boardwalk, the thunderous sound of the waves crashing against the shore sounding more ominous with each passing moment.

Skipper.

Your breathing picked up once more, your hands shaking as you froze, vision becoming pin points as you fought to remain standing, your knees threatening to buckle.

“Skipper!”

A hand grabbed your shoulder and you let out a terrified shriek, drawing the attention of several people around you. You whipped back around, tears in your eyes as they met familiar blue.

“Skipper,” Bob murmured, brow furrowing as he took in your trembling form. “What happened? Are you okay? Where’s Jake?”

Your eyes darted around the crowd, several people glancing over at you with hushed whispers and concerned looks. You let out a choked sob as you finally realized that you were safe. For the moment anyway.

“Bob,” you whimpered, a breeze alerting you to the fact that your tears had long since spilled over. Your bottom lip trembled as the tension finally broke, and you threw yourself in his arms, sobs wracking your body as he held you.

“Skipper, what happened?” He asked again, firmer this time as he ran a comforting hand over your back.

“It was Cole,” you managed to get out, pulling away to look at him, shaking your head frantically. “It wasn’t Mandy. At least, not all those other girls. He dragged them down and something happened, and-”

“Honey, slow down,” Bob said, gripping your shoulders and leaning down to look you in your eyes. “Take a deep breath, can you do that for me?”

You nodded, following his lead as he took in a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a beat, and then letting it out through his mouth. He had you repeat the process a couple more times until you stopped shaking, some clarity returning to you.

“Okay, good,” he smiled, rubbing your arms. “Now tell me what happened.”

“I ran into Cole,” you started again, “except that I didn’t know it was him at first.”

You stopped, pursing your lips as you stared at your best friend.

“Bob, he sang to me.”

“He sang to you?” Bob balked, eyes growing wide as he looked around. “Where is he now? Has he been singing to you this whole time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, taking his hand. “This whole time we thought it was just Mandy, but Bob, it was him too. He’s been calling to me since I ran into him that day at the tilt-o-whirl. He’s the one that’s been killing all of the girls.”

“Why would he do that?” He asked, more to himself than to you. You gripped onto Bob’s forearms, drawing his attention back towards you.

“It’s his frenzy,” you murmured, the pieces clicking together the more you thought about it. “Jake told me that the longer a sea person goes without taking a mate, the more dangerous the process becomes. The frenzy causes sea people to lose their control right?”

“Right,” Bob answered hesitantly, the wheels in his head turning as you continued on with your theory.

“He’s losing control, Bob,” you breathed, looking past him and back towards the water. “He doesn’t have a mate, and he’s trying to take one, but he keeps losing control and killing them. He’s going to keep going until he finds someone to be his mate.”

“Not someone, Skipper,” Bob frowned, worry shining bright in his eyes as he looked up at you. “You.”

“What?” You blinked, confusion sweeping over you.

“He’s been calling for you, Skipper. Ever since he laid eyes on you, it’s been you that he wants. He’s not going after anyone else,” he hissed, hand grabbing your forearm and scanning the crowd wildly. “We need to find Jake and the others. Come on.”

Without waiting for a response, he started dragging you through the crowd, the both of you searching wildly for your friends.

“There!” You shouted at him, pointing to your right towards the haunted house attraction. You saw Bob let out a sigh of relief as he pushed through the crowd with you in tow to stand before your friends.

“Hey!” Nat chirped, smile dropping when she saw the two of you looking worse for wear.

“Woah,” Reuben said with a whistle. “What’s up with the two of you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Which can’t be because we haven’t even gone through the haunted house yet,” Mickey grinned, pointing at the building behind him. Nat rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to the two of you.

“What happened?” She asked, eyes searching yours. “Where’s Jake?”

Before you could answer, a hand came up to tug you away from Bob, the bespectacled man moving to protest until he saw who it was, relaxing only a fraction.

“There you are,” Jake drawled, placing a kiss to your temple. “You disappeared on me.”

You looked up at him, and his demeanor instantly shifted from easygoing to alert.

“What happened?” He demanded, eyes glancing at your friends.

“We were just about to get there when you interrupted,” Nat scowled, hands on her hips as she glared at the blond. Jake muttered something under his breath but turned his attention back to you expectantly.

“Skipper is in danger,” Bob said, eyes hard and serious as the words left him. Jake stiffened next to you, the sound of a low growl emanating from his imposing frame.

“What do you mean she’s in danger?” He hissed, green eyes narrowing at your best friend. You turned to face him fully, hands grasping his tightly so that he looked at you.

“It’s Cole,” you breathed, “he’s been singing to me. He’s been singing to me this whole time, and we all just thought it was Mandy. It’s his frenzy, Jake. He’s losing control.”

You cursed internally at the way your voice cracked at the end, emotion overtaking you. You thought about Jake and how close he was to being in the same position as Cole. Even now, you could see how desperately he was clinging onto his control, the greens of his eyes glowing at the very thought that you might be taken from him. You reached up to cup his cheek, pulling his attention back to the surface and away from the depths of his inward spiral. He blinked at you, confusion warring with desperation as you stared at him.

An unspoken message passed between the two of you, and Jake let out a long sigh, reaching up to place his hand over yours.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” Nat snapped, glaring at Bradley as he leaned back on the couch, tossing his hands up in defeat.

“If you’ve got a better one, I’d love to hear it,” he growled back.

All of you were seated around Jake and Bradley’s living room, a common spot for you all to gather these days. You wished it was under different circumstances, but it seemed that you were once again the center of discussion.

“We could just leave?” Bob suggested, arms crossed over his chest where he sat perched on the end of the coffee table. A low growl ripped through the form beneath you, and you squeezed the arms wrapped around your waist.

Jake had been reluctant to let you go or out of his sight once he knew you were in danger, insisting on your current position once you all had made it back to the house.

Jake didn’t look at you, but squeezed you tighter to him as he fixed your best friend with a warning glare. No one was taking you away from him.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Reuben muttered, eyes darting up to look at you. You could feel the anger radiating off of your boyfriend, sighing as Reuben averted his gaze once more.

“We know you don’t like the idea,” Nat started, running a hand over her face as she stared at the blond, “but we’re running out of options here, Jake. She’ll be safest away from here.”

“One of us will be with her at all time,” Mickey offered, flinching at the snarl that tore through Jake. Your brow furrowed as you looked around at your friends.

“I’m missing something,” you said after a beat of silence. “Why are you acting like Jake can’t come with me? What am I missing?”

Everyone avoided your gaze before Bradley rolled his eyes.

“He can’t come with you,” he groused, shooting annoyed looks at all of his friends, “because his frenzy is about to reach its peak, and the ocean is the only place where he can go to release some of that energy without hurting anyone. If he leaves with you, it’s a recipe for disaster and we all risk exposure.”

The room was silent once again as he finished his explanation. Your eyes darted around to each of them, waiting for someone to contradict him. When no one did, you let out a sigh. You knew the goal was to keep you safe, but the thought of leaving Jake behind filled your mouth with a bitter taste, and you knew that leaving wasn’t an option.

“He’s right.”

You jumped, turning as much as you could to look at Jake. A solemn expression sat on his face, eyes pensive before locking on yours. You couldn’t help the stab of betrayal that washed over you, and it was obvious that he noticed.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours, “but if it’s the only way to keep you safe until this passes, then so be it.”

“But what about you?” You implored, feeling the tears kiss the back of your eyes once more. “You shouldn’t have to go through all this alone. I can stay and-”

“Not an option,” he whispered, a wry, humorless smile tugging on his lips. “I need you safe more than I need you here. Don’t you worry about me, angelfish. I’ll be just fine.”

He grazed his nose against yours, breathing you in for a second before pulling away and fixing your friends with a hard stare.

“She’ll need to go inland.”

And with that, they began to discuss plans to take you away from North Island. A feeling of unease and restlessness filled you. How could they expect you to just up and leave? Did you really get no say in what happened? No. Jake might be okay with this, but you weren’t.

While your friends planned, you began to form a scheme of your own.

An hour passed, and you moved to stand, Jake’s arms stopping you as you let out a huff.

“Where are you going?” He asked, eyes immediately glaring at the front door as he listened for any sign of danger.

“To the bathroom,” you scowled. “I think I can do that by myself, don’t you?”

Jake gave you a sheepish look before helping you to your feet, hands on your waist to steady you as you stood in between his legs. The two of you stayed like that, his hands on you as you cupped his jaw in yours.

“I love you,” you said, never breaking eye contact. Jake’s breath hitched at your words, eyes shining as he studied you. He reached up to grab your hand, turning his face into it as he kissed your palm once, twice.

“I love you too,” he smiled, meeting your eyes once more. Your heart swelled before a wave of guilt washed over you, and Jake must have sensed the change because his smile dropped and his brow furrowed. He moved to say something, but you stopped him with a kiss to his forehead.

You pulled away from him, moving down the hall like you were going to use the restroom. The voices in the living room faded slightly, and you paused just out of sight. You waited for a moment before your gaze shifted from the light pouring into the hall to the dimming light filtering through the back door. As quietly as you could, you opened the screen door, slipping out onto the porch and into the night.

You weren’t sure where to go, but you knew you needed to be far away from other people. So you walked the length of the beach, coming to a rocky inlet that was sheltered by the surrounding cliffs. The waves crashed gently against the shore, coaxing you to step closer.

You made a seat out of one of the flat rocks along the shoreline, crossing your legs as well as you could in the dress you still wore. You wished you could have changed, but the group had been in such a hurry to get you away and to somewhere safe, that a change of clothes had fallen by the wayside.

Now here you sat, watching the sun dip below the shoreline, the raucous from the festival still heard even this far out. Still, you waited on the rocks even as the cold seeped through your dress and to your bones, sending a shiver up your spine. The air was calm and unassuming, a stray gull crying out overhead.

“I know you’re out there!” You hollered, watching the waves as they lapped against one another. “I know you’re looking for me too. I’m right here, Cole! Come and find me.”

You waited, still watching the water for any sign of a disturbance. Minutes passed, and you knew the others had discovered your disappearance by now. Another pang of guilt rocked through you, but you remained where you were. After a moment, you stood, stepping back onto the sand and facing the water. With a determined breath, you stepped forward. Then again. And again, until finally you came right to where the water stopped.

“If you won’t come to me,” you shouted, eyes flickering across the waves as the sky around you grew darker, “then I guess I’ll just have to come to you.”

You took a step into the water, feet sinking further into the sand as you shuffled through. Stopping again once the water reached your knees, you looked around for any sign of life. It wasn’t until your third sweep that you spotted him, and your heart stopped.

Cole’s eyes glowed an inhuman green, unblinking as they stared at you. Everything from his nose downwards was hidden beneath the water, but you saw him. It unnerved you how he didn’t move, simply content in that moment to watch you.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you called, hoping you could be heard over the crash of the waves against the rocks. A wave crashed against you, sending you teetering back a little bit as you lost your balance. You stretched your arms out to steady yourself, looking down to frown at the water around you. Looking back up, Cole was gone and your heart dropped. It was only a moment though before he resurfaced, just a foot or two away from you this time, and your heart nearly lept out of your chest at the sight of him.

He looked even worse this close up, olive skin looking pale and shrunken as he stood in the water to face you. The pupils in his eyes were almost slits at this point, and you could see the webbed claws of his hands resting on the surface of the water. He looked like the stuff out of nightmares.

“Cole?” You questioned, unsure if he would even recognize you in his current state. He cocked his head to the side, seeming to contemplate you with a series of clicks that didn’t sound unlike something a dolphin would make. You swallowed around the lump in your throat, continuing, “Why don’t we go back to the beach, huh? We can talk there?”

He stayed silent, still watching as you retreated to the beach, keeping your eyes on him as you moved. Finally, he followed after you, moving like something out of one of those b-grade horror movies Bob made you watch sophomore year.

You let out a small sigh of relief as your feet finally left the water, placing you back on dry land. You retreated a couple more steps until Cole stood in the surf, the two of you only three feet apart now.

“You didn’t mean to hurt those girls, right?” You asked softly, and a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes before turning into something akin to sorrow.

“Wanted…a mate.”

The change in his voice startled you as well. It was a mixture of a gurgle and a rasp, once again highlighting how inhuman the man before you had become.

“I know,” you murmured, tears stinging at your eyes. “It’s your frenzy, right? It’s making you lose control.”

“Frenzy,” he hissed out, cocking his head to the side once more as he regarded you. Something flickered in his eyes, and he took a step towards you, sending you two steps back. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as he sneered at you, and you caught a glimpse of his teeth. Teeth that just earlier that evening were normal - human. Now, they were serrated and sharp like a shark’s. You dared to scan the rest of him now that he was completely out of the water, and you noticed now that slits had opened up along the column of his throat. Gills.

“Is this what happens when you don’t take a mate?” You asked him, heart clenching in your chest. “You don’t just lose yourself, huh? You become something you were never meant to be.”

“Skipper,” he said, voice ringing out as he used his song, and a wave of dizziness ran through you, hitting you like a brick wall. You fought against it, shaking your head and clamping your hands over your ears as he went on.

“Need you, Skipper. Come away with me.”

You shook your head again, willing yourself to stay put, but his song that close? It was almost impossible to resist.

“Please.”

Your hands fell to your sides as you quickly lost the battle for your senses, gaze fogging over as you gave in. You took all of one step towards him before the sound of a snarl mixed with what sounded like the call of a whale rang out.

Hands ripped you back before slashing towards Cole, drawing out a pained cry from the man as he fell to the sand, a snarl twisting his lips as he glared up at the person that stood between you and him.

Jake’s eyes glowed a richer green than Cole’s, fury so clear on his face that it almost distracted you from where his pupils were now drawn into slits of their own. His teeth were bared against Cole, hand raised to claw at him again should he move.

“Mine,” Jake growled, the rumble coming from deep within him as he stood over the other man. Cole’s eyes darted to yours, and your heart broke at what you saw.

For a moment, the man you knew before shone through, tears lining his eyes as he looked at you desperately, pleading with you. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Jake’s arm, pushing it out of your way as you moved to kneel down beside Cole.

“Skipper.”

You turned to see Bob and Bradley standing a few feet back, the two FBI agents standing next to them. The older of the two had a grim, sorrowful expression on his face as he watched Cole and the younger looked like he was still coming to terms with what was happening before him. Bob looked like he was about to rip you up from the ground himself while Bradley watched you with an unreadable expression on his face. You gave the two of them a reassuring smile as you turned your attention back to the man in front of you.

Slowly, gently, you cupped his face in your hands so that he looked at you, and for a moment you were reminded of your grandmother’s dog. A sweet thing, but perhaps not meant to be around other people.

Tears flowed freely down Cole’s cheeks as he watched you, the man you knew resurfacing once more. You stroked your thumbs carefully over the apples of his cheeks, wiping away his tears. A sob wracked through him as he closed his eyes, face pinched in pain. You wrapped your arms around him then, holding him to you.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, quietly at first. His shoulders shook as he began to cry harder, his voice raising in pitch as he continued. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I just wanted the pain to stop, and I-I-I didn’t mean to wait this long. I thought I had more time! I thought that I could pick a mate, but every time I tried to bond with them, it went wrong!”

His tears soaked through the fabric of your dress now, and you were only vaguely aware of the tears that streamed down your own face.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” he whispered, clinging to you.

“I know,” you whispered back, nodding against the top of his head.

“Make the pain go away.”

“Cole,” you trailed off, looking helplessly at the men around you. He shook his head, pulling away from you.

“Not like that,” he rasped, the look in his eyes growing farther and farther away, and you knew that the moment of lucidness was coming to an end. “It’s too late for that now. There’s only one way out for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you moved to argue, but he shook his head.

“I’ll do it.”

You turned to see the older of the two FBI agents, Kazansky if you remembered right, stepping forward to stand beside Cole. You hesitated, looking down at the man in your arms. He gave you a reassuring nod, letting you go as Jake helped you to your feet. The blond pulled you back to stand with the others and you watched as Cole readjusted himself to kneel with his back straight. Kazansky moved to stand behind him, pulling out his service weapon and aiming. A shudder ran through Cole as the monster within came crawling back to the surface, his eyes darting to you.

“I’m sorry,” he sang out, claws digging into the sand. “Please.”

The shot rang out, and you let out a startled cry as Cole’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, crashing with a deafened thump. Your hand flew to your mouth as you stared, watching his blood soak the sand around him and turning it a sickening maroon.

Kazansky holstered his weapon, glancing up at your little group with a purse of his lips as his partner, Simpson, walked cautiously over to him.

“Kerner is going to be pissed when he hears about this. He loves crazy shit,” the younger man muttered. Kazansky scowled at him before turning his attention back towards the four of you.

“You kids should get out of here,” he grunted. “Somebody was bound to hear that shot and call someone. You don’t want to be here when the cavalry shows up.”

“What are you going to say happened?” Bradley asked, eyeing Cole’s corpse. Kazansky shook his head with a sigh.

“You let us worry about that,” he replied. “Now get.”

The boys didn’t wait to be told a third time, moving to leave, but you stayed rooted on the spot. It felt wrong to leave Cole there, and you suspected it had a lot to do with the man who wrapped his arms around your shoulders in a bid to steer you away.

“There’s nothing more you can do for him, Angel,” he murmured, thumb stroking over the skin of your arm as he pulled you along gently.

“That could have been you,” you whispered, and he froze. It was true. Jake was nearing the the point of no return with his own frenzies. He knew it, you knew it, everyone knew it. His hand came up to cup your cheek and you finally looked up at him. His eyes swam with an indiscernible emotion has he studied you.

“It’s not,” he told you quietly, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “It won’t be.”

The promise between you two was a silent one, but one that you accepted, finally allowing Jake to pull you along to catch up with the others as police sirens sounded off in the distance.

The weeks of danger, terror, and uncertainty were finally over and behind you.

A/N: Only one chapter left! How exciting!! Anyway, gentle reminder that if you would like to receive updates on my stories or other content I create to follow @sailoraviator-library and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time! Happy Valentine's Day!!

#mmats #meet me at the sea #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman top gun #top gun hangman

184 notes · View notes

samanthahirr · 10 months

Text

The Vampire from the Deep...

November 1890, London

Ten years ago, a beautiful fiend stalked and slaughtered half of Commander Bond’s crew while on a mission in Venice. In the years since his survival and subsequent retirement from naval service, Bond has scoured the continent for information about the creature and become something of a hunter of its blood-sucking ilk.

In the present day, Bond resides in a modest, rented townhouse in London, enduring the reputation of a superstitious eccentric. Upon a friend’s recommendation, Bond hires the brilliant young solicitor Quirrelin Quimby to help organize his affairs…and Bond is quickly smitten. ‘Q’ is a rational man of the law and numbers, and much as he rolls his eyes at Bond’s many idiosyncrasies, Q is always pleased to sit and listen to Bond’s tales from his naval service and his time hunting vampires all around the Mediterranean.

As the weather turns cold, Q’s already-pale complexion wanes, and he seems frailer by the day. But Q says he’s always been prone to illness, particularly in the winter time, and Bond believes Q’s assurance that he’s in no great danger…until Bond spots Q out on the town with his new client, a foreign countess of great means who only rouses herself for evening appointments. One look at those cold, dead eyes, and Bond recognizes the fiend he’d foolishly left for dead in Venice. Little did he know at the time…vampires can’t be drowned, not even when you chain their coffin shut, plunge it into the canal, and sink a building on top of it.

Across the crowded street, she lifts her eyes to Bond, smiles knowingly, and turns away, leaving Q standing dazed on the sidewalk.

Bond seizes Q and interrogates him, but Q is under her thrall. The puncture marks on Q’s neck—hidden by his cravat for how many days?!—leak a sluggish trickle of blood that Q is oblivious to, and he won’t hear a word said against the beautiful countess. Bond knows her appearance and targeting of Q are no coincidence; she rose from the watery depths and came to London to find Bond, and now she’s toying with Bond’s dearest acquaintance as part of her sadistic revenge. How can Bond keep Q safe while he hunts her…and what chance does Bond alone have against the vampire when it required four men to beat her back the first time? None. Bond sends out letters requesting aid and makes plans to flee London immediately.

Desperate to protect Q, Bond forces Q into a carriage at dawn and makes a frantic dash to get them as far from London as possible before sunset, in the hope that distance could break her spell over Q. If they can survive their first night on the road, God may see them through to Skyfall before the second sunset. Behind the walls of Bond’s ancestral home, Bond and his few remaining allies will make a stand against the vampire to save the man he loves from death or eternal damnation….

Today in ‘Stories Sam Isn’t Writing,’ here’s a 00Q vampire!AU outline inspired by the addictive Re: Dracula podcast/audiobook. With a bonus moodboard! I’m obsessed with this image of vampire-Vesper rising from the waters of Venice, eerily flawless and blue-toned, as she comes to seek her revenge on James Bond….

#007 fest 2023 #007 fest #teamqbranch #00q #stories sam isn't writing #my writing #vampires #james bond #crossover day

77 notes · View notes

a-beautiful-fool · 4 months

Note

hey lou I would like to very formally request a moodboard based on the the color navy blue, like a deep navy blue. thanks so much if you're able to get to this!

| “i crave a love that drowns oceans” - k. azizian

#lou’s moodboards #blue moodboard #navy moodboard #ocean aesthetic #aesthetic moodboard

19 notes · View notes

4joonkookie2 · 10 months

Text

Live!

Pairing: Namjoon x Jungkook

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Jungkook interrupts Namjoon's livestream to take advantage of their free-use arrangement :)

Tags/Notes: smut, free-use, butt plugs, teasing, anal sex, oral sex, blowjobs, swallowing, slut, vlive, weverse, public sex, semi-public sex, rough sex, kissing, JK is irresistible, Top!NJ, Bottom!JK, established relationship, Joon is down BAD, JK's ass prevails, better to overuse names than be unclear.

UNCENSORED MOODBOARD

---------

After a long day of work, Namjoon sits down in his studio and starts a Vlive. It’s the last thing he’ll have to do today before he can go home.

The stream gets going, comments invading and scrolling down the screen. Namjoon scans through as best he can as they zoom downward.

He greets his fans and sorts through questions about his hair, his projects, and the other members.

Your hair is getting so long!

Yoongi Marry me!

When is your album coming out???

Namjoon is startled by a knock at the door, not expecting anybody. Visits from other members are typically planned and Namjoon thought he was alone today.

“Please, wait for me,” he says. In caution, he aims the camera at the ceiling.

He opens the door to Jungkook, who stands in the doorway, effortlessly beautiful in his baggy shirt and sweatpants.

“Hi,” he says. Just the sound of his voice has Namjoon's pulse racing.

He pulls Jungkook inside, shutting the door behind them. He presses him to the door and greets him with a kiss on the lips.

Hunger takes over Namjoon. He presses his body against Jungkook’s, exploring his mouth with his tongue, and running hands down the length of his back and over his ass. Jungkook whimpers in his grasp.

He has to step back and gain his composure, almost forgetting where he is and what he’s doing. Every encounter with Jungkook is like falling into a deep hole that he can’t crawl out of. It’s intense and all-encompassing in the best way.

When he's alone, he can be normal. He can think. But the moment Jungkook comes around, it's like his brain turns to mush. It makes the nature of their free-use arrangement thrilling, but it also makes Namjoon susceptible to Jungkook’s whims at the worst moments.

“I’m live right now,” Namjoon says in his most hushed voice, reminding himself too.

“Oh?” Jungkook looks only half surprised.

In more caution, Namjoon runs to the computer and mutes the microphone.

“Maybe give me 20 minutes? I’ll finish early.” He gets his lips on Jungkook again. He holds his face in his hands, feeling himself drowning.

“No,” Jungkook hums, shaking his head sweetly, voice going up at the end. He wraps his arms around Namjoon’s neck.

Namjoon titters nervously. He understands their arrangement, but he’s literally live streaming.

“That’s the agreement, Hyung. Anytime, anyplace, anywhere,” Jungkook quips. “I’ll be quiet,” he says. “Unless you want to use the safe word.”

Namjoon gulps and shakes his head. He couldn’t possibly resist Jungkook.

“Will you join me?” Namjoon asks, in a last-ditch effort. “ARMY would love to see you.”

Jungkook slyly shakes his head.

Namjoon has a sneaking suspicion that Jungkook has planned this. He makes his way back to his chair to sit, hesitant. He angles the screen away so as not to expose Jungkook.

Jungkook arranges himself on the couch, out of view and behind the camera.

He removes his shirt, tossing it to the side. “Go on, Hyung. They’re waiting.”

Namjoon nods, taking a deep breath. Has to get back on or management will be breathing down his neck.

He says a silent prayer before pointing the camera to himself again. He reconnects the audio and continues. Comments have flooded the session.

Where are you????

What happened????

Namjoooooooooooon!!

“Sorry, I had some technical difficulties,” he explains, easing the virtual crowd. “It was just a staff member.”

From the corner of his eye, Jungkook rubs hands over his bare chest and nipples, caressing down the washboard of his stomach.

It's everything Namjoon can do to keep at least one eye on the screen.

Jungkook’s cock grows in his sweats. He licks his fingers and keeps one hand tweaking his nipple, gasping a little. He rubs over his crotch and gets ahold of his cock, sheathed by fabric. He looks down at it, then at Namjoon.

Jungkook’s face is a bit flushed now, lips parted as he rubs over himself. Namjoon's mouth waters .

Jungkook keeps his eyes locked on Namjoon. Removing his sweatpants, he reveals a lack of underwear. He drags his fingertips between his thighs, tickling himself before stroking at his hardened shaft and swiping pre at the tip.

Namjoon squirms in his seat. Time isn’t moving fast enough. He has to be live for at least a half hour and there are still 15 minutes left.

He does his best to focus, putting both eyes on the screen. He reads comments and answers questions as Jungkook lies stark naked on the couch. It’s their little secret.

Dissatisfied with the attention he’s receiving, Jungkook stands and approaches Namjoon, still out of view of the camera.

Namjoon looks up at him, trying to do two things at once.

'Back up,’ Jungkook mouths. Namjoon scoots his rolling chair back, doing his best to appear casual. He panics when Jungkook gets to his knees just under the camera.

“What are you doing?” Namjoon whispers, aiming the screen at the ceiling and muting the audio.

“Relax,” Jungkook soothes. “Just a little longer,” he says, settling between Namjoon’s legs.

Who’s with you???

What are you looking at?

Show us!

They’ve made use of this arrangement endless times, but it was always at least behind a closed door. How could they do it like this in front of fans? What if management catches wind of this? It’s terrifying and thrilling, all at once.

But he can’t bring himself to stop Jungkook. He’s irresistible .

Settled between his knees, Jungkook gently caresses Namjoon’s thighs at first. Resetting the equipment, Namjoon focuses his attention on the viewers again.

Jungkook signals for him to lift his ass slightly so he can lower his sweatpants. Namjoon riffs, seemingly shifting from the waist up.

He maintains composure and reads comments, thinking less about Jungkook and feeling comfortable just having him below.

"Yes, the track list will come out soon."

"I worked on it for a long time, I hope you enjoy it."

Jungkook massages Namjoon’s cock and places little kisses through his briefs. He rubs his face and mouth against the clothed shaft. Jungkook’s warm breath and the friction of the fabric create a unique sensation.

It’s soothing, in a way, and puts Namjoon in a more relaxed headspace. He muses with fans over his last trip to the art gallery and his Instagram photos.

What’s your favorite gallery?

Yoongi Marry me!

His stomach drops when Jungkook pulls his shaft from the slit in his shorts. He places gentle little kitten licks at the top, so soft they almost tickle. Namjoon’s face and body heat up, cock fully erect. He does his best to carry on.

He tangles encouraging hands in Jungkook’s hair and nearly chokes when he feels his warm mouth wrap around him. Jungkook is merciless, even letting out a little moan as he takes him in. Namjoon clears his throat over the noise.

What was that?

You look flushed, Joonie.

Who’s with you??

Are you feeling well?

Namjoon stops him, placing his hand on Jungkook’s. It’s a signal to slow him down and Jungkook does, creating a new rhythm.

“I’m ok, just very tired. I’ll rest soon.”

Namjoon relaxes, answering easy comment questions while Jungkook softly sucks below. He pretends to look down at his phone so he can see Jungkook. He looks proud and beautiful, like his lips were meant to be wrapped around Namjoon's cock.

Namjoon looks at the clock: 4 minutes to go.

Jungkook eventually stops sucking. He just sits prettily with Namjoon’s cock in his mouth, occasionally shifting and swallowing pooled spit, keeping his cock warm. He patiently traces sweet circles on Namjoon's skin with his fingertips, resting his cheek on his thigh.

Jungkook looks up, batting his eyelashes and smiling around Namjoon’s shaft.

“Well, I'll need to end this soon. I have more work to do,” Namjoon says, cutting the stream a few minutes short.

He quickly blows kisses and waves to fans before ripping the audio cable from the computer.

“Fuck, Jungkook, tell me you didn’t know I was live,” he whines, pushing his chair out.

“Of course I did,” Jungkook smiles, wiping his mouth. He pulls Namjoon’s sweats around his ankles and reaches a hand up to get help off the ground.

They share a sweet kiss before Namjoon tangles a hand in Jungkook's dark locks and yanks it back, causing him to yelp.

“You knew what you were doing by coming here,” he growls, shoving his tongue in Jungkook’s mouth to taste him. “Such a fucking slut.”

Jungkook whines, nodding in his grasp.

Namjoon laughs. This isn’t a thing. He said it in the heat of the moment but didn't expect Jungkook to agree .

“Yeah? Are you a fucking slut?” The words encourage him.

Jungkook unlatches Namjoon’s hand. “Your slut,” he whispers, taking a step back. He gets to his knees on the couch, facing away. He grabs the edge and bends over, arching his back as best he can to expose a plug, lubed and stuffed between his cheeks.

Namjoon groans. “Fuck, Jungkook,” he says, groping at his cock. It’s leaking and angry red at the tip now.

“Wanted to be ready for you, Hyung,” Jungkook coos, playing with the base and gasping as he pushes it in and out of himself. “Do you like it?”

Namjoon walks over to him, hypnotized by the sight. Jungkook’s pretty pink hole clenches around a slippery plug and the idea that it’s been inside him this whole time sets a fire off in Namjoon.

He nods, leaning down to kiss and lick around the plug. He turns it and watches Jungkook squirm. “I like it.”

He yanks the plug out and lets it thump to the ground, watching Jungkook’s hole wink and clench around nothing.

“My slut,” He hums before replacing the plug with four fingers, stretching him even further. Jungkook yelps, trying to adjust. Namjoon gently tilts Jungkook’s head back from behind for a languid kiss.

“Get on your back,” he instructs, removing his own shirt.

Jungkook lies on his back, body splayed across the cushions. He brings his knees up higher, wrapping hands around the outside of his thighs to pry himself open. Namjoon stands and watches him for a moment, stroking himself at the sight. He’s perfect, open, and waiting for him.

Jungkook whines at Namjoon’s hesitation.

“Oh, you’re a desperate little slut, aren’t you?” Namjoon taunts, and Jungkook nods feverishly again.

Namjoon teases, leaning down to drag teeth over Jungkook's neck. He grinds their cocks together, desperate for any friction. He prods the tip at the opening and barely slips inside.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook whines.

“Say please ,” Namjoon instructs.

Jungkook drags Namjoon’s bottom lip between his teeth. He looks right into his eyes, bucking his hips up.

“ Please , fuck me,” he begs.

Namjoon pulls Jungkook's bottom closer to him, lines up, and plows his thick cock inside. Jungkook groans when he slams into the hilt.

He grips Jungkook’s delicate waist, pushing himself in until his balls knock against Jungkook’s flesh. He grinds his hips, stretching him thoroughly. Draping Jungkook’s ankles over his shoulders, he pounds, gaining speed.

Jungkook has his arms up and over his head, palms wrapped around the arm of the couch as Namjoon fucks him into it. The couch bangs against the wall and shifts on the ground as his hips piston into Jungkook.

He pounds into the deepest part of him, making up for the nearly thirty minutes Jungkook taunted and teased him. He was egged on by how perfect he looked beneath the chair and the way his doe eyes looked up at him with a mouth full of his cock.

“Joonie, ah, Hyung!” Cum oozes from Jungkook’s aching cock and Namjoon drills into that spot, willing more to spill.

The sound of his name riles him further. He folds Jungkook in half, pressing his thighs flush with his tummy. He thrusts and buries himself as deep as he can go.

“Where do you want me to come?” Namjoon asks, feeling himself get close.

“Inside, please, Joonie, fill me up,” he pants. “Need your cum.”

Namjoon loops his arms around Jungkook’s thighs, pulling him even closer to use his body.

He grunts and groans as a powerful orgasm bursts from him. He fills Jungkook to the brim as fingernails dig into his back.

He slowly pulls out, admiring Jungkook’s messy hole, blown out and sensitive. Namjoon leans down to kiss him again and gets hold of his cock. He uses his hands and mouth to finish Jungkook.

Namjoon swallows him down, loving the taste of him on his tongue.

Focusing on the tip, he flicks his tongue over the top and strokes the shaft. Jungkook’s whines get higher and louder, hips bucking up. Namjoon increases his pace and holds his tongue out. Beautiful sounds emerge from Jungkook as he shoots into Namjoon’s open mouth, swallowing every drop.

Namjoon collapses on Jungkook’s chest, and they lay, used, and spent. Namjoon makes a trail of kisses down the line of Jungkook’s neck. They kiss and cuddle, happy in their post-coital bliss.

Namjoon’s hand rustles at the ground and he replaces the plug, reveling in the idea of his come lingering inside Jungkook.

Jungkook glances just past Namjoon and lets out a slight gasp. “Hyung,” he whispers.

Namjoon turns to where Jungkook is looking and sees the reflection of themselves in the camera. The stream is still live.

Viewers have skyrocketed and comments move twice as fast down the screen.

can’t hear you, but we can see you!

Jungkook’s so good!

Yoongi, marry me

what that mouth do, Joonie?????

Wow! thighs…

You guys are all red! So Cute!

33 notes · View notes

suck4angststory · 2 years

Text

Sequel for You Never Like Every Man I'm Dating

Pairing: Pete 'Maverick', Mitchell x Cain!Fem!Reader. Moodboard

I Still Don't Like Him

Warning: fluff, angst, but happy ending, Top Gun: Maverick Spoiler. English is my second language. Feel free to give me a comment about my writing and grammar mistakes.

Author Note: If you want to be tagged just let me know in the comment. I can't reply to any of your comments because it's sideblog. But I really thankful for your comments and responds.

****

Summary: This is the next part of your journey with Maverick after you got deployed to the middle of the Ocean and he became a Top Gun Instructor for a special detachment.

When you arrived at the USS Theodore Roosevelt carrier, the sun almost set. The sky colour in the Pacific Ocean has painted a pinkish and orange colour. You are welcomed by fellow Warrant Officers you're gonna work with when you landed on the tarmac.

They show you around the carrier before they take you to your office where you're gonna work. After that, They take you to your room where you'll gonna take a rest and put your belongings.

***

You are just taking out your clothes from your bag when you hear your phone ring on the bedside table. You saw the ID caller and smile when Maverick name was displayed on it.

You sit on the bed and click the green button to accept the call. You place the phone on your ear. "Hello, Handsome" you put a smile even though he can't see you. You hear him chuckle on the other side.

"Hey, gorgeous.." his voice sounds different, something must happening.

"Talk to me.. what happened," you asked with concern. You move to the middle of the bed and sit crossed your legs.

"You know me so well, baby." He let out a sigh. "(Y/N), they want to teach in Top Gun for a special detachment program."

"And.." you raise your eyebrows, intrigued. You took the pillow behind you and place it on your lap. You rest your arms on it.

"And I can't do it. I'm not a teacher, last time I became an instructor in Top Gun, I just last for a month" he let out a deep sigh, something still bothering him, not the teaching thing.

"It's not about the teaching, isn't it?" You urged him.

He was quiet for a bit. "He's one of them and this mission they'll gonna do is suicide. I can't make him do that. I can't lose him" he whispered his last words. It's been a burden for him after Goose died. And now, if something happens to Bradley, you don't know what's gonna happen to him. He already feels so guilty about Goose's death.

You know Rooster when you're working with his Squadron in Virginia long before you met Maverick. You got close back there and became friends. When he found out you dated Maverick, he never answers your call again. With how many times you get deployed, your relationship with Rooster begins to distance and you never spoke to him again.

You wish you can fix your relationship with him again.

"Have you talked about that to Cyclone or Warlock?" You asked softly.

"I have, but they said I don't have a choice. He said if I don't take this mission, I'll never fly for Navy again" He let out a sigh again. You purse your lips and nod, and you move your phone to the other ear.

"What Iceman say?" You inquire.

"Nothing, he said I wouldn't have come if he told me Bradley gonna be in there"

"And what do you think? You still wanna take iylt? Or.." you raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to answer.

He let out a deep sigh " what choice did I have? But I don't know if I'm capable to do it"

"I know you can do it..." you smiled and leaned back to rest your back on the wall behind you.

He let out a sigh and took a deep breath and released them "So..What're you doing right now?"

"Nothing just arrived here, take out my clothes from the bag and anything" you looked around your room and brush your feet to the duffle bag that you place at the end of the bed "they give me this room where the window face to the sunset" you looked at the window where the sun slowly begins to drown, the light hitting your room in an orange glow.

"Wow, it must be nice"

"It is, especially if you're here with me," you said softly. You sat in silence for a minute before Maverick speak again. "I love you (Y/N)"

"I love you too Pete," you said to him, a single tear escaping your eyes. You miss him, and it's not even 24 hours you're away with him.

***

You are just come out from Meeting with the other Warrant Officers for the next week's testament when your phone rang in your pocket, you took your phone and smiled when you read the caller ID. You immediately click the green button on the screen and placed the report on your armpit.

You place the phone on your ear "Hey baby, what's up". You smile and walked through the hall to your room.

"Nothing, I just want to hear your voice"

You placed the phone between your shoulder and ear and take the report to your left hand.

"Oh... I miss you too" you cooed. "How's the teaching going?" You arrived at your room and open the room with your left hand.

"Great, but they still can't pass the lesson"

you step into the room and placed the file on the table.

"Give them time, I think they'll pass them and you'll get the pilot you're looking for" you open your cap and place it on the table.

"I try to talk to him by the way"

you stopped on your track for seconds.

"And, what he says" you sit on your bed and place your phone beside you. You put him on the speaker.

You open your boot when he talking

"Still the same, cold, he even talks to me as if I'm his superior, not his uncle. God, I miss him"

"Try again baby, I think he'll soften if you keep trying to talk to him" you bend down to open the lace and placed your shoe under the table with your sock on them.

"Oh, by the way, I met Penny" you stopped in your track to open the other shoe when you heard that name.

Your furrowed your eyebrows. "Penny who? Penny Benjamin?" You open your shoes while he's talking.

"Yeah, she owns a bar beside the beach in Fightertown. The first time we met, she threw me out of her bar because I place my phone on the table, she has these weird rules that you'll have to buy everyone round if you break them"

You scoffed and open your shock harshly and throw it under the table. You place the shoe under the table "Oh.."

"Yeah, and I help her fix her boat this afternoon" you gawked at the phone and scoffed quietly. So that's what he's doing in there. You open your bun harshly and throw the hair tie to the bed, it bounced out of the bed.

You picked up the phone and place it near your lips "Oh yeah, that's great, you're so kind Pete. I think they need me, talk to you soon" you told him quickly, annoyed, but he didn't notice that.

"Oh, I thought it was already late in there"

Damn! he must be set the timezone for here.

"Yeah, we have meetings for the test tomorrow" you rolled your eyes, you hate lying to him but you are mad at him right now.

"Oh, Okay, bye baby, I love you," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah, bye, love you," you told him lazily and ended up the call

"Fucking Penny Benjamin," you throw your phone to the bed and it bounced hitting the steel wall. Luckily it didn't break.

You sigh and lay on your bed, you hate Pete Mitchell. If he isn't talking about Penny Benjamin, maybe you'll gonna spend your free time doing phone sex with him. But he ruined your mood.

***

Maverick on the hangar fixes his plane when Hondo arrived beside him. "Hey, Mav"

"Hondo" he greeted back without looking at him. Still busy wrenching something inside the plane.

"I heard you talk to (Y/N) about your meeting with Penny" this get his attention, he stopped his task and throw the Wrench on the box tools.

He turn to him and furrowed his eyebrows."Yeah, how do you know about that?"

"She told me last night" he shrugged. Maverick raise an eyebrow at him.

"Weird, she didn't pick up my call for this past three days, when I text her she said, still busy" he shrugs. It's true, you never pick up his phone because you are still mad at him. You put your phone on silent and hide it in the drawer whenever he's calling to prevent yourself to pick up his call.

"Oh, you think?" Hondo raised his eyebrows.

Pete furrowed his eyebrows to him and nodded "Yeah,"

Hondo let out a chuckle at his credulousness. He then takes out his phone from his pocket and dials your number, not a minute you pick up the call.

"Hey, Hondo what's up?" He put you on speaker. He put the phone between him and Maverick.

"Oh nothing, just want to check on you. You seem so upset last night" he glance at Maverick that looked at his phone with wide eyes, surprised.

"Yeah, but I feel a bit relief talking that to you." You let out a sigh. Maverick glances at Hondo and then at the phone.

"Yeah, I'm glad it helped" Hondo looked at Maverick that try to put two and two together.

"Anything you want to say?" Maverick want to talk but Hondo holds his hand telling him to wait.

"Are you busy this week?" He inquired.

"Not really, they give us a break before the next test comes."

"Oh, What're you doing then?" He then glanced at Maverick that now has a dejected look on his face. Why you didn't pick up his call, why did you ignore him for the past three days? The thoughts begin to fill his head.

"Nothing, just watched some movie, review the Death Star Project I asked you last night."

"Oh good, I'll talk to you later (Y/N), duty calls" Hondo give Maverick a thoughtful look.

"Oh okay, bye Hondo"

"Bye (Y/N)" Hondo ended a call and looked at Maverick that now frowning.

" But why she didn't pick up my call?" He took out his phone from his jacket that he place on the bench and call your number. He places the phone in his ear but a few seconds later he harshly takes it back.

"What!? She rejects me?" He exclaimed. He calls you again but it is just a ringing sound that can be heard.

Hondo let out a sigh and place his hand on Mav's shoulder to get his attention. Maverick turned to him with a frown on his face "Mav, She told me last night about your meeting with Penny Benjamin and how you help her fix the boat"

"Yeah,? I just trying to help her, she doesn't have anyone for help" he exclaimed and let out a frustrated groan when you didn't pick up his phone call again.

"Maverick.." Hondo call him again and give him look.

And it hit him. Maverick raised his eyebrows. "What? You mean she's jealous" He exclaimed.

"I don't know man, she's your girl, ask her" Hondo rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"But I just want to be honest with her about my day" he frowned.

"Woman always be a woman" Hondo pat his shoulder and walked away.

Maverick then let out a sigh and lick his lips. He walked to his office, open the door harshly and sit on the couch. He try to call you several times but you still didn't pick up.

***

You lay on your stomach in your bed with your laptop open up. Something's Gotta Give played on your laptop, you rest your chin on the pillow that you placed underneath it and bawl over the ending when Erica prefers Harry over Julian.

You placed your phone on the drawer and let it vibrates while you watch your movie, it's been two hours now since you placed it on the drawer.

Then, the vibration stopped and was replaced by a single vibration.

You wipe your tears and take your phone from the drawer, the phone turn on when Maverick text appears.

"Baby please pick up"

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you jealous"

"Let me make it up to you"

"Please (Y/N), I love you.."

You want to ignore it but he called again. You let out a sigh and pick up his call.

You lay on your back and place your head on the pillow.

"Oh thank god, I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you jealous, I just helped her because she doesn't have anyone for help. And we didn't do anything, just a casual chat, nothing happens"

You didn't reply just looked at the ceiling with your phone in your ear. Maverick let out a sigh

"(Y/N) please, I love you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad" you hear him sniffle, and now you feel bad because you make him cry.

You let out a sigh "I forgive you. It's just I'm jealous because you have past with her, you used to be dating her and you have so much history with her, and she's more beautiful than me. I'm just afraid you're gonna fall for her again" you told him quietly. You begin insecure when talking about Maverick ex-girlfriends.

"Baby, there's no one in this world I'm gonna fall beside of you. She's just my past, you're my future. I used to be dating her, but now I'm dating you, I'm with you. I had a history with her, but now I'm making history with you. You're the most beautiful woman for me and there's no one compare to you. And I'm not gonna fall for anyone, I love you, I love you, I love you, you're my girlfriend, my girl, the love of my life. You're the only thing that I have now, you're the only thing that matters to me. I love you" he uttered.

You don't realize you're crying while he's talking. You sniffle and let out a sob. You turn to your side facing the window "Why do you make me cry"

"I love you too Pete Mitchell. I miss you" you said between your sob, you smile and wipe your tears.

"I miss you too baby, and never doubt yourself again. You're my girl okay? Don't be sad again or worry about another woman."

"Okay, gosh I wish you were here so I can give you a hug and kiss you" you turn to your back and wipe the remaining tears with your shirt.

"Just a kiss and hug? Nothing else?" You hear his teasing voice.

"You Pervert" you let out a chuckle.

"I love you (Y/N) Cain."

"I love you too Captain Pete Mitchell," you said softly and bit your lips.

***

You're in deep discussions with your team about the last test for the weapons when two Midshipmen appeared at the door. They salute all of you and look straight at you. People in the room were quiet waiting for the Midshipmen to speak up.

"Ma'am.." one of them said to you.

"Umm.. yeah" you raised your eyebrows.

"There's a chopper waiting for you"

You looked to your team but they just shrugged. You let out a sigh and follow the Midshipman to the tarmac.

When you were inside the chopper, they explained to you that Iceman passed away and you'll have to go back to San Diego to attend his funeral. You're quiet in the entire flight, your mind begins to think of Maverick. He lost his other best friend again, he'd been left by his best friend before, and now he has to go through that again.

When you arrived at the Pacific Fleet, it was Admiral Bates that waited for you when you landed. He knows the looked on your face and told you where he is.

"He's in the conference room" you nodded to him and purse your lips. You make a beeline and walked towards the entrance door. You walked through the hall until you find the conference room.

You open the door quietly and saw him. He sat on the seat in the corner, with his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands covering his face, he still have his flight suit on. You frowned and walk toward him.

You sat beside him and placed your hand on his shoulder. Maverick lift his head from his hand and turn to looked at you. His lips quiver and he throws himself at you.

You placed your arms on his midsection and Maverick circled his arms on your waist. He begins to sob on your shoulder. His body shook and you caress his back.

He pour all of his grief into his crying, his tears begin to soak your uniform but you didn't mind. He grips your uniform on your back tightly and he let out a whimpering sound. You cry quietly at his shoulder and rest your chin on it. You let him pour all of his sadness and grief onto you. He held onto you for his dear life.

***

After he calms down and collects himself, Maverick brought you to his house that Iceman set for him while he's in Miramar for Top Gun. It was a nice house with a beach backyard.

It's actually your dream house with him, you always love the beach. Despite you growing up at downtown, you always beg your father to take you to the beach once a week. You've always dreamed to have a nice house near the beach where you can enjoy them with your lover to watch the sunset in his arms.

It was already dark when you step out of Top Gun. You told Maverick to shower and you place the clothes he's gonna wear for sleep on top of the bed. You walked downstairs to make him some tea but there was nothing here, just some water bottle on the fridge and cups of ramen noodles, oats, and bread.

You let out a sigh and take his bike to buy him some groceries.

When you get back, Maverick is already waiting for you on the counter with a water bottle in his hand. He turn his head from the water bottle when he saw you walk toward him with two bags of groceries.

"Where were you" his voice is hoarse with how long he's crying on your shoulder. His hair is still damp from the shower and it soaked his shirt.

"Bought you some real food. You should eat real things, not something from packages" you show him the bag and place them on the counter. You begin to take out the groceries from the bag to the counter. You glance at Maverick and saw him fidgeting with his water bottle.

"Baby.." you call him softly, he lifts his head to you, his eyes are glossy, he probably thinking about Iceman again. You reach for his hand and squeeze it softly "why don't you wait for me upstairs, I'll make you some tea" you squeeze his hand.

"No, I want to be close to you" he shook his head. You let out a sigh and nodded, you continued to load out the groceries.

***

You found yourself standing on the Balcony with Maverick behind you, watching the pitch black ocean, contradicted by the sky that is so bright with the star scattered around them. Maverick circle his arms on your stomach from behind, chin resting on your shoulder, you intertwined your hand with his that rest on your stomach. Two Cups of tea resting on the railing still steaming hot.

"I miss him" Maverick muttered. You leaned your head on his shoulder.

"I miss him too" you squeeze his hand "without him, maybe we can't be together right now"

You feel Maverick hand tighten his grip on your stomach "he's doing so much for us. He give me this place because he thought you're gonna come with me" he inhales deeply.

"The place is beautiful baby" the sound of waves hitting the sand filled your conversation.

"The last time I spoke to him, he told me to let go." You turn around to face him and place your arms on his neck "he told me it's time to let go. But I don't know how" he looked into your eyes, his lips begin trembling and his tears begin to fall, you brought him into your arms and he begins to sob in your shoulder. His grip on your waist begins to tighten. You caress his back and let him cry on your shoulder.

***

When you woke up, Maverick still sleeping beside you, his arm resting on your waist. You reach out to caress his cheek and brush some of his hair that got into his forehead. He must be exhausted from all of the cryings last night. You carefully lift his hand that rests on your waist and get up from the bed.

You take a shower and prepare his uniform for the funeral today. You walked downstairs to make him breakfast and coffee.

When you pour the coffee from the pot, you saw him walk downstairs with a white undershirt and his uniform trouser. He was still fresh from the shower with a towel hanging on his neck.

"Why you didn't wake me up" he walked toward you and threw his arms on your waist from behind.

"Good morning to you too, I'm sorry, you looked still so sleepy" you turn your head to him and kiss him on the lips.

"Good morning baby" he leaned to kiss you again softly.

"You don't want to be late." You pat his cheek. He pursed his lips and nodded. Remembering about the funeral.

***

At the funeral, you stand with the students and aviators. You saw how Maverick try to hold his tears while placing Iceman Naval Aviator badge on his casket. You want to hug him and let him cry on your shoulder, he didn't have to hold back.

After the funeral, Maverick got called to Top Gun by Admiral Simpson. You hug him before he's gone to base, he wants to take you home at first, but you reject and told him you already have a ride. A few minutes later, an SUV was parked in front of you. The Navy assigned the driver while you were here. You climbed into the back seat and told him to drive to Maverick's house.

***

When you go out of the shower, Maverick is sitting on the bed with a sad look on his face. You sat beside him and touch his shoulder. He looked at you "they fired me (Y/N)"

"Oh baby.." you hug him and he buries his face on your neck. After a few minutes of hugging each other, Maverick pull away, he looked into your eyes "Can you help me forget about this day?" Lust hooded in his eyes. You nodded and pull out your shirt, Maverick leaned to kiss you passionately and lay you on the bed with him hovering over you.

The kiss begins demanding with Maverick hand trailing down to your back and unhooking your bra, he threw the bra somewhere in the room. His kiss trailed down to your jaw and neck to your free breast. He pull away and stared at your swollen lips. You breathe heavily and catch your breath. Maverick raise his hand to brush your hair.

"I love you.." before you can answer back, he leaned down to kiss your lips with so much passion.

***

After your lovemaking session, you rest your head on his naked chest, a duvet covering your naked body with him. You two still embrace your after-glow sex.

Maverick have his arm behind his head and the other caressing your naked back softly. He stared at the ceiling.

"I don't know what to do (Y/N), when I'm ready to take the responsibility, they set me off" he let out a sigh. You scoot closer and rest your chin on his chest with your hand underneath them.

Maverick tilt his head down to look at you, you give him a small smile "you don't sound like Maverick"

He raised his eyebrows at you and looked at you puzzled.

"Maverick I know never say I don't know, he always knows what to do," you told him and reach out to caress his cheek with your free hand.

Before he can answer back, your phone rings on the nightstands. You turn around to reach out for your phone, you read the caller ID before hitting the green button and accepting the call.

"Yeah.." you place the phone on your ear.

You propped your body with your elbow.

"Okay, I'm at Captain Mitchell's house.."

"Thank you.." you ended the call and place your phone back on the nightstands. You get up from the bed and gather your clothes.

"Wait, you already want to leave?" He frowned and propped his body to look at your naked body walking around the room gathering your articles of clothing.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to leave after the funeral," you told him and after you find your bra under the bed. You walked to the bathroom to change into your uniform.

You're out ten minutes later. You sitting on the bed to put your boot on. Maverick still lay on the bed, with a duvet covering half of his naked body.

"(Y/N), what do you think I should do?" He turns to look at your back. You tie your lashes and turn to him.

"I don't know "you shrug and smile at him, Maverick cock an eyebrow at your answer.

"What do you always do when people start to doubt your skill of flying?" You stared at his eyes.

"I'll show them that I can do that" he shrugs. You smile and reach out to touch his cheek "exactly, that's what my Maverick always do" you caress his cheek lovingly. You hear your phone ring again, they must be here.

You leaned down and give his kiss a smooch "I'll see you in two weeks. I love you baby"

"I love you too" you stand up and reach for your phone on the nightstands. Maverick let out a sigh and lay his head on the pillow beneath him. He staring at the ceiling thinking about your words.

***

You're inside the Comanche plane preparing the plane and the weapons for the mission today. A Midshipman approached you and informed you that the pilot that'll do this mission has arrived.

"Ma'am, Captain Mitchell requested to see you" another Midshipman come and inform you, he step aside and revealed Maverick with his flight suit on.

"Oh no...." you muttered. He let out a sigh and stared into your eyes. "Can we talk" he glances at the crew on the plane " in private"

***

Now you found yourself in the hangar, watching the ocean with Maverick beside you.

You hug yourself "You said you just gonna be the instructor, not the one that'll gonna lead this mission," you said to him, still looking at the ocean. Your tears are at the bay. You turn to him and that's when your tears fall down. "I read the mission Mav, it's dangerous, and-and has low chances to get out alive" your lips quiver and you bit your bottom lip to hold yourself from sobbing.

Maverick leaned closer and reach for your hand "But we did it baby, we trained, and we know how to do it successfully and return home safely" he reassured you.

"Training is different from real life" you exclaimed.

Maverick brought you to his arms and you begin to sob in his arms. He strokes your back and kisses your hair, trying to calm you down. He can't bear it when you're crying or sad because of him. After a few minutes, your sobbing begins to reduce. He rests his chin on top of your head. "You remember when Ice told me I should let go this time?" He muttered. You nodded in his embrace. "I think this is the time. This is gonna be my last mission and" he pull you away from him and stared at you.

He grabs something from his pocket and takes out a black velvety box, you let out a gasp and covered your mouth with your hand. He opens the box and a beautiful ring with a blue diamond in the middle of it is presented to you.

He looked into your eyes "I'm gonna spend my life with you. So will you marry me?"

You let out a choked sob and begin to cry again. "Why now? It's not the right time" you sniffle, and Maverick begins to frown, thinking you reject him, but you reach out for his hand. "Of course, I want to marry you"

He chuckles and takes out the ring from the box, he takes your left hand and put the ring on your ring finger.

You looked at the ring on your finger closely and examined it."It's so beautiful." You cooed, you looked at him "But you're gonna do this mission Mav, I can't bear myself if I'm losing you" you frowned.

Maverick leaned closer and cup your cheek, he wipe your tears with his thumb. "You won't baby, I promise to you. I promise I'll come back. If you want we can go to Hondo and marry us right now in here" he offered.

You let out a chuckle and sniffle "I want you to be my husband for the rest of my life. Not just a day. I don't want you to get hunted by my dad's drones and get killed". He let out a breathy laugh and tuck you into his arms.

He kiss your forehead "I love you (Y/N) Cain" he muttered on your forehead

"I love you too, Pete Mitchell" you tightened your grip on his waist.

***

"Maverick," Hondo called for Maverick that looked lost in thoughts.

"Maverick?" Maverick turn to Hondo on his side. He was already seated on his Jet.

"Hey, you with me?" He looked at him in concern, Maverick just give him a look "I don't like that look, mav." Hondo shakes his head.

"It's the only one I got." Maverick was silent for a second. He turned to Hondo again "Thank you. If I don't see you again, Hondo, thank you."

Hondo shakes his head "Don't say that, (Y/N) told me what happened. You can't bail on her, you know how her dad is", he and Maverick let out a chuckle. Maverick actually want to marry you when he proposed, he's not joking about getting Hondo to Marry you on the Hangar. He can call you his wife, and you can call him your husband even if it's just a few hours. He'll die in happiness because he knows how it feels to build a life that he dreamed about last night, even if it is just a few hours.

Hondo then places his hand on Maverick shoulder. "It's been an honour, Captain."

Maverick nodded and Hondo leave him for his takeoff.

***

You're sitting in the control room with Hondo beside you, the headphones rest on your head. They want you to control the Comanche for the weapons operations inside the plane, but you can't do that, not with Maverick on the team. You don't want to jeopardize the mission.

The Comms officer begins to send the Dagger team and Comanche on the air. You looked closely at the screen with one arm resting on your stomach and the other resting under your chin.

The Comms announced that the Dagger Team and Comanche are below the radar now. You held your breath for a second and waited for their attack.

The Comms looked over to you and you nodded "launch the Tomahawks" you said to your comm.

"Tomahawks airborne. Thirty seconds to tomahawk impact on enemy airstrip." The second Comms informed the room and you let out a sigh, the real mission is gonna start soon.

The Comms informed about the delay on Rooster jet. You shared a looked with Hondo when the second Comms inform that the missile hit the target. The enemy gonna know now.

You bounced your leg and bit your bottom lips hearing the squad destroy the target and try to escape the missiles that chase them, and then something that you prayed for not to happen, happened.

"Dagger one is hit! I repeat dagger one is hit! Maverick is down." You abruptly rose to your feet and looked at the screen with wide eyes. It is not happening, he promised you to come back.

Your ears begin to ringing, and the sound around you has faded away. You begin breathing heavily. You take out your headphones and turn around to walk out of the room, you hear their faded argument and Hondo calling your name, but you just keep walking out of the room.

Your feet carry you to the hangar where Maverick proposed to you. You fall to your knees and begin to sob.

He promise to come back, he promise to marry you, but now he's gone, and there's nothing you can't do. Maverick is gone, your boyfriend, your best friend, your lover, half of you is gone.

You begin to sob and placed your left hand on your chest, his engagement ring begins heavy in your hand. You should accept his offer when he says he would marry you here. You should accept it, you would be happy to call him husband even if it is just a few hours. But now he is gone, and you can't call him your husband.

You don't know how long you sobbed and sit on the cold floor when Hondo place his hand on your shoulder. You looked at him with puffy eyes and tears still streaming down your cheeks. He already has his CWO vest on.

"They're back, Maverick and Rooster are alive," He told you. You stared at him, you didn't know Rooster got hit too.

You wipe your tears with your sleeve and Hondo offered his hand to assist you to stand up. He smiles at you and pats your shoulder.

You wipe your neck where the tears trailed down to there. Hondo leaves you to prepare for Maverick landing and you go to the bathroom first to wash your face. Your eyes are still puffy with how long you cried. You walked out of the Bathroom straight to the entrance door. You stood beside Admiral Simpson and looked at Maverick that embrace Rooster. You let out a small sob and place your hand on your mouth. He's alive, without a scratch.

Maverick pull away from Rooster and looked at you, he mouthed I love you to you and you looked at him and kiss the engagement ring that he gave you.

***

You stared at the standing mirror in front of you and looked at your wedding dress. It was a beautiful wedding dress for your beach theme wedding. You're gonna marry Maverick today in the backyard of the house Iceman bought for him. It has a nice beach at the back, so you decided to Marry in there.

You hear knocks on the door and turn around to face the door.

"Come in" you called out, your father, Admiral Cain, dressed up in a tuxedo stepped into the room. You decided you didn't want any military traditions for your wedding, you want them simple like any civilian wedding. Besides, it is just a small wedding in the backyard with just family and close friends attending them.

He looked at you from the open door, "You looked beautiful" he walked toward you, and you smile sheepishly at him."Thanks, dad"

You saw him try to hold back his tears but they still come out. You let out a breathy laugh and your tears spill down too. He wipes your tears with his thumb and caresses your cheeks lovingly. He kisses your forehead and pulls away.

"C'mon, I think it's time I'm handing you to that punk," he told you and give you the flower that you place on the Vanity. You take the flowers from his hand and rolled your eyes. "Dad, he's gonna be your son-in-law soon, be nice to him."

He grumble something and you looped your arms with his. You walked to the backdoor of the house that already decorated so it is visible for someone to see from outside.

The piano song of 'Here's come the bride' can be heard when the backdoor is opened. You put on your biggest smile and walked down to Maverick that wearing a blue Tuxedo on the decorated aisle waiting with Bradley as his best man. Hondo is gonna marry you today.

"You know, I still don't like him" your dad muttered in your ear when you two close to the aisle. You just rolled your eyes at him and continue to walk to the aisle.

You arrived at Maverick and your dad give your hand to Maverick. He grab Maverick shoulder roughly and looked him in the eyes. "Take care of her, or you know what happened if you make her sad" he threatened him.

Maverick gulped and nodded"Yes sir".

He released Maverick and kiss your cheek before he walked to sit beside your sister's husband. You give the flower in your hand to your sister as your bridesmaids.

You let out a chuckle and Maverick hold your hands tightly. You can feel his hand sweating in yours.

Hondo clears his throat and begins the ceremony.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, the joining of two hearts. In this ceremony today, we will witness the joining (Y/N) Cain and Pete Mitchell in marriage." You stared at Maverick eyes and he do the same. You two have the biggest smile on your face during the entire Hondo talk of the opening ceremony.

"You're beautiful" he mouthed. You tilt down your head to hide your blush and mouthed thank you to him.

"Today we have come together to witness the joining of these two lives. For them, out of the routine of ordinary life, the extraordinary has happened. They met each other, fell in love and are finalizing their wedding today. Romance is fun, but true love is something far more and it is their desire to love each other for life and that is what we are celebrating here today."

"Now, Repeat after me" Hondo turn to Maverick that still staring at you with a goofy smile on his face, Hondo have to repeat his words to break Maverick attention. Maverick looked at Hondo with wide eyes, embarrassed, he then clears his throat.

"I, Pete Mitchell take you (Y/N) Cain to be my lawfully wedded wife, my constant friend, my faithful partner and my love from this day forward. In the presence of our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honour and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live." Maverick follow every word Hondo said. He stared into your eyes and never lose his smile. He squeeze your hand after he finished his vow.

Hondo then turns to you "(Y/N), Repeat after me: I (Y/N) Cain take you Pete Mitchell to be my lawfully wedded husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner and my love from this day forward. In the presence of our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honour and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live." You follow every word Hondo said. After you finish your vow people begin to cheer and clap. You have to bite your bottom lips to contain your smile.

"By the power vested in me by the state of and American Marriage Ministries, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." Maverick and you begin to lean toward each other and he kisses you passionately. People that cheering and clapping are fades away with how Maverick kisses you. He reaches his hand to cup your cheek and deepens the kiss that makes people go wild.

***

After your wedding ceremony, Maverick brought you to his shop.

You are seated on the back seat of his Mustang P-51 that he got fixed before the wedding. You are still in your wedding dress and he is still in his wedding suit. He sat on the pilot seat and turn to you.

"You ready, my wife?" He called out

"Ready as I'll ever be, my husband," you told him. He closed the canopy and begins to turn on the engine, he takeoff the plane and takes you for a joyride to the valley with Sun illuminating your body. The banner that was written "Just Married" was tied up on the tail of the plane. It unravels when you two are in the sky.

#top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell fic #pete mitchell x y/n #pete maverick mitchell x female reader #pete mitchell x female reader #maverick x reader #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x y/n #maverick fluff #maverick x you #tom cruise #tom cruise fic

176 notes · View notes