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valleyof-goldenlilies · 10 months

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The Woes of Betrothals (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Part 2 about the wedding is out now! Read it here

Synopsis: Recently betrothed, Prince Aemond is unsure on the virtues befitting that of a good husband. Ser Criston offers some surprisingly useful insight.

Warnings: nothing explicit, just Aemond being emotionally constipated

Word Count: 3k words. this was supposed to be a short one shot 😭

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: In a fluff writing mood recently, so expect to see more fluffs coming your way (not just for aemond :)) 💗

lovely dividers once again credited to @firefly-graphics !

Heavy grunts and the clashing sound of steel on steel resonated through the training yard of the Red Keep. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, Prince Aemond, his forehead beaded with sweat, moved deftly to dodge a blow struck by Ser Criston Cole’s morningstar.

It was nearly noon, and the Prince and Kingsguard had been training since the break of dawn. Ser Criston had a look of exhaustion on his face, the midday sun clearly taking a toll on him, but Prince Aemond continued sparring with a fierce determination, parrying Criston’s offensives with utmost precision or viciously swinging his sword to land a blow on the knight.

Whilst the prince was fond of training for long hours, Ser Criston was familiar enough with Prince Aemond’s various moods to know that today, while he was there in person, he was not in spirit. Seeing a chance, Criston quickly moved to swing a blow at Prince Aemond, and succeeded in catching him off guard, knocking the sword from the Prince’s hand for the first time this morning.

Criston expected the prince to get angry that he had been bested, but Aemond merely raised a brow and rolled his eye, “I yield. Let us cease training for this morning.” Applause broke out through the training yard, and Criston had to hide a grin. It had been a while since he managed to beat Aemond in training.

As the crowd dispersed, Criston noticed Aemond polishing his sword at a corner, a brooding look on his face. Feeling particularly emboldened this morning at his victory, Criston walked towards the prince, setting down his morningstar as he questioned, “What troubles you, my prince?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are insinuating, Cole,” came Aemond’s curt response, but Criston was undeterred. “You may pretend all is well, but you have been on edge for a few days now, aye?” Criston commented, observing how the prince’s jaw was clenched. Oddly enough, he noticed doubt shining in the prince’s lone violet eye., catching Criston off guard “You may have been sparring with me this morning, but your heart is elsewhere. Tell me what troubles you, my prince.”

Criston expected the prince to scowl and tell him it was none of his business, but instead, Aemond let out a pensive sigh, before tentatively asking, “Ser Criston, how do you reckon one should please their betrothed?”

Criston’s ears immediately stood up in attention. Gods be good, the One-Eyed Prince was asking him for advice? And about his betrothed no less. As a Kingsguard, Criston had to suppress a laugh at the irony. “Are you referring to the Lady Y/N Y/L/N, my prince?”

“Well, it could hardly be anyone else, could it?” Aemond retorted, though his heart was not in it. Criston watched, amused, as Aemond hummed contemplatively, “As you know, she and I were betrothed less than a moon’s turn ago. I had not crossed paths with her often before that, but…” Aemond swallowed, thinking of how brilliantly she smiled at him every time he had the fortune of being graced with her presence. He had always knew that his marriage would be one of duty and political benefit to his house, but over the course of getting to know the lady over the past few weeks, he found her company pleasant, and her gentle charm and surprisingly humorous wit a welcome change in the usual dreadfully boring courtiers at the Red Keep. And with every passing moment he spent in her presence, he felt a small sliver of affection for her begin to blossom in his heart. “As I got to know her more, I soon began to wish to be the sole cause of her brilliant smiles, her beautiful laughter, and selfishly, the sole receiver of her love and affection.”

Aemond had to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. He was sounding like a lovesick fool, in front of Cole, of all people. Gods, he was an idiot, an utter idiot. Swords he could swing and books he could read, but when it came to affection, he found himself no better than an ignorant babe. “It sounds as though you harbour a great affection for the lady Y/L/N,” Criston smiled. “Yes,” Aemond said softly, his voice tinged a little with despair. “But I am unsure on how to best express my affections. She is akin to an ethereal maiden, and I’m naught but a crippled prince, who is stumped in my duties as a husband. I cannot seem to muster up the courage to proclaim my love for her, or shower her with praises and compliments.”

‘Gods, what if she is unhappy with my performance of my duties as her husband because I am too much of a coward to even talk to her about my feelings?’ Aemond thought in alarm, mind racing. He did not want to be the reason why those lovely smiles of hers cease to exist. He wanted to make her feel like the most blissful woman in the realm. But he was completely clueless as to how. Words seemed completely inadequate to express the depth of his affection for her, and he had never been the best with his words anyway.

Just then, Aemond felt a hand on his shoulder, grounding him to reality once more “Breathe, my prince,” Criston’s steady voice calmed Aemond down, making his racing thoughts come to a screeching halt. “I do believe you are overthinking things, my prince. Contrary to popular belief, I think that affection need not be expressed in elaborate gestures or through fervent declarations of love all the time.”

Aemond’s eyebrows shot up, “Then how will she know how much I appreciate her? I can barely converse with her without looking like a stuttering fool.” Criston smiled, a sort of fatherly affection filling his eyes as he glanced down at the prince. “Though I am lacking in experience in matters of the heart, I believe that affection isn’t always just about grand gestures. Words are not the only outlet to express your admiration of her, my prince. You can start with the little actions: spending time with her, bringing her flowers, talking more with her about her interests, that sort of thing.” “And you think that that would be sufficient?”Aemond was a little sceptical.

“Of course, that would not suffice in the long run. You are to be married, my prince, you will spend countless years with each other, you will have to do more than that.” Aemond’s face turned crestfallen, causing Criston to pat his shoulder, “However, given your trouble in expressing your feelings, these small gestures are a start. Build up from there, and you’ll find it easier to demonstrate your love for her over time.” Aemond’s gaze was still pensive, but his eye was sparkling a little with hope. “But what if I’m at a loss of words every time I’m with her? Won’t she find my company dreadfully dull then?” Criston couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him, though Aemond looked faintly offended at that. “Sometimes, your company is good enough, your Grace. Not all your time spent together need be filled with meaningful conversations. Basking in each other’s presence is bliss enough.”

Satisfied with Criston’s response, Aemond stood up with a decisive look. “I am grateful for your advice, Cole. I shall depart to implement your advice at once.” Before leaving, however, Aemond tilted his head and smirked slightly, “You are rather good at giving romantic advice for a knight, Ser Criston. Your wisdom is wasted on being a Kingsguard.”

Criston barked a laugh, thinking of that someone from so long ago. “Mayhaps, your grace. But I think I am rather content imparting my knowledge to you for now.” Aemond said nothing at that, only raising a hand in farewell as he strode off. Criston watched him depart, a slight grin on his face. ‘The Queen would be delighted to hear of this,’ he thought to himself with a degree of satisfaction.

You were sitting in Princess Helaena’s apartments, forehead furrowed in concentration as you delicately weaved a needle through the handkerchief you were embroidering for your betrothed. The midday sun shone through the long windows, casting a light golden glow throughout Helaena’s chambers.

“Here, what do you think of this?” Helaena leaned over to you, eyes shining with anticipation as you held up your work so far. “It’s beautiful,” Helaena complimented, “Is that a raven?” You nodded, tilting your head to inspect your work. “Do you think it is too unusual to embroider on a handkerchief?” Helaena laughed, “You should not be asking me. Given the fact that-” she held up her own embroidery, and you laughed when you caught sight of a large beetle on her handkerchief.

“I have to ask, however, why a raven?” Helaena inquired. You bit your lip softly, remembering your last interaction with your betrothed, Aemond. Knowing your love for birds, Aemond had taken you to Grand Maester Orwyle’s rookery, to see the various birds he had fostered there. You had both taken a liking to the ravens, with their intelligent eyes and strangely silent demeanour, compared to the other noisier birds in the rookery. You thought to yourself that they reminded you much of Aemond, though you did not say it out loud, watching with fond eyes as Aemond fed a raven and stroked its feathers, with a gentleness you did not know he possessed.

“Your brother seems to like them,” you answered, smiling. Helaena beamed, “I’m sure he would be pleased with your gift.” “I do hope so,” your voice trailed off hesitantly, causing Helaena to take your free hand and squeeze it lightly. You had been much enamoured with your betrothed ever since your arrival to King’s Landing several moon turns ago, and you have come to know and appreciate him for his silent, thoughtful aura. However, his comportment did spell some uncertainty in you. While you knew this was a political match, your heart couldn’t help but yearn that your future husband would love you as much as you did him.

But it was nigh impossible to tell what the One-Eyed Prince was thinking whenever we spent time together. He seemed perfectly cordial to you…but you wished you could get a further glimpse into what he felt for you. Did he feel at least a fraction of the adoration you felt for him? Or were you doomed to spend a lifetime in a courteous, yet dispassionate and loveless marriage with a man you long admired?

Your thoughts were cut off by a sudden knock on the door. Startled, you nearly dropped your embroidery, but Helaena caught it deftly just in time. Sheepishly murmuring your thanks, you watched as a serving girl came into the room and curtsied in front of the both of you. “Your Grace, my lady, Prince Aemond is requesting to see you.”

Aemond? Your heart began pounding furiously, delight and anticipation filling you. Was he here to see you? You tried tamping down your excitement, thinking firmly to yourself that he could be equally as likely to be here for Helaena. “Did he say which of the two of us he wanted to see?” “He wished to see Lady Y/N, your Grace.”

Your heart was beating so fast it felt dangerously close to exploding. Your mind was spinning in a dizzying rush of emotions. Helaena dismissed the serving girl, and smiled at you, “Well, I should not keep my brother waiting any longer for his betrothed. Go.”

“Thank you, your Grace. Will I see you at dinner with the Queen tonight?” “Of course. You must tell me everything that happens,” Helaena’s eyes twinkled merrily. “That is a given,” you stood up and curtsied, before exiting the room, clutching the handkerchief you just sewed like it was the last thing grounding you to reality. Your steps were light and airy, and your heart nearly stopped when you saw Aemond standing by a window, his back to you, looking as majestic as ever in his training gear and his long silver hair flowing down his back. Your betrothed.

“My Prince,” a sweet voice broke through Aemond’s thoughts. He turned around, his eye widening as he beheld his fair lady. She was dressed beautifully as always, in a light pink gown with a square neckline and elbow length sleeves. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes, serving only to accentuate her lovely complexion. He strode to her as she curtsied, his hand reaching out to her shoulder.

“At ease,” Aemond’s voice was like velvet. “You are my betrothed, there is no need for such formalities.” You nodded shyly, meeting Aemond’s eye, surprised that today, there was actually a flicker of emotion behind it. Noticing how he shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, your eyes widened slightly as you realised that Aemond Targaryen, the usually composed and unflinching prince, was nervous. And it was because of you.

Aemond cleared his throat, finally revealing what he had been hiding behind his back. Just when you thought the day’s events could not get any stranger than seeing Aemond being anxious, you were caught even more off guard when you spotted an assortment of pink, blue and orange blooms in his hand.

“These are for you, my lady,” he added, eye darting over her face to drink in all her beautiful features and most importantly, her reaction to his attempt at expressing his adoration for her. He was immensely relieved to find nothing but genuine delight on his betrothed’s face.

“Oh, they’re wonderful,” you exclaimed happily, a flush going to your cheeks. “You are too kind, my prince. Thank you, I love them.” Aemond watched tenderly as she took the flowers and held them to her nose. She was simply angelic.

You inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, feeling your heart flutter at his sudden, but welcome gesture of affection. Perhaps this was a sign he returned your feelings?

Aemond took a deep breath, trying to recall all the advice Criston had told him in the training yard just now. He had stopped by the garden to pick out the prettiest wildflowers he could find, but he found that none could compare to the sheer radiance of his betrothed when she smiled. ‘Focus’, Aemond told himself sternly, trying to collect his thoughts. ‘This was about making her see how much I care for her, not waxing on and on internally about how utterly struck I am by her beauty. I cannot mess this up.’

‘I must make her see how she has come to become the sun in my life.’

But Aemond was cut off by your sudden ‘Oh!’ Aemond nearly jumped out of his skin, afraid that there was something wrong with the flowers. But he was puzzled when you extended a handkerchief to him, smiling brightly. “I embroidered this for you. Take this as a token of gratitude for the flowers.” Aemond turned over the handkerchief delicately, tracing over the raven and various flowers sewed at the corner of the handkerchief, along with his initials, ‘A.T’ He felt his breath catch in his throat, “This…this is…”

You watched him nervously as he stammered before falling into silence. Did he not like it? Perhaps he thought the raven was too much? You gripped the flowers in your hand a little tighter, saying a prayer to the Seven in your mind.

Your worries were immediately allayed when Aemond pressed a shaky kiss onto your forehead. Startled, yet utterly enchanted, you stared up at him, who looked almost as shocked as you were at the kiss. “I…I take it you like your gift then?” you asked softly.

He let out a quiet chuckle, “I think ‘like’ is an understatement, my lady. It is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given to me. I shall cherish it forever. As I will with you.”

Aemond nearly screamed when he realised he blurted out the last part. ‘Why did I say that, why did I say that, why did I say that!’ his mind flooded with panic. However, suddenly emboldened from the adrenaline of the moment, he finally found the courage to express what he had been feeling for his fair lady. “My lady, I would like to confess something, and I think there couldn’t be a more appropriate time than this. I am hopelessly besotted with you.” He watched her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he hurried to add, “Tis alright if you do not return those feelings! I understand, believe me. I do not wish to force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with. But it’s just that I loved you for so long, and I had no idea how to tell you, and I fear if I let this moment slip I will never muster up the bravery to tell you again and gods I-” the energy suddenly drained out of him as he found himself once again, at a loss of words. “I just…adore you beyond belief. Beyond what I can fathom. Please ignore my ramblings if you are uncomfortable with them, just take them as the words of a lovesick fool.” He averted her eyes, embarrassment and sadness filling him. How could he hope for someone as good and wonderful as her to love such a beast as him? The Gods should strike him down for his pride.

A warm hand reached for Aemond’s, interlacing her fingers with his. Aemond looked up in disbelief at your next words, “You have no idea how thankful I am to hear those words…because I feel the same.” You smiled shyly at him, “I was hoping you had the same sentiments as I did, and now that you professed your feelings, I could not be happier.”

Aemond reached out to grip her hand with both of his, cradling her soft hand in his hands, staring deep into her eyes, sparkling with so much devotion and adoration. They stood in silence for a while, before Aemond pulled her hand gently to his lips and planted a reverent kiss to her knuckles.

“Would you…perhaps care to take a stroll with me, my lady? I believe we have a lot to discuss.”

“I would love nothing more, your Grace.”

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blindmagdalena · 4 months

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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )

18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. CH I. CH 3

Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.

After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.

Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.

Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.

There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.

After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?

You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.

Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.

Truce?

You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.

Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.

Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.

Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.

You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.

Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.

If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.

You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.

No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.

Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.

That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.

It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.

A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.

Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.

Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.

“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.

“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.

“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.

“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language. “What you owe me is an apology.”

Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”

He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.

“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “

The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols.

To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”

You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.

“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”

He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.

“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”

The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.

“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression..

He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.

“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”

He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”

Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.

Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.

Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.

Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.

The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.

Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.

The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.

That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.

In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.

Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think.

It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.

“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away.

Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.

At least that gives him something to gift you.

Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.

Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns.

He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.

The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.

Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe.

Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.

Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.

Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.

That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.

He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.

He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.

Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as “a large purple massage wand.”

A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.

Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–

“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.

He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.

Christ.

So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.

No bra.

His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…

Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.

Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?

He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.

It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.

He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.

Not yet.

He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.

Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.

He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.

( chapter three )

#i have no self control ENJOYYYYY #praise me it's shocking i finished this so quickly #although it's not really finished bc i'm stretching it into 3 parts but #couldn't help myself i needed him to be a little weirdo #next chapter is already started tho and shouldn't take long!#ALSO I MADE THIS GIF #i'm so happy lol #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #homelander #plus size reader

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starogeorgina · 5 months

Text

𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Paring: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen OC, minor Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen OC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, kidnapping, sexual blackmail, self harm (overall dark themes)

Chapter: 1.01

Blood and cheese.

Fucking blood and cheese.

The destruction that blood and cheese caused would haunt Aemond until the day he died. He never meant for Lucerys to die; he thought at most his nephew would piss his pants and fly off home crying to his mother; instead, he indirectly set off a chain of events that couldn’t be stopped and was responsible for tearing his own family apart.

If Arrax hadn't breathed fire on Vhagar, then Vhagar never would have...

It was his fault.

Deep down, he knew that.

And now Aemond had paid the ultimate price. He took his half sister’s son away from her, and now the blacks have taken his sweet wife and unborn child from him.

Not only was the prince demented with fear of not knowing what had become of his beloved Viola, but his poor sister Helaena was forced to make the worst choice a parent could make and lost her firstborn son, Jaehaerys. He could never bring his nephews back, but perhaps he could still save his wife, if he ever found her. His wife’s dragon Stardust has been circling the keep, squealing loudly while looking for her rider since the day Viola was taken, and whenever the dragon went silent, a fleeting feeling of hope would cross Aemond's mind that perhaps she had returned, but that was never the case.

The prince’s fingers grip the leather arm rest of the chair tightly, and his knuckles turn white as his mind takes him to a dark place. Was someone mistreating his wife? Was she dead? He had been tracking the dates and had determined that his unborn babe should have been born two months ago.

“Prince Aemond.”

He stands when the king's hand approaches him holding an opened scroll in his hand, “grandsire.”

“I believe we know where Princess Viola is.”

“You’ve said that before,” he spits harshly. “And all it did was cause my mother more heartache.”

As soon as the words leave Aemond’s mouth, he regrets them; his comment wasn’t fair. His grandsire cared for them all but had a particular soft spot for his granddaughters. Aemond often had to remind himself that his wife being taken affected the rest of his family as well. His grandsire had used every connection he had to try and find Viola, while his mother had sent ravens to Rhaenyra, begging for her daughter's return.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. “Where is she?”

Otto nods, giving him a look of understanding. “Dragonstone.”

“Dragonstone,” he repeats. Could it be that she was so close to home all this time? The last time Aemond thought he had found his wife, he ended up burning Harrenhal to the ground. “How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

Otto holds up the scroll: “A raven arrived from Prince Jacaerys.”

Believing he’s heard everything he needs to, Aemond goes to leave but is stopped at the door by Ser Criston, who gives him a sympathetic look and pats his shoulder. “There are still things you need to know, my prince.”

—

You stare up at the ceiling, waiting for your uncle to appear. He always comes when the sun disappears and the sky turns black. On cue, the door to the room is unlocked, and your uncle walks in with a strut in his step. One of his hands had a tight grip on the head of his Valyrian steel sword, while the other dangled the key.

Knowing what his intentions were, you pull up your gown, spread your legs wide open, lick two of your fingers before bringing them to your clitoral area, and begin rubbing in a circular motion. This wasn’t about putting a show on for your abductor; you just wanted it to be over quickly. “Your cunt of a brother stole my wife’s crown, sending her into early labor, and your husband killed our Lucerys in cold blood. You are going to rectify those things by replacing what was taken from us.” Since the day the maester cleared you for sex again, your uncle has visited you nightly.

Daemon smirks, “Such an eggar girl, I’m starting to think you enjoy our nightly activities.”

You wondered if Daemon convinced himself that he doesn’t mistreat you so he could sleep better at night and find a way to forgive himself because he knew the gods wouldn’t forgive him for what he was doing to his own kin.

“Don’t stop touching yourself until I say so,” he orders.

You do as he says, thinking of Aemond as you touch yourself.

“Husband.”

Aemond looks up at you with a smile on his face. You’d been searching for him for hours, and you now feel silly for not searching the castle's library first. He often reads late at night before joining you in bed, but because of the stormy weather, you thought your husband might have gone dragon riding.

“You’ve kept me waiting.”

“Oh, I must have lost track of time; my apologies,” he says sincerely. He puts a bookmark in place, then sits the book on the small table beside him.

You walk towards him with a smirk on your lips. “It’s quite alright, my love, but I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Wha—”

By unfolding your robe and pulling up your sheer nightgown, you grant Aemond complete entry to your glistening cunt. He slides his finger along your folds gently, “so wet already.”

“I warmed myself up while waiting,” you tease.

Aemond kisses over your clothed body while sliding a finger into you, a smile pulling on his lips. “Well, I better not keep you waiting any longer, my dear wife.”

Daemon smacks your hand away, replacing your hand with his, and rubs at your clit until a moan slips from your mouth. He kneeled down and buried his head between your legs, bringing you pleasure with his skilled tongue. You hated yourself for enjoying the feeling of his mouth on you. When your walls start to clench, Daemon abruptly stops and unties his breeches low enough for his cock to spring out. He spits into his hand and strokes himself to complete hardness before sliding into you.

You wince at the stretch. Daemon wasn’t much smaller than your husband, but it always seemed to hurt when he thrust into you.

Perhaps that was deliberate on his part.

It didn’t matter how rough Aemond was with you; he never hurt you. Not once.

—

It doesn’t take Daemon long to reach his peak inside you, filling you with seed. Once he’s caught his breath, he begins to quickly fix his breeches. “You had tears in your eyes.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.”

He scoffs, “If it’s causing you so much pain, I can have the maesters bring tea; that will help.”

“I don’t want a tea to dry my milk up, uncle; I want to see my babe, Daenys, and feed her myself.”

He shoots you a cold glare and says, “No.”

You practically leap from the bed and press your back against the door, just as he reaches to open it. “Please, Daemon, please. You said I could see my daughter. All I want to know is that she’s safe. Please, please!”

“I said you could see her once you held up your end of the deal.”

When he forcefully pulls the door open, you are forced to move forward to let him by, and your body shakes with anger. “I’ve held up my—”

Daemon grips your face harshly. “The deal was that I would return the Kinslayers babe to you once you're pregnant!”

The single door to the room is slammed shut and locked, and you're all on your own again. Tears fall from your eyes as you move to the bed and curl up in the thin bed sheets. You felt like a fool when Daemon first took you as his prisoner. You sobbed and begged at his feet, promising to do anything it took to stay alive so that your unborn child could survive. And out of all the horrific thoughts that crossed your mind, you did not consider that he would force you into becoming a vessel, with the sole purpose of giving him another heir.

The only person who was kind to you was your nephew, Jacaerys. Sometimes he’d manage to sneak you extra food during the day, but mostly he’d sneak in to see you during the hour of the owl and would bring Daenys with him.

The few hours a night you got to spend with her made everything you suffered seem worth it, but it was never enough. The visits had become less and less, as Jacaerys was terrified of Daemon finding out. Your nephew promised he’d find a way to free you, but day by day, your hope of ever making it off Dragonstone was fading.

—

Aemond squeezes the sapphire necklace that he had made from his wife moons ago. It was his intention to give it to her on her birthday, but he never got the chance. Her eyes would light up whenever she got excited, and he imagined how they would look when she received her gift. He knew his wife would appreciate the sapphire carved into the shape of a heart. The sharp point of the bottom of the heart digs into his palm; the sting of it is the only thing that reminds the prince he is alive as he listens to his grandsire talk about his beloved.

“It seems Rhaenyra has slowly descended into madness, leaving the island under the charge of prince Daemon, who has deemed princess Viola his new— whore.” The pain and disgust in Otto’s voice was clear as he spoke of his granddaughter's fate. “Jacaerys states Viola has given birth to a healthy baby not long after she was taken, a girl.”

Aemond struggles to breathe as all the air is sucked from his lungs again. He had a daughter, a baby girl. Tears threatened to spill from his eye, but he squeezed the necklace harder to stop that from happening. It’s not until Aemond feels a warm liquid falling from his hand that he realizes he had held onto too tightly, and now he is bleeding.

Ser Criston notices but doesn’t draw attention to it; the knight clears his throat. “What does the bastard want in return?”

“For his mother's life to be spared,” Otto replies. “He even says he’d bend the knee if it meant saving her.”

“It could be a trick.”

“No,” Alicent says. “I don’t believe he would gamble on his mother's life. Rhaenyra’s sons love her; this we cannot deny.”

“Mother, I didn’t hear you come in.” Aemond's chest tightens with guilt when he spots the tears in his mother's eyes. “You shouldn’t listen to the details; it will only upset you.”

“Oh, my boy,” Alicent strokes his cheek, “we will get her back, the both of them. This I promise.”

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen/you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen smut #Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x you #daemon targaryen/you #Aemond Targaryen x oc #Aemond Targaryen x female oc #Aemond Targaryen/oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x fem oc #daemon targaryen/oc

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doumadono · 5 months

Note

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME REQUEST can you do mizu x reader smut but where she calls reader a brat somewhere in the mix that scene jst had me head over heels 😭🙏

Warnings: smut - fingering, 69, rough oral, overstimulation, fem!Reader

Synopsis: you and Mizu enjoy some steamy moments together, having grown deeply fond of each other

OTHER FANDOMS MASTERLIST

Mizu's days were consumed by the relentless pursuit of her quest for vengeance, her every waking moment dedicated to honing her skills as a swordmaster. The path she tread was a solitary one, until a chance encounter changed the course of her journey.

It was on a misty morning in a secluded training ground nestled among ancient cherry blossoms that Mizu first crossed blades with you, a skilled swordswoman with a spirit as fierce as her own.

Your meeting was a clash of steel and determination, the air buzzing with the intensity of their training.

Mizu, her blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of determination and surprise, locked eyes with you after a particularly fierce exchange. "You fight well," Mizu acknowledged, a rare compliment from the stoic warrior.

You, your gaze unwavering, replied with a smirk, "Not bad yourself. But I've seen the fire in your eyes. There's more to your story than the strikes of a sword. Care to share?"

Mizu hesitated, her guard momentarily dropping. The pain of her past flickered in her eyes before she composed herself. "I seek revenge for a great injustice. That's it, nothing more, nothing less. My blade is my only companion on this path."

You nodded understandingly. "Well, it doesn't hurt to have a sparring partner on such a lonely journey. How about we help each other? I can see the weight you carry, and I've got my own demons to face."

From that day forward, your and Mizu's training sessions became a harmonious dance of steel and camaraderie. In the quiet moments between strikes, you shared stories of your pasts, creating a bond that transcended the limits of your swords.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the cherry blossoms, Mizu spoke thoughtfully, "I never thought I'd find a companion on this path. You've made the journey less lonely, Y/N."

You smiled, twirling your sword skillfully, hiding it in a scabbard. "Likewise, Mizu. We're stronger together. And vengeance is a heavy burden; it's easier to carry when you're not alone."

As the weeks passed, Mizu and you journeyed together through diverse landscapes, your paths entwined in a tapestry of shared experiences. What started as a companionship forged in the crucible of training gradually evolved into a deep and genuine fondness for each other.

The road you traveled was not just a physical journey but a shared odyssey of emotions and revelations. In the quiet moments beneath starlit skies and during the challenges you faced side by side, a connection grew, fortified by the understanding that only time and shared trials could foster.

Mizu, with her unwavering spirit, became not just a fellow warrior but a cherished presence in your own journey.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a soft glow over Mizu and you as you sat by a crackling campfire. The dancing flames mirrored the flickering emotions in Mizu's blue eyes as she turned to her companion. "Y/N," Mizu began, her voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability, "we've shared so much, but I've never asked about the demons that haunt you. What burdens do you carry?"

The air grew heavy with the unspoken weight of the past as Mizu waited for you to open up.

The flames flickered, casting shadows on your face as memories resurfaced. "I come from a village that was razed to the ground by marauders. I lost my family, my home. The flames took everything. That's why I picked up the sword, Mizu. I wanted to be strong, to never feel that powerless again."

Mizu listened intently, sensing the weight of your words. She understood well. As you spoke, memories of the burning hut flashed before Mizu's eyes, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

Despite your efforts to maintain composure, a tear traced a silent path down your cheek, glistening in the firelight.

Mizu reached out, gently wiping away the tear with her thumb. "You've carried this burden alone for too long," she whispered. "You're not alone anymore."

Trembling, you nodded, a mixture of gratitude and relief in your eyes.

Mizu pulled you into a comforting embrace, and for a moment, the crackling of the fire was the only sound in the still night as you shared the weight of your sorrows.

You shivered at Mizu's touch. You wanted to lean in and feel Mizu's arms around you oh so badly.

Mizu shook her head. "It's the past, Y/N. And from now on, I'll be protecting you. I'll be by your side."

"You… you'd actually want to be seen with me?" you uttered in astonishment, your gaze fixed on Mizu. "But why? I'm not exactly a sight to behold, and you're so stunning… People might ridicule you for choosing to be with someone like me…"

Mizu chuckled softly, a gentle sound that resonated with warmth. She looked you in the eyes, her ice blue ones stern. "You know," she began, her eyes softening, "I don't see myself as a pretty woman. Beauty is subjective, and in my eyes, you shine in a way that captivates me. Your uniqueness, the way you carry yourself — it's incredibly appealing to me. I see you as someone with a beauty that goes far beyond what meets the eye."

The heat built between your legs. Your nipples strained against the fabric, yearning for connection, as the allure of those soft, ripe lips of hers enticed you. The closeness felt magnetic, and the desire to kiss overwhelmed you. Yet, instead, a deep blush crept across your cheeks, and you looked away, your emotions entangled in a web of confusion.

Mizu gently tilted your face up, leaning in as her lips brushed softly over yours, capturing the taste of salt from recent tears. A soft moan escaped your lips as Mizu drew you closer, fulfilling a secret daydream of yours.

Uncharacteristically eager, Mizu allowed her desires to guide her actions. Her hands explored beneath your attire, caressing your breasts, as the anticipation of pleasure hung thick in the air. With deliberate intent, she undid the ribbon at the back of your garment, letting it slip off your shoulders. Her hungry gaze lingered on your firm, ripe breasts, and Mizu, unable to resist the temptation, lowered her head to eagerly suckle on a taut nipple.

You let out a quiet moan and arched your back and moaned, tangling your fingers in the black tresses that now cascaded over you.

Mizu worshipped your breasts, taking turns licking, sucking and nibbling the nipples in turn, humming quietly as she did.

You pulled back, eyes glowing with passion. "Please, let me taste you, Mizu…"

Mizu grinned playfully and gracefully rose to her feet, treating her new lover to a tantalizing strip tease.

In absolute awe, you observed every move, your body pulsating with desire as she shed her clothes.

Mizu reclined on the futon beside the fireplace, her legs invitingly parted.

Feeling a mix of anticipation and hesitation, you undressed, eventually finding yourself kneeling between Mizu's open legs.

A moan escaped Mizu as she took in the full, lush view of your body. "Oh, Y/N, you are so beautiful," she whispered, the words hanging in the air, deepening the intimacy of the moment.

You spoke not a word. Your touch was the language, as you tenderly caressed Mizu's wetness, delicately parting the folds like the petals of a dew-kissed flower. Your mouth descended upon Mizu's throbbing clit, moving languidly, intoxicated by the explosion of her taste on your eager, flexed tongue.

Mizu responded with fervent writhing and moans, her body arching to bring her wetness even closer to your exploring mouth. With a graceful shift, she positioned herself to reciprocate, her command cutting through the stillness. "Sit on my face," Mizu directed, the bold request hanging in the air, a testament to the unspoken connection that unfolded between you.

Your attention remained solely on savoring her cunt, rendering you momentarily unresponsive to her command. You lapped at her wetness with your tongue, a low moan escaping as her juices cascaded over your taste buds. Sucking on your fingers to heighten the intensity, you skillfully slipped them into her, moving with a swift rhythm that reflected the urgency of your desire.

Her inner walls responded with spasmodic contractions, eagerly clenching around your digits. Mizu huffed with a tinge of frustration and seized a handful of your hair, giving it a gentle tug. "Come on, Y/N, don't be a brat. I asked for something, and I expect you to comply."

Responding with a small kiss to her entrance, you gazed up at her, your lips wet with her jucies, nodding in acknowledgment. Gradually, you positioned yourself, placing both knees on either side of her head, and descended onto her face. Leaning forward, you resumed your passionate exploration of her slick folds with your tongue.

Mizu let out a sultry moan as she felt your lips enveloping her clit yet again, your gentle suction drawing it into the warmth of your mouth. Her gaze wandered to your pussy right in front of her eyes, captivated by the sight of your pouty lips and the glistening juices there. With a bold move, she slid a skilled finger inside you, caressing tenderly, teasingly. Her expert tongue flickered around your clit, leaving you breathless and panting.

In response, you cried out her name, initiating a dance of desire as you pressed two fingers inside Mizu's pussy. Your skilled suction on her clit mirrored the tormenting rhythm of your fingers and occassional rubbing of your thumb against her already swollen clit.

Mizu's tongue glided slowly over your clit, dipping into your slit with a probing and searching motion; its tip constantly hitting your little bundle of nerves.

You moaned in response, enticing her with the movement of your hips, shaking your ass to amplify the friction and intensify the pleasure. "More, Mizu, holy shit!"

You luxuriated in that position for what felt like endless, blissful minutes, indulging in the intimate exchange as you both savored the taste of each other's pussies.

Mizu propped herself up on one elbow, her other hand gently parting the lips of your pussy. With tenderness, she licked you, the tip of her tongue tracing either side of your clit, humming appreciatively at the delightful taste.

Your hands reached up around her ass, pulling her cheeks apart as you wholeheartedly massaged her cunt with your mouth. In the height of pleasure, your actions were instinctual, allowing the waves of ecstasy to roll through you, leaing you moaning like a whore. Your tongue and jaws moved in perfect reaction, each dart of her tongue into you provoking a corresponding spasm of pleasure in your own mouth.

Together, you both writhed in ecstasy, voices merging in a passionate chorus of moans that echoed the intensity of your shared passion.

Releasing your hold on Mizu's ass, you wrapped your arms around her waist, drawing her core closer to your face. Playfully pushing her to the side, both of you shared a moment of giggles, eventually settling on your sides, maintaining the 69 position.

The sensations were nothing short of incredible. Mizu squirmed with delight, her tongue delving deep to partake in your drenched cunny, creating ripples of passion that surged throughout your body.

Unable to contain yourself, you cried out, "M-Mizu!!!" as her quick, skillful licks over your swollen clit sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your entire being, leaving your legs shaking. "I-I, God! T-Too much!!! Oh God, I can't!!!" you whined again, arching your back, trying to grind your pussy against her face for more friction.

She gently spanked your ass a few times. "Shush, you little, horny brat," the black-haired woman grunted lowly. "Let me have my fun with you."

You extended your arm between her legs, skillfully opening her wide, allowing one leg to hover tantalizingly over you. With your other hand deftly maneuvering between the two of you, you spread her pussy open even more.

Her head shifted against your inner thigh, repurposed as a comfortable pillow in the midst of this intimate exchange.

Your face was fully immersed in the warmth of her pussy, while she reciprocated with her face pressed into yours. In a passionate exchange, you both moved and thrust against each other, building up a frenzied rhythm that heightened the intensity of the moment.

Mizu's primal grunts mixed with your fervent whimpers, the symphony of your pleasure rising in frequency and pitch. In the midst of waves and layers of ecstasy, you both reached the climax together, as one. The culmination was so profound, so all-encompassing, as you came intensely, repeatedly, in a cascade of bliss. A deluge of intoxicating girl-cum cascaded over your mouths and faces, seamlessly blending with the ongoing grinding and spasms.

"Oh, you dirty, little brat, you're gonna be a death of me one day," Mizu playfully nibbled on your clit, making you whine pathetically.

Gradually, the sweet and gentle descent from the peak began. Your passion waned, bodies winding down, experiencing little aftershocks of orgasm like sparks in your muscles. Rolling backward, you and Mizu separated, lying prone on your backs, side by side, heads to toes, in a shared moment of tranquil aftermath, breathig heavily.

Soon Mizu, holding you with a newfound protectiveness, traced gentle strokes through your Y/H/C hair and whispered softly, "Did I make you feel good?"

Nestled against Mizu like a contented kitten, you looked up with a happy smile. "Yes… It was perfect."

A tender kiss on your temple followed as Mizu yawned heavily. "I think I fell in love with you… We've shared so much, and being close to you felt so good, so right, as if something just clicked together."

"Indeed," you whispered in agreement, resting your head on Mizu's breasts, eyes slipping closed. The surreal feeling of it all being real overwhelmed you. Sleep embraced you, and this time, there were no dreams; there was no need, as everything you had recently dreamt about was already cradled in your arms.

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beeftony · 5 months

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Blue Eye Samurai does something clever with a trope that usually annoys me in samurai fiction, and even quotes it word for word: "The sword is the soul of the samurai."

For the majority of the season, Mizu's sword comes to symbolize that special "something" that gives her an edge over everyone she meets and enables her to perservere, crafted as it was from the meteor that fell from the heavens in a near literal act of divine intervention that saved her as a child. But when she finally meets the target of her vengeance, exhausted from fighting through 9 levels of his castle, the sword is struck by a bullet and snaps in two.

In the following episode, Master Eiji points out that the steel was too pure; too brittle, and that's why it broke. He won't help Mizu keep going down the path of self destruction, and so he has no steel for her. But it's Taigen of all people who gets through to her, saying that all that junk about the sword being the soul of the samurai is just what they tell first year students, and that "the weapon doesn't matter," because Mizu's skill and determination is what gives her power, not the sword.

After failing to reforge the sword in the time between these conversations, Mizu tries again with a little encouragement from Master Eiji, and this time she adds new steel of her own: the broken blade that she made as a child, which found its way into the hands of a merciless assassin, then into the hands of Taigen, a man who swore he would kill her, but whom she saved all the same. The small knife that Akemi attacked her with at first, but later used to save her life. The bell that symbolized Ringo's service to her, that he returned after she crossed a line and he became disgusted with her choices. And finally the tongs that Master Eiji repeatedly bonked her on the head with to correct her mistakes and guide her on the path of self-improvement.

The steel she adds to the fire all comes from the friends she's made along the way, in spite of herself. She folds their words, their lessons, their beliefs into her sword, and in doing so begins to heal and strengthen her own soul.

#blue eye samurai

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st4rtar0t · 6 months

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Love story of you and your romantic soulmate

Pick a picture

If you like my reading please consider supporting me by donating, liking or reblogging.

If you would like to purchase a person reading please DM me.

Requested by @divya444

Picture one

Cards: 6 of pentacles, queen of cups, the knight of wands, strength, two of cups.

In a quaint town nestled between rolling hills and blooming meadows, he, a charismatic and adventurous soul, met her, a compassionate and nurturing spirit. He was the Knight, always seeking new horizons, and she was the Queen, her heart overflowing with kindness. One day, as he was passing through the town, he noticed her sitting by a fountain, her eyes reflecting the depth of the water. Intrigued by her aura of warmth and empathy, he approached her. She, in turn, saw the fire in his eyes and the determination in his stance. Their connection was instant, as if the universe had orchestrated their meeting. He, with his passionate tales of distant lands and daring adventures, fascinated her. She, with her soothing words and caring gestures, captured his heart. The Knight, though adventurous, had a generous heart. He would spend his days helping the townsfolk, sharing his stories, and aiding those in need, all the while stealing glances at the Queen. She admired his strength not just in battles but in the way he stood up for the less fortunate. As their bond deepened, they found solace in each other's arms. their resilience and determination to overcome any obstacle together. Through trials and tribulations, their love only grew stronger, proving that true love could conquer all. Under the light of the moon, with stars as witnesses, they exchanged vows of love and commitment, sealing their union. Their love story became a beacon of hope, inspiring others in the town to believe in the power of love and kindness. And so,they embarked on a lifelong journey together, their love story written in the stars and echoed through the ages, reminding everyone that love, coupled with strength and generosity, could create a harmony that was truly magical.

Picture 2

Cards: The sun, The moon, page of cups, 5 of wands, 3 of cups, 6 of swords.

In a small coastal town, beneath the radiant glow of the sun and the enchanting embrace of the moon, he, a sensitive soul, met her, a vibrant and joyful spirit. Their connection was immediate, like a cosmic force drawing them together. Their love story, however, was not without challenges. The arrival of the enemies of love signalled moments of conflict and tension, testing their relationship. But every disagreement only deepened their understanding of each other, making their bond stronger like tempered steel. In the midst of chaos, they found solace in the tranquil energy. Together, they embarked on a journey, leaving behind the troubles of the past and sailing toward a peaceful future. Hand in hand, they navigated the uncertain waters, relying on each other for support and guidance. Under the golden hues of the sun, he admired her like the moon admires the night sky, with a love so profound that it illuminated his entire being. She, in turn, found comfort in his kindness and the sincerity reflected in his eyes. Their love story became a testament to the power of understanding, patience, and unwavering affection. They marked milestones together, rejoicing in the triumphs of their relationship. Their love, like the sun and the moon, was a perfect balance, each complementing the other in ways that words could not capture. And in the quiet moments between the stars and the sea, they knew they had found something rare and precious—a love destined to shine eternally, just like the sun and the moon in the vast, endless sky.

Picture 3

Cards: The chariot, knight of cups, page of swords, judgement, 9 of wands, 7 of wands, the world and the star.

In a realm where fate wove its tales, there existed a spirited young woman. She had dreams as vast as the world, and her ambitions sparkled like the stars above. One day, she crossed paths with a gallant and poetic soul. His heart overflowed with emotions, and he carried a cup of love that he offered to the world. Their story began in a small town, where she used her sharp intellect to challenge the norms of their society. Him, on the other hand, had recently found his purpose. He was a healer, mending not just bodies but also wounded spirits. Their paths intertwined as they shared their dreams under the vast, watchful eye of the World. But their love was not without challenges. Her resilience, her determination to protect their love from the adversities that tested them. His bravery, his willingness to fight for their relationship even in the face of opposition. Amidst their struggles, they found solace in the Stars, in the night sky. They both found solace in hope. Her dreams illuminated their path, guiding them through the darkness. His gentle heart provided the unwavering support she needed. Their journey was an epic tale of love and perseverance, where the energies of the cards converged to create a bond as unyielding as the mountains and as boundless as the sky. And in each other's arms, they found the strength to conquer every obstacle, writing their love story in the constellations above—a story whispered by the winds and immortalised in the hearts of all who heard of their extraordinary love.

#pick a card #tarot #divination #tarot reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick a pile #spirituality #tarotcommunity #pick an image #future spouse #st4rtar0t #love reading #tarot pick a card #tarot community #tarotblr

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kyleoreillylover · 7 months

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𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡

Rhea Ripley x Dominik Mysterio x Fem!Reader

Summary: You lose your NXT Women’s title, and Rhea and Dom are here to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: Cursing, typical wrestling violence, anger, etc.

Word Count: 3,138

A/N: We all saw what happened on Raw, so I just wrote this as a lil comfort fic for myself. Hope you enjoy!

You shut your eyes as you held your side, trying to block out the sound of Becky Lynch’s music playing in the air, trying to ignore her standing over you, a smirk on her face as she held your title. That was yours! You were so close to winning, so close to putting Becky away and making her eat her words that she’d been spewing for the past few weeks, make her regret her stupidity by making this match an Extreme Rules match.

Just a couple minutes ago, both of you were fighting, and you wee bruised and beaten, blood gushing from your face. Becky wasn’t doing much better, her arm bleeding and her elbow was fractured early through the match when you hit it with a crowbar. You were fighting in the crowd, beating the absolute hell put of each other with kendo sticks and anything you can get your hands on.

You tried to fling the kendo stick at her again, but she dodged it, and it clattered onto the floor. Your eyes widened at the angry look she was giving you; like this was the beginning of the end and you knew if you wanted any chance at winning you needed to stay away from her direct line of fire.

You bolted down the stairs, taunting her to follow you and she gave into the bait, hurrying right behind you as the crowd got louder with anticipation, wanting her to beat your ass.

You rolled into the ring, maneuvering over the chairs sprawled out but you didn’t get very far because she punched you from behind, taking you down with hit after hit after hit, her anger consuming her as she beat you into the canvas. You laid there limp, your mind hazy until she got you to your feet, trying to set you up for the manhandle slam.

You panicked, pushing her away and kicking at her elbow to make some room between the two of you. She fell to the floor, yelling out in pain. You spotted your title next to you, still in the ring from when you tried to hit her with it before. You saw Becky starting to get up, and you knew it was now or never.

You slammed the title against her face the minute she stood up, following that up with a ddt on the chairs. She was knocked out, and you smirked as you went on top of her for the cover, ready to finally prove to her that you were the better women.

“1... 2... 3-” The ref was about to slam the mat for the three count when you felt yourself getting dragged out the ring. Your groaned when your body hit the floor hard, but anger overtook the pain. You had her beat!! Who the fuck did that?!

You got your answer when you looked up and saw no one other than Tiffany Stratton standing over you, a smirk on her face as she stared you down. “That is supposed to be my title!” She screamed at you, her high pitched voice grating on your ears. “It was supposed to be Me vs you! But you chose Becky, and now you’re gonna pay bitch.”

You stood up, making your way to her with the nastiest glare she’d ever seen on your face. “Don’t blame me because your an untalented blonde bitch who can’t wrestle to save her life!” Tiffany took a step back but it was too late, you punched the taste out of her mouth. She fell to the floor, clutching her cheek as she tried to get away from you. Clearly she didn’t think this through.

“Now you’re gonna pay, bitch!” You yelled at her, enjoying the look of fear on her face as you stalked her. She bolted for the ring, and you chased after her.

You were right on her heels, running into the ring determined to beat her plastic face in when you ran right into a steel chair striking you square in the face, sending a jolt of pain surging through your skull.

Your vision blurred for a moment as you stumbled backward, clutching your throbbing cheek. Becky had a wicked smirk on her face as you collapsed to the floor, the taste of blood lingering in your mouth. You had no strength left to defend yourself as she hit you on the head, in the ribs, anywhere she could get the chair on you, over and over again. Eventually she lifted you up, hitting the manhandle slam on you onto of the steel chairs.

You groaned when your back made contact with the chairs, barely able to see through the haze of pain as Becky covered you for the three-count, the cheers and boos of the crowd sounding like a distant echo. The referee's hand slapped the mat, and your heart dropped when you heard the bell ring.

You lost. Everything you've worked so hard for, everything you've wanted for so long, slipped through your hands in three seconds.

Three. Fucking. Seconds. The number repeated in your head over and over again as you left the ring, storming backstage. It's where Dominik found you, pushing past wrestlers and crew members yelling at the ones who gave you pitying looks. "What are you looking at?" You screamed at a screen tech, who froze in fear as you pushed past him.

"Baby!" He yelled, trying to get your attention. You heard him but you didn't turn to him, you couldn't bear to look at him and the look of disappointment and anger he would be wearing on his face. Why wouldn't he be disappointed in you? You just lost in the fucking main event to one of your biggest enemies, and now your title is in her dirty little hands. He was probably disgusted with you right now. And Rhea. God, Rhea was probably repulsed by you right now. You ignored him calling you and quickly made your way to the Judgment Day locker room.

Your fists clenched, and you threw anything within reach—chairs, bags, water bottles—across the room, all while cursing loudly. The sound of your frustration reverberated off the walls, and the locker room atmosphere grew tense. "Fuck!" you shouted, sending a chair flying across the locker room. "This should have been mine! I had her!"

"Mi vida, it's okay! You did your best," Dom finally found you and walked in, trying to console you, his voice gentle, but you whirled around, your eyes blazing with anger. "Okay?! Did you see what just happened out there? I lost! I let everyone down!" Your voice trembled with frustration and regret.

"You didn't let anyone down, mi amor! Especially not me!-"

"Stop lying Dom!" You spat at him, throwing another bag at the wall. "I fucked up, now you and Rhea can go leave me now that I don't have a title. So stop acting like you care!"

Dominik walked closer to you, eyebrows furrowed at your words. "I'm not fucking lying! I don't know who the hell told you this shit, but Rhea and I would never leave you, title or no title." He grabbed your hand before you could throw another bag, ignoring your glare and wrapping his arms around you. "Let go, Dominik!"

"You need to calm down, mi corazon!"

"You should listen to him." The two of you stopped arguing and looked in the direction of the voice. JD Mcdonagh was standing in front of the door, giving the both of you a wry smile.

"Excuse me?!" You asked him with a scowl. Who gave him the audacity to interrupt a clearly private moment between you and Dom?? Dominik tightened his arm around you, giving you a warning glance that you ignored. JD was either oblivious to your attitude to chose to ignore it, acting like he heard nothing from you.

"What do you want JD? We're busy here." Dominik asked with an exasperated sigh.

"I saw what happened out there love."

"So did thousands of fans here and at home. What's. Your. Point." You questioned him, your piercing stare making JD falter for a second before he continued again, and Dominik prayed he didn't say anything stupid. JD already had Priest almost beat him up, he didn't wanna add you to the list.

“I just wanted to tell you have nothing to be ashamed of, honestly." He walked closer to you, a sympathetic look on his face. "And that it's okay, everyone loses sometimes. Some more than others, but not everyone is good enough to win all the time," he said, and Dom facepalmed internally. He might've been Finn's friend, but god was he dumb as shit. Dominik knew this wouldn't end well.

You went silent for a moment, narrowing your eyes at him and removing yourself from Dominik so he didn't get hurt before you hurled a table across the room and advanced on JD, shoving him against the wall.

J.D. tried to stutter out an apology, but your angry glare cut him off. "Mind your own business!" you spat, your voice dripping with venom. "Stop getting in my business! Stop acting like you're a part of Judgment Day! You never will be, you short piece of—"

“Baby, calm down!” Dom stopped you, trying to hold you back before you killed JD. "Calm down, amor.” Dom urged, his voice soft but firm.

You glared at JD for a moment longer before finally letting him go and taking a deep breath, your anger wavering and the sadness you had been trying to ignore consuming your mind. Dom noticed the change in your demeanor and gently put his hand on your face, his fingers grazing your cheek. You looked up at him, and for a moment, all the anger and frustration melted away as you met Dominik's caring gaze. He wiped away a tear that had escaped your eye and whispered, "It's gonna be okay, mi vida. We're here for you, no matter what."

But you turned away, unable to accept his comfort just yet. You didn't deserve it. "I don't want to hear it, Dom," you muttered, your voice choked with disappointment. "I lost. That's all there is to it."

Dominik sighed, his heart aching for you. He knew you were taking this loss hard, and there was nothing he could say to make it better. But he couldn't stand seeing you like this. "I'm proud of you, you know," he said softly, his hand gently turning your face back toward him.

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over again. "Don't, Dom. Please."

He gave you a disappointed sigh, but he didn't push you any further. "Come on, I'll wait out here, you grab your stuff and we'll go," he said, wanting to do nothing more than wrap you in his arms and take all your sadness away from you. You nodded, and he made his way out of the room while you got your stuff. He quickly pulled out his phone, texting Rhea, who was back at the hotel.

Rhea<3 Were gonna be at the hotel soon, mami. How bad is it, baby? I saw it on the TV. She didn't look okay. It's bad. She's not doing too good. Physically or mentally?

Both, but mostly mentally. I've never seen here like this. She's about to come out the locker room, see you later mami. I'm gonna kill both of those stupid pricks for hurting her. Drive safe, baby <3

You slid out the room, your bag in hand and a look Dominik couldn't read on your face. "You ready?" He asked, grabbing your bag from you. You nodded, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of the room.

The drive was mostly silent, with you staring out the window, lost in your thoughts, and Dom stealing worried glances at you.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, you both entered the elevator in silence. You felt Dominiks stare burning a whole through your skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. You felt like you had let everyone down, especially Rhea. She had been your biggest supporter, and now you had lost the title she had helped you fight for.

The elevator doors opened, and you both made your way to your room. You hesitated for a moment in front of the door, not sure how to face Rhea. But Dom encouraged you to go in first, his hand on the small of your back leading you into the room. As you entered the hotel room, you were met with the sight of Rhea sitting on the couch, her eyes filled with worry. "Baby, are you okay?" Rhea rushed up to you, concern etched on her face. She reached out to check on your injuries, but you pulled away, unable to meet her eyes.

"Leave me alone, Rhea," you muttered, heading toward the bedroom, trying to avoid her touch and gaze. You were sure she was disappointed in you, and it hurt too much to face it.

Rhea followed you, eyes never leaving you as you avoided her gaze, "I know you're probably hating me right now," you muttered, your voice trembling. "You and Dom must be so disappointed. Just break up with me already; I know you want to."

Rhea's face fell, and she motioned for you to sit next to her. You hesitated but eventually sat down when she gave you the look that meant she wasn't playing around. She pulled you into her lap, wrapping her arms around you tightly. She examined the bruises on your face, her fingers gently tracing the marks. "That's not true," she whispered, her voice filled with a softness that few people heard her speak with. "I could never hate you, and we could never leave you, not for something like this. I love you, and I always will."

"I lost, Rhea. I lost the title," you mumbled against her skin, feeling defeated.

Rhea tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into her eyes. "And you'll win it back. I'm not mad at you, love. You did your best. It took two of those bitches to put you down." She stroked your cheek, her anger rising looking at the bruises on your beautiful skin. " I'm angry at Becky and Tiffany, and I promise you, I'll deal with them. But I couldn't never be mad at you, baby."

"But I-"

"No buts." Rhea cut you off, giving you a serious look and tightened her grip around you. "It's not your fucking fault, you hear me?" You nodded, but she shook her head at your action. "I need to hear words, love."

"It's...not my fault." Rhea knew you were still hurting and trying your best, so she didn't push you for more. She gave you a kiss on the cheek and glanced over at Dominik. The two shared a look, communicating without a word. Dominik quickly got up to your side and helped you up. "C'mon hermosa, you'll feel better with a bath. You wanna walk or you want me to carry you?" You didn't say anything, just walked into his arms, making the both of them chuckle as Dominik carried you to the bathroom, his strong arms making you feel safe.

He filled the tub with warm water and returned to help you undress, gently tending to your wounds and bruises. The warm water eased the pain, and you let out a sigh of relief as you sat down. As you soaked in the warm water, Dominik joined you, sitting behind you and gently massaging your shoulders to help ease the tension in your body.

Dominik carried you to the bed afterward, making sure you were comfortable. Rhea joined you on the bed, her fingers expertly massaging your tense muscles. You closed your eyes, feeling the tension slowly melt away under her touch.

"Go to sleep love. We'll be here when you wake up." Rhea whispered to you, stroking your back. You hummed back as answer, and Dominik smiled at your tired state and kissed your forehead. You smiled at the gesture and relaxed into Rhea's arms as you slowly went to sleep.

Rhea gently brought you into the covers, trying to not wake you as she tucked you into the bed. She made sure you were completely asleep before turning to Dominik, her voice changing from sweet to threatening. "I am going to kill Priest."

"Mami..."

"Don't mami me. Your injured. Finn's injured. He was supposed to be there for her. I told him to have her back, and he failed." Rhea hissed out, standing up and clenching her fists. She gave him one job, and he couldn't even do it. Didn't even show up. How pathetic.

Dom was quick to sit Rhea back down, trying to calm her anger down. "I know you're mad mami, I'm pissed off too. He left her hanging."

Dom held his hands out, and Rhea immediately slipped her hands in his slightly larger ones. He brought them to his lips and kissed them, relishing in the small smile Rhea gave him. "I know you want to deal with him, but please, for her sake... wait until Raw."

Rhea sighed, looking away and biting her lip in thought. Dom grabbed her face, gently turning her back to him, meeting her eyes.

She gave him a resigned look and nodded at him. "Fine. You're right, Dom Dom. I don't want to overwhelm her." She turned to you, staring at you sleeping peacefully, looking like every bit of the angel that you are. "But Monday, I'm putting him in his place, and you can't stop me. Got that?" Dom nodded, knowing he couldn't fight her on this even if he tried. Once she wanted to do something, she'd do it no matter what.

"You can deal with him, but you need to get some sleep first, mami." She nodded at him, getting up and going to the bathroom to change into her pajamas. She came back to the sight of Dominik already in his pajamas, sleeping soundly and cuddling into you. She smiled at the both of you before slipping into the bed as well onto your other side. She laughed when you immediately pulled her into you, Dominik stretching out his long legs and throwing it around both of your waists. She cuddled up to you as well, stroking your cheek as she watched the rise and fall of your chest.

Her anger rose as she looked over your bruises and your face swelling at all the hits you took. She forced herself to calm down for you and Dom, grounding herself by caressing your skin. She'd let sleep overtake her later, but as she looked at you, she promised herself one thing.

Everyone who hurt you was gonna pay.

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ghouljams · 8 days

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do i have a single clue about fallout? no. will i try googling it? i did briefly and did not get one syllable through my head. will i read the fallout au? yes, yes i will.

Here are my thoughts...

Price: Elder Maxson type, ideologically unbreakable leader of the Brotherhood of steel. Bordering on cult leader behavior for the good of the wasteland and the (human) residents there. @ceilidho mentioned the reader getting lowkey kidnapped for breeding stock and it did something to me... Elder Price finds a fresh vault dweller and coaxes them in with promises of protection from the feral ghouls, supermutants, and deathclaws roaming nearby. He rules through fear, not of him, but of what lurks outside.

Gaz: NCR Ranger!!!! NEED I SAY MORE??? I shall. Upstanding moral code, determined to help people and rebuild the world into something with more law than it has now. He's here to help, but that doesn't mean he'll do it for free. After all NCR money doesn't spend as far as caps do, he's sure you can work something out. He's well trained, and we love a man in uniform. I'm thinking if Gaz saving courier reader from a raider stupid enough to try and mess with the mail, telling you he'll tag along just to make sure you get where you're going(and maybe to collect on the life debt you owe him)

Soap: Mechanic. I can't believe that wouldn't be obvious. He's the most necessary part of any wasteland crew. The man will get your power armor working in an hour flat no matter the problem. You need a mini-nuke? He's got two or three he's been tinkering with. You need a new core? Your water purifier break down? Does your gun keep jamming? Go see Soap. Price has been trying to grab him for years, but the fucker is too slippery to pin down. You meet him doing minuteman work and get caught in a fire fight. He's nice enough to haul you to safety, and then keep hauling you. Are you being kidnapped? No. Can you leave? ...no...

Ghost: Former vault dweller turned ghoul. The man has a bad attitude and a dick ribbed for your pleasure... After crawling his way out of the grave- er, vault, and being forced to carve out a new life for himself he makes a tidy sum as a vault hunter/one man raider/mercenary. He picks up a rat trying to steal from him and decides if you're that desperate for money you can get it from him the same way everyone else does, on your knees. Put that gun down before it goes off and hurts someone. He's scruffing you or tossing you over his shoulder any time you start getting too rowdy(ignore how pleased it makes him to have human contact again)

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #fallout au

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silverbladexyz · 3 months

Text

TW: Death, blood, guns, fighting. 5.6K words. Third and final part to part 1. Part 2 is here

Skilled hands worked away at the rope, each bind falling to the floor with a heavy thump as they were severed by a knife. The sound echoed throughout the little room inside of a foreign dungeon.

Soon, the chair legs were surrounded with the thick brown threads as the saviour continued to free the captive. They operated fast; in just a matter of seconds, half of the bonds were already sliced open- the blade meeting little resistance. Too little, in fact.

But you didn’t have time to worry about that now.

“Y-Y/N, what are you doing here? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“And watch as Chuuya barges in to what could possibly be his death? I think we both know how disastrous that would be, Yasuko.”

The girl bit her lip and fell silent. You continued to free her, despite having so much you clearly wanted to say at this moment. But you couldn’t risk your best friend finding out about what happened to her, and making a rash decision as a consequence.

“H-how did you find me?” Yasuko stuttered, her limbs trembling with fear. It was perfectly normal considering her situation, but it hindered your progress since your knife got dangerously close to her sometimes due to her shaking.

“I was in Chuuya’s office to retrieve something when he was on a mission. Then his phone lit up with an unknown text and a picture of you tied to this chair. It seemed that your captor had intended for him to come alone, with the threat that he would kill you if Chuuya brought backup or arrived even a second late. I couldn’t determine if it was telling the truth or not, so I went first to test the message’s authenticity. You know what happened afterwards.”

The ropes finally came off- only to reveal that Yasuko’s hands and feet were also bound to the seat. You cursed under your breath, before starting to work on them as well. The girl repeatedly peered over your shoulder in an anxious manner, but you didn’t give much thought about it. You had just passed it off as nervousness.

Until another knife suddenly grazed your cheek, leaving a small crimson trail of your blood in its wake.

The blade pierced itself into the chair, missing Yasuko’s temple by a hair’s breadth. She cried out in surprise and fear, immediately prompting you to react.

Your gun was drawn out and aimed at the attacker before you even processed what was going on.

“How surprising that you came instead. I didn’t know that Chuuya-kun was the type to be late to important events-”

You fired three shots before he could finish talking. Each bullet was aimed good and true, as they were shots made to kill.

“-especially events considering his girlfriend. Wouldn’t you agree, Y/N?”

The beautiful black-haired man standing in front of you smiled.

By his feet lay the bullets that rolled out of his fingers, and the bloody holes they normally left behind were nonexistent. The shots had bounced off of him as if he were made of steel.

His ability must have allowed him to repel any physical attacks that came his way. Defeating him seemed near impossible now.

Your eyes narrowed as he came closer, his unhurried steps matching the complacent aura that he gave off. You knew there was no use in trying to shoot him again, but you still tightened your index finger around the trigger. As a last resort, you could use the gun as a distraction to let Yasuko escape.

“I know who you are. You’re Hasegawa Kyuji. A high-ranking member of Obsidienne; a rival organisation of the Port Mafia.” You stated, with a steely gaze that could rival his relaxed stare.

“But you aren’t here to kill Yasuko. You’re here to kill me instead.”

His golden eyes seemed to shine as he smirked in response. The male tilted his head towards the aforementioned girl.

“Oh no. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m just here to reveal the truth.”

You heard Yasuko give a quiet whimper, and you scowled, aiming the gun at Hasegawa’s forehead.

“And why should I believe you? For all I know, anything that falls out of your mouth could be a lie. Deception is key for getting the upper hand in any fight.”

“...” The young man let out a short chuckle. It wasn’t long before he broke out into a hysterical laugh.

“Oh, you’re so naive it kills me! For all this talk of deception, you don’t even seem to realise a certain friend of yours that was deceiving you for months. And how you thought that nobody could see your obvious infatuation with your best friend. Isn’t that right, Yasuko? My dear cousin?”

He stared straight into her eyes, a dangerous glint apparent in his pupils.

Your eyes widened slightly. Not only at her betrayal and their kinship, but also at the fact that he knew your secret. A secret that you had hidden deep deep down, never letting even a bit of it slip out. Were you easier to read than you thought you were?

Whipping your head around, you glanced at the girl, silently begging her to say that it wasn’t true- that it was all a lie.

But Yasuko silently closed her eyes, hanging her head in a sign of guilty confirmation.

The silence that descended was suffocating, permeating the entire room with an invisible tension.

You had an unreadable expression on your face as you lowered your arm, the fingers clenched around the gun shaking ever so slightly from their rigid hold on the grip. Hasegawa’s smirk widened as you gave no response.

“Oh, but maybe you want to know why she betrayed you. Why she was working with me, a member of an enemy organisation?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he fixed his golden eyes on you. Yasuko gulped a little, but neither of you paid her any mind.

“Well, it’s simple. It all started 8 years ago- when Yokohama lived in constant terror and dread of a single organisation. The Port Mafia. Many civilians were killed because of the Boss’s paranoia, and a lot more organisations were decimated by his sheer ruthlessness. It must still be as clear as day to you.”

You frowned slightly. Despite not wanting to listen to anything he said, you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Memories of fear, uncertainty, and bloodshed as the old Boss of the Port Mafia abused his reign, forcing you to live in extreme apprehension every second.

“One day, rumour had it that somebody in our vicinity insulted the Port Mafia. It was only a mere jab at how Yokohama would’ve been better off without the organisation; but that was enough for all the families in the district to be rounded up and interrogated. Then, when it was evident that the culprit wouldn’t show themselves, the Boss ordered everybody to be executed. Not even the infants were spared.”

“And two of the families that were killed on that day were yours and Yasuko’s. Hence why you wanted revenge; they were accused wrongly of something that likely wasn’t committed in the first place.” You interjected. You knew that he wasn’t lying, because there was nothing but truth in his words.

Afterall, the incident he described became very well known amongst the city in a flash.

“But that was when the Port Mafia was still under the control of the old Boss. There wouldn’t be much point in getting revenge now that everything has changed; and besides, our enemies are always hit twice as hard. This old grudge of yours could do nothing against us.”

You knew that you were behaving just as any stereotypical tough-talking mafioso would, but it was all a ploy for you to buy more time until you could figure out a solution. Hasegawa was already a formidable opponent with his ability, and it was obvious he also had the brains to go along with it. Someone of his calibre could decimate you and walk out without any serious injuries.

He spoke again, breaking your train of thought.

“Grudge? You speak as if the Port Mafia itself takes grudges lightly. It is obvious how strict the rule of borrowing and returning is in illegal organisations. Every grudge must be satiated, no matter how high the cost. But we could not act on ours without enough power.”

“And that was when you came up with the idea to join Obsidienne to gain this ‘power’?” You said, narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t come up with the idea. Yasuko herself did, and she thought up many more after that. Everything that has happened up until now was all in the palm of her hand. Tell them, Yasuko. Tell them about everything you plotted for their demise.”

The silence that fell this time was deathly.

“... Yasuko. Is it true? That all this time you’ve been planning to take down the Port Mafia, starting with me and Chuuya?”

There was no anger in your voice. Only a cold flatness that seemed to absorb every emotion in the room as you spoke to her.

Yasuko slowly opened her eyes, fixing two beautiful brown pupils onto you. Those same pupils that had deceived those she was around for an entire six months. And they now held nothing but tears and guilt.

“I never meant for it to go this far. But he threatened to kill me if I backed out from this plan. So I had no choice but to continue with it.” She whispered, her voice heavy with resignation.

“And that wasn’t all.” Hasegawa added suddenly. You looked back at him, but he was staring at her. Like how a cat eyes its prey before it goes in for the kill.

“My dear Yasuko, weren’t you also the one who came up with the idea to poison your lover’s wine so that he wouldn’t give us any more trouble?”

Your whole demeanour changed in an instant once you heard those words.

A shot reverberated throughout the chamber, followed by Yasuko’s short scream.

The bullet had pierced through her sleeve, narrowly missing the chance to give her the sweet release of death. Your expression remained emotionless, yet burning in your eyes was anger that was hotter than the black flames of hell. The gun was pointed directly at her brow, held with an unusual stillness that was parallel with your aura.

“The next time, I won’t miss.” You coldly stated, speaking with nothing but truth in your words.

“I was willing to give you another chance. But this promises to exceed the limit of my forgiveness. Daring to poison the man you loved- the man I loved; I expected nothing less from a wretch such as you. A wretch who doesn’t even deserve this quick and painless death.” You stepped closer towards Yasuko, until the gun was pressed up against her skin.

Neither of you moved a single inch. It was as if everything was frozen in time, save for the dust that drifted elegantly onto the ground.

“... Do it.”

The girl whispered, looking up into your eyes with a soulless gaze.

“It’s only proper for me to die as a result of my foolish choices. That’s what a traitor only deserves, afterall. My only regret is… that I didn’t get to spend more time with you as a true friend.”

She closed her eyes for the last time, ready to face death with a serene expression.

Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.

A final shot rang out within the walls.

And the bullet flew right into Hasegawa’s chest.

“!” His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Thankfully, he activated his ability right before the pellet could fully pass through him, but the damage had already been done. Blood gushed out of the wound as the bullet fell out of his body, and you wasted no time in drawing your dagger out.

“Don’t think that I haven’t forgotten you, Hasegawa. Sure, Yasuko’s done some pretty terrible things. But you were the one who was truly behind all of this. If you had not forced her to continue with the plan, then none of this would have happened. The Port Mafia does not forgive those who plan to hurt their family. And I cannot rest until I have finished what I came here for.”

“… So it’s come down to this.” He muttered.

In the blink of an eye, Hasegawa had lunged at you, bringing up his hand that also held a blade within its palm. You raised your own arm up to counter.

The clash of metals resounded in the room, all your training sessions with Chuuya bearing fruit as you found that you could actually keep up with your opponent’s attacks. You were fast and precise with your strikes, whereas he liked to be unpredictable, always making you guess his next move. It was a direct contrast to how your best friend had fought.

Your blades danced in a fierce tango as both parties tried to subdue each other. You were mostly put on the defence due to your attacks having no effect on him, but you kept on twisting and leaping just out of his reach whenever his weapon went to graze your body. He aimed for your stomach, and you managed to dodge the sharp edge that threatened to slice your skin apart.

Your opponent wasted no time in immediately transitioning into an uppercut, but you were prepared for this. Grabbing his wrist, you held it firmly in place before bringing your foot down onto the elbow, twisting his arm the opposite way. A snapping sound echoed, and you heard him curse in pain.

Hasegawa aimed a sloppy swipe at your chest, to which you blocked with your blade. Taking advantage of this momentary stillness, you aimed a kick at his ribs that would’ve broken them upon impact. The force made him stumble backwards a bit, and you were about to close the distance between the two of you with your weapon.

But you failed to consider that there was something he could use to his advantage. And it was already too late when you remembered what it was.

The next moment, Hasegawa threw the kodachi blade with all his might at Yasuko's neck.

The small sword flew through the air with deadly accuracy, landing cleanly into flesh and bone. Crimson liquid splattered all over the girl, some of it dripping off the chair and staining the floor with their scarlet hue.

Yasuko gave a small gasp of disbelief.

“Y-Y/N- why?!”

The kodachi blade was buried deep into your chest, and the tip protruded out of your back. You swore you felt it scrape an artery right near where your lung was.

Hasegawa chuckled at your figure, which struggled to remain standing as the excruciating pain evaded each of your senses. Your ears rang, and you could hear your heart pounding- gradually slowing down as your life started to ebb away. If heartbreak was the sensation that hurt the most, then this definitely had the potential to exceed it.

“In the end, you still chose to protect the one Chuuya-kun cared for the most. I must say that I’m touched; not many people can see the sight of true love at its finest.” Your opponent slowly approached you, the barrel of a gun directed straight at your face. His broken arm hung limply by his side, bent at an unnatural angle, but it didn’t even seem to faze him.

“Do you have any last words, Y/N?”

“... Go to hell.”

Hasegawa gave a dry chuckle. But he suddenly frowned when he realised that his index finger refused to move.

One by one, the fingers on his hand started to shake, loosening their grip on the gun. It clattered to the floor, bouncing away from him.

You laughed, despite your vision starting to grow blurry from blood loss.

“You made a mistake, Hasegawa-kun. When I shot you in the chest, the bullet was tipped with poison that was absorbed through your skin. It didn’t act immediately, but the more you moved, the quicker it spread in your bloodstream. And it will not stop until your heart has ceased to beat.”

The male collapsed against the wall, his legs having lost their strength to keep him standing. A sheen of sweat coated him as his body tried to force the toxins out, but to no use. The poison was designed to kill without leaving any exceptions.

“Hahaha... Well done. You truly… deserve… to be called my opponent.”

He smiled slightly, before he stilled.

You turned around to Yasuko. Grabbing the knife stuck in the chair, you haphazardly cut the last remaining ropes off of her hands and feet, successfully freeing her from the binds. She slowly stood up, staring wide-eyed in shock and penitence at you as you started to lean against the wall.

Your knees buckled, causing you to drop to the floor. The blade was knocked out of your body due to the impact, clattering onto the ground as a result of gravity. Blood spurted out of the opening as your breaths became shallow and rapid, trying to get as much oxygen they could into your lungs. Yasuko slowly crouched down by your side, pressing her hands to your wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She didn’t deserve to cry over something that was entirely her fault.

“I was always wary of you.” You said, breaking the silence.

“It all started when Chuuya rescued you. People don’t tend to think about suspecting an innocent civilian girl who got kidnapped by an underground organisation, and was coincidentally saved by a Port Mafia executive. However, crime syndicates tend to stay away from citizens due to their fear of attracting the government’s attention. The only exceptions being if a civilian was somehow connected to a rival group. And after doing some digging… I found out that the organisation who kidnapped you was an enemy of both Obsidienne and the Port Mafia. Your cousin, Hasegawa Kyuji, was an executive of Obsidienne, and both of your families were killed on that fateful night 8 years ago. The entire situation seemed too suspicious. It was then… that I knew to keep a closer eye on you.”

“If you suspected me… then why didn’t you tell Chuuya? Or anyone else in the Port Mafia for that matter?” Yasuko asked, her voice shaking.

You let out a dry laugh in response.

“Do you honestly think he’d take my side with the way he looks at you? Seven long years of being his best friend… and he’d still choose his lover of whom he’d only known for six months over me. His lover who only loved him so that she could betray him in the end.”

“…” She looked down into her lap, her silence speaking more than words themselves. A single teardrop fell from her eye, landing onto the floor with a silent plop.

“… I wanted to stop. I realised that the Port Mafia was not the same as it was 8 years ago, and that Chuuya was genuinely a kind man who wanted the best for me. But when I realised it… it was too late. So instead of putting the poison into his wine, I slipped it into Hasegawa’s drink. But he caught me, and furious at my betrayal, he decided to use me as bait to lure Chuuya here. I… I had told Hasegawa that my lover was more of a long-ranged fighter due to his gravity manipulation ability. So he planned that when Chuuya was at an appropriate distance from him, he’d hit a switch hidden on the wall, which would release toxic gas onto Chuuya so that he could be easier to defeat. But he didn’t expect you to be the one to show up. I only knew about this when I was being tied to the chair-”

You cut her off by coughing up drops of blood. Some of it landed onto her cream-coloured dress, creating a jarring contrast against the fabric.

The movement doubled the amount of pain you were in as your breathing quickened. Yasuko bit back a sob, her hands pressing harder onto your wound as more blood seeped out of it, staining the majority of your shirt a beautiful red.

“It seems that- I don’t have much time left.” You rasped, already feeling that you were starting to lose consciousness. Putting your hand over hers, you grasped it in a frail grip, tugging her closer as you forced the girl to look into your sincere eyes. Eyes that hid nothing in their final moments.

“Yasuko. I want you to leave Obsidienne. Leave the underworld of Yokohama, and live on as a normal person. Nothing good comes out of a life of crime, no matter how tempting the money or power is. Because all that will await you is a cold and empty death that doesn’t suit a girl like you.”

The female listened in solemn silence, her hand clasping yours tighter as she felt your hold weakening.

The ruby ring that sat on top of her finger knocked against your silver one, as if in a desperate attempt to transfer some of its life force to the metal. But just like its owner, the silver ring seemed… dim. Tarnished. No longer carrying any value after it was consumed by the shadow of death itself.

You hacked up some more blood, with the droplets being the darkest red this time. The liquid dripped down your chin, filling your mouth with the metallic taste of iron.

“... Tell Chuuya… that I’m sorry. I promised him I wouldn’t recklessly throw my life on the line again, but I did. However, I’m not searching for his forgiveness... because I’ll still love him just as I always did.” You said, your voice growing fainter. Yasuko had to lean in close to properly catch your words.

She gave a bittersweet smile, despite her vision starting to go blurry from the built-up tears in her eyes.

“I will. Chuuya really was lucky that he had you in his life.”

You gave a small chuckle, the grip on her hand loosening with each passing second.

“Tell me…” You whispered, each word seeming to evaporate into the atmosphere after it left your lips.

“Can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?”

The stillness that followed afterwards would haunt Yasuko for the rest of her life.

Your hand, which had been warm in Yasuko’s grasp, slipped out of her hold, finding its final resting place on the floor.

The room seemed to hold its breath as your life flickered out, leaving only the echo of what it once was.

Time stood still as Yasuko hugged your body to hers. She finally let go of the tears that had already started streaming down her cheeks. The reality of her choices, the betrayal that had led to this devastating moment- all came crashing down onto her in waves of remorse and guilt as she acknowledged that your blood was on her hands.

She sobbed endlessly, her cries muffled by your shoulder that she buried her face into. The female didn’t look up, not even when hurried footsteps raced to the room she was in. All she cared about was that you were gone because of her stupidity.

Chuuya burst into the room, enraged and ready to fight whichever bastard dared to kidnap his girlfriend.

Only to find her weeping over a dead body. Your dead body.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

No… not them too!...

Chuuya stumbled against the wall, almost collapsing to the ground as he bit back a scream.

Surely this wasn’t happening, right? You must have been gravely injured instead; there should still be hope that a doctor at the Port Mafia could manage to save you just in time. He knew that you survived worse before, and each time you bounced back after you were healed. There was no way that you were dead!

But he knew, deep deep down, that you had left him too.

Chuuya shook his head, blinking back the wetness in his eyes that he didn’t even realise was there.

The first priority right now was to get Yasuko to safety. There were still members of Obsidienne in the building, and there was no way in hell that he was letting her stay here for another second. He hated that it had to be this way, but he’ll have to come back afterwards to properly avenge you.

He approached her slowly, laying a gentle hand down on her elbow.

Yasuko didn’t react much as Chuuya helped her to stand, putting his arm around her shoulder just like he always did when he was with her. She leaned onto him, with tears silently streaming down her face while she walked. Not even noticing how he cast one last glance towards your blood-stained body against the wall.

The whole ride back to their home was a blur to her. The Mafia executive had stayed at Obsidienne’s headquarters, ordering his men to completely exterminate every single member in the building. He even engaged in full-out combat with the powerful ability users who also belonged to the organisation. It was the angriest she had ever seen him; but she knew he was also suffering behind the fury that consumed him whole.

The limousine stopped in front of her house, and she collapsed onto the couch once she was inside, starting to cry again as she recalled the events that had happened just less than an hour ago. Events that she could have prevented in the very first place.

An eternity seemed to pass before she heard footsteps, and looked up to see Chuuya holding a glass of water in his hand. He gazed at her softly, fighting back his own emotions that threatened to rip his chest apart if he didn’t let them out somehow. But he pushed them down, instead focusing on the woman he loved.

He held her, not saying a word as she sobbed, getting his shirt wet from the salty tears that never seemed to end. His hand rubbed up and down her back, the steadiness of his touch grounding Yasuko as she hiccupped, trying to take deep breaths so that she could calm down.

“It’s okay, baby… it wasn’t your fault.” Chuuya said softly, planting a tender kiss on her forehead as he hugged her close.

She pushed herself off of him, staring back at his slightly confused expression towards her action. Yasuko bit her lip, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dug deep into her palms.

“N-no, it was my fault! I-If I hadn’t done the things that I did back then, if I had been stronger and smarter, then Y/N wouldn’t have died! All I did was to stand back and watch as they took the hit for me-” A sob erupted in her throat- the sound of the blade passing through your flesh was still vivid in her memories.

Chuuya stepped forward, his blue eyes tender as he took her hand in his.

“My love… don’t blame yourself. I know that it hurts, knowing that you couldn’t save them. But I will never get tired of saying that it was not your fault. That bastard was to blame, not you-”

“Why don’t you understand?! It was my fault!! I had the idea of joining Obsidienne in order to exact revenge on the Port Mafia for murdering my family. And I came up with the idea of being close to you so that the plan would be easier to commence!” She half-yelled, her voice cracking.

“Being close to me?... What are you talking about-”

Yasuko knew that she should stop before she ruined everything between them. But Y/N’s death weighed upon her shoulders, never letting go until she confessed. She would rather end things with the truth than to die with the guilt of a lie.

“I planned to be kidnapped by the criminal organisation because I knew that the Port Mafia would soon dispatch someone powerful to take care of them once and for all. Then I came up with the idea to romance you in order to know your weaknesses, just so that you wouldn’t be a hindrance once Hasegawa and I finally launch our attack on the Mafia. But soon, I wanted to stop when I realised that it all meant nothing. H-He didn’t let me, and instead used me as a hostage, setting up a trap for you when you’d arrive to set me free. However, Y/N showed up instead, and… and fought him instead. It’s all because of me that they’re dead!!”

She broke down, burying her face in her hands once again. Silence followed for a long time after her confession.

Until it was suddenly broken by the shattering of glass.

Yasuko looked up in alarm.

Chuuya stood there silently with a wide-eyed stare. His gaze seemed distant, painful- countless things running in his mind hidden behind those beautiful blue eyes of his. Despite having dated him for six months, he was still unreadable to her sometimes. Only Y/N could’ve deciphered those complex emotions of his hidden within his head.

He had crushed the glass in his hand, soaking himself in water as the shards embedded themselves into the floor. Yet despite this somewhat violent action, he only remained still.

“Chuuya?” Yasuko asked meekly, slightly fearing what his reaction afterwards would be like. Would he shout at her? Use his ability on her? The Port Mafia didn’t take traitors lightly, afterall. And he was an executive in the said organisation, too.

But instead, he walked towards the door. Picking up his hat, he dusted it off before standing in the hallway, casting his gaze at her.

“... I need to be alone for a while.”

And just like that, he walked out of the house for the final time.

Chuuya felt nothing but rage that day.

His gloves and coat were repeatedly stained with blood as he hunted down the remaining members of Obsidienne in Japan. The expensive leather and fabric quickly became filthy after the first few kills. But he didn’t care; because nothing he did could bring back his best friend. His best friend that was always there for him, who understood him better than anyone else.

His best friend that was now gone as well.

Chuuya wouldn’t- no, he couldn’t rest until he found every single member and crushed them with the weight of gravity. There would be no mercy, not even for the Boss of the organisation himself as he pleaded for his life. The gravity manipulator let loose his feelings, hurling bullets and remorseless kicks at his enemies.

Blood splattered onto the walls in each base as the dying screams of it’s owners faded away into nothingness. Buildings collapsed on top of each other, the infrastructure groaning as it succumbed into the pull of gravity. Even Mori was slightly surprised at Chuuya’s brutality as he tracked down one base after the next.

All for Y/N.

Back at home, Yasuko sat down onto the couch again, breathing heavily from her outburst.

Something fell out of her pocket, and she stiffened as soon as she saw what it was.

Trembling hands slowly picked the object up. The sun’s rays were reflected back onto her face, but she felt no warmth.

It was the topaz bracelet that you had just bought with her a few days ago. When you were still happy and alive.

Yasuko held it to her chest, where there was nothing left but numbness.

Only death could truly reunite her with you now.

~~~

Chuuya sat with his back against your grave, the cold stone pressing into the skin that was full of scars.

There was only silence that filled the tranquil air of the Port Mafia’s private cemetery.

“... You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He spoke as if you were there with him, listening to his every word.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t be so reckless ever again. You could’ve waited for me to return, and we might have been able to defeat him together. Like we always did ever since we were fifteen. But you didn’t.” Chuuya gave a wry chuckle, lifting his head up to gaze at the blue sky. His eyes held nothing but sorrow and regret.

“... Yasuko and I have cut connections. She told me everything about what she did. I don’t blame her for your death, but it’s hard to look at her in the same way again after knowing about the truth.”

Again, there was only silence that answered him. But Chuuya could still see your smile, and hear your voice as clear as the day in his mind when you responded in your typical manner. He closed his eyes, wordlessly curling his mouth up into a forlorn smile as he laid his head against your tombstone.

“If you were mine instead… would you still be here beside me?”

It was softer than a whisper, but his words carried a weight heavier than all the precious stones in the world combined together.

A small gust of wind blew by, ruffling his clothes and hair in a virtually affectionate yet comforting manner. It gently brushed against his cheek, before moving on to his lips, his neck, and his forehead. The breeze was neither cold nor warm, and it strangely felt like the caress of a lover. Almost as if you had heard his statement and responded with a reply of your own.

Chuuya opened his eyes when he felt the last touches of the wind disappear. All that was left behind was the silence that had always been there.

The silence that would now accompany him for the rest of his life without you.

@circinuus @justcallmesakira @riiwrites @ruanais @sariel626 @atlasnessie @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @yuugen-benni @chocsra @heartsfourdazai @iridescentdove

#silverbladexyz #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x gn reader #chuuya x gender neutral reader #final part of unrequited love fic #unrequited love fic

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diaryofanidiot · 9 months

Text

The Experiments

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

Chapter list: Prologue, 1, 2, <3> , 4, 5

Cw: Swearing; torture; blood; medical experiments; panic attacks; malnourishment

Summary: For over a year, Y/N was held in a soviet experimentation facility. Forced to fight and claw her way to live, she managed to stay alive. When the 141 rescues her, they get way more intel than bargained for.

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Chapter Three

Sweat made the hospital gown irritatingly stick to my skin as I tried to get comfortable in the cot. They had left me restrained during the night, making it harder to sleep as I looked restlessly around the medical bay.

The occasional night shift nurse or guard would pass by, but other than that, I received no reprive from the torment that was my own mind.

Ghost was no longer nearby on what I assumed had been a guard duty of sorts. He must've left during the measly few hours of sleep that I had managed. With a huff, I tapped my finger to the call button and waited.

Within the minute, a nurse appeared with a friendly smile. For the night shift, she still certainly kept her bedside manner in check.

She brought over a chart with various illustrations of what I could possibly need, and I pointed to the bathroom. The kind nurse smiled with an "of course." and went to retrieve a guard to undo my restraints and help me into my wheelchair.

I don't know when I began scheming. All I knew was that if I didn't get out of this confined space and into some fresh air, I might actually snap. Sure, Soap or maybe even Gaz, if he had truly forgiven me for the hand incident, might be kind enough to take me for some in the morning.

Despite that fact that slipped my brain, my entire extended time of washing my hands was filled with thoughts of escape.

As the guard wheeled me back, I managed to slip my hand into his jacket pocket and nab the key undetected. I don't think he expected it with the friendly smile I had sacrificed to him.

Once I was back in my cot and the guard fastened my restraints, I feigned soreness in my dominant wrist.

"Too tight?" He asked me. I gave him a pitiful look before I saw the gears crank in his brain. "I suppose keeping this one loose won't do any harm. Just don't snitch. If you even can." He snickered and put a playful finger to his lips as he allowed me more wiggle room with that arm. He was kind. I hated to pull the wool over his eyes.

Once I was left alone to rest once more, I couldn't help the slight smirk on my face despite the nerves in my stomach as I maneuvered the key to the lock. It took a while of fumbling, but soon it went in, and I was able to nudge it until it clicked open.

My eyes shot up and looked around, checking my surroundings before unlocking my other hand and then my ankles. I leaned over on my cot to pull my wheelchair next to the bed. Now for the difficult part.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed while using my arms to keep balance as I lowered myself into the chair. It was excruciating on my body, but I had already decided that the ends justified the means.

Once I was seated comfortable, I glanced at the IV in my arm. There was no way I could take the bulky stand holding the drip bag with me, so I did what any not so sane person would've done and removed the needle on my own. I already had multiple infected wounds. What was the risk of one more?

Determination flooded my bones as I peered around to make sure the coast was clear. Despite my inner fire I couldn't help but jump at every sound while I maneuvered the unfamiliar place.

When I finally reached the steel door entrance of the medical building, I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding and struggled to open the door; while simultaneously fitting my wheel chair through.

It didn't matter in the end as the door opened by a force not of my own. My gaze shot upward to see an all too familiar mask staring down at me, the night sky not even providing enough light to see his eyes through the skull.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He understood my motives. I didn't know why at this exact moment. Yet, here we were. He matched my pace as he allowed me to wheel my way around the compound and revel in the fresh air.

I occasionally peeked a glance at him. He seemed so stoic but the kindness in the action showed me he was a bit more than that.

"Don't do that." He broke the silence. "I can see the damn gratitude in your face. You're still getting reprimanded when we're done here."

I broke my eyes away suddenly. He could try to play the mean guy all he wanted, but this was the biggest act of kindness I had received in so long. He would get my gratitude whether he liked it or not.

The moon was a small crescent tonight, and a cool breeze blew past occasionally. Crickets chirped, and the occasional glow of a firefly caught my attention. Just the sight if it made everything that I went through. No. That I survived feel worth it.

I had been advised to wait to speak during my physical therapy sessions but I had to communicate. Even just a little.

"You-" I coughed as I got too eager to speak. His eyes were on me now as we paused our stroll. "Saved me." I managed. He handed me a water and I sipped it gratefully.

"Didn't even know you were there. Was just doing my job." He insisted matter-of-factly. "You're welcome, though. If that's what you really want. Nothing is owed."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes once he looked away and continued our walk. Didn't he realize I owed everything to him and his team? Eventually, his hand grabbed the back of my wheelchair, halting my movements.

"We need to get you back where you belong. Cmon." He looked at me expectantly. I got the feeling that if i didn't wheel myself back that he would do it for me. With a look of dejection, I let him walk me back to that horrible place known as the medbay.

"Don't look so sad. I was told you'll only be there for a few weeks." He looked forward as he spoke. "After that, you'll only need to go in for a few checkups."

I had more questions but no way to speak them. It was frustrating, to say the least, but I couldn't help myself from trusting him.

Ghost was right. After the first two weeks, many of my injuries had healed substantially. The infections were now gone, and the sores on my neck were toward the end stages of healing.

The time spent there was agonizing, switching between physical therapy, speech therapy, and the constant check-in from the doctors and nurses.

Soap visited when Ghost couldn't watch over me. His company was nice enough to help pass the time. He was more chatty than the latter which I appreciated. Even Gaz began to visit again. He had truly forgiven me, which I couldn't lie that I had my doubts of, and his hand had healed up.

There was the occasional day or two when none of the trio would visit me. I had been told they were still cleaning up messes near the place I was rescued. Part of me wondered if they were searching for others like me. Other bioengineered weapons that is.

But my favorite time of day was the pre "lights out" walks that Ghost would occasionally take me on before retiring for the night. While he didn't speak much, he seemed to understand that they helped substantially. I liked to think that he enjoyed them as well. He certainly at least seemed less tense.

That is, until my voice began to come back to me. It was scratchy at first and hurt my throat for a bit, but soon, something phenomenal happened. I recognized it. I finally had my own voice back.

I might've abused the happiness it gave me by never shutting up...

"You really like the sound of your own voice, don't ya?" Gaz interrupted. I paused before realizing I was rambling to him.

"...am I really talking that much?"

"Well," He smiled in amusement. "I just spent the last Twenty minutes sitting here listening to you go on about the things you've observed during your stay in the medbay."

I looked away, apologizing. He laughed and shook his head.

"Nah, you're getting discharged today. You have a right to be excited."

"Just glad you guys got back in time." I smiled. The rest of the 141 walked in shortly after.

"(Y/n)!" Soap called, a giant grin on his face. Ghost and Price trailed close behind. "How ya feeling, lass?"

He placed his hand on my head, ruffling my hair. "You ready to go?"

"Yes. Please." I said, my tone filled with relief. Gaz handed me my crutches, which I had upgraded to a few days ago.

Once I was discharged and the proper paperwork was filed, I was led to a new building. One with proper rooms and facilities.

"You understand, (y/n), now that your voice is back, We are going to need you to answer some questions?" Price asked. I wasn't as close to him as I was to the other's, considering he didn't visit nearly as often. He was kind to me, though.

I nodded. "I'll do what I can. If there are others like me out there... I want to do what I can to help."

The Captain smiled at me with a hint of admiration. "Atta girl. Here you are."

They had led me to a room. It was mostly bare aside from some essential furniture. Like an actual bed, a desk, a dresser, and a trunk.

It mightve been bare... but oh how I missed privacy.

"There's some clothes in the dresser. May not be your style, but it's what's on hand." Soap spoke, pointing toward it before facing me. "Better than that hospital gown, I assume?"

I nodded eagerly before feeling a firm hand pat my back. Ghost.

"Get settled in. I'll come get you in a short while and you can give us some answers."

I watched as they took their leave, closing the door behind them. I was practically giddy at the newfound freedom as I limped over to the dresser and opened it. Plain black shirts and cargo pants were folded military style.

Part of me wondered who prepped it for me. No matter. Getting dressed on my own was an entirely new hurdle that my physical therapist hadn't addressed yet, but with the help of the bed to sit on, I managed.

I set my crutches aside and flopped back onto the mattress. Finally, my ears were greeted with... nothing. No beeping monitors, no footsteps that raised my anxiety, not the mumbled voices of nurses and doctors. My nose was given the same reprive. No smell of hand sanitizer or cleaning products. Surprisingly, less sterile smelled... better.

I don't know how long I had stayed there with my eyes closed. It felt good not to be so overwhelmed.

All good things must come to an end.

A knock at my door and the clicking of the latch made my eyes open. Ghost, despite being so large, moved quietly. I never heard him approaching.

"Ready to give us some answers?"

A/n: Once again, thank you all for the love this fic has received. All your comments and reviews have done nothing but make me smile <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm gonna be making a separate post for taglist add requests soon. I'll link it to the fic once it's up as it's getting a bit chaotic 😅 if I missed you, then feel free to ask again. I've gotten a lot of replies asking to be added

Taglist: @warenai @linoskitten11 @jamesrifftapes @justmare @hk-4ever @thriving-n-jiving @katelouis98 @tayaisback @josieguts @btszn @lemmyyy0606 @msecho19 @cory-viv @cybercl0ne @randomhumans-blog @vinithechocolatevampire @embermdk @itsryuken @neothewitch @undercover-smutlover @noeltako @y2cade @ghostindeath @soundsfunbutno @untoldshortsofthefandoms @emily-roberts @x4vern1a @theimaginaryheir @bitchoftoji @stunkbiggu @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @theredviolets @v1naco @berryjuicyy @serenitysmind @mundane-frogola @sushiumex @thorninspaceandtime @tooruen @hotchlover

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

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aemxnd · 1 year

Text

strength in numbers | aemond & aegon ii x strong!reader

Two scheming Targaryen princes shatter your world as you know it.

Inspired by a wonderful anon request for a Targaryen sandwich… 🥵

WARNINGS: reader has brown hair for plot point, change of canon events, manipulation, praise, degradation, v fingering, oral f receiving, p in v, titty sucking, name calling, threesome, multiple orgasms, restraint, overstimulation, language, Aemond is a lovestruck cutie, Aegon is a dick, it’s just chaos.

WORDS: 5.6k

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

✨ my requests are open! ✨

Fire and blood, if commanded correctly, can melt Valyrian steel, lead an army to battle and change the course of a meandering river.

Aemond’s gaze fixed into the commotion of the family meal to celebrate the Driftmark succession, gaggles of relatives mingling in groups around the hall before dinner arrived. His eye was trained on one of the present number, a woman with rich wavy mahogany tresses tumbling over her shoulders, mixing confidently with his family as if you were always there.

He was so fixated, the one-eyed Prince missed the approach of his brother Aegon at his blind side, toting a full tankard and observing him unashamedly glaring at you.

“Are you sure about this, brother?” Aegon leaned into his younger sibling’s shoulder, wavy silver curls brushing his poker-straight locks. “Not too late to back out, you know.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Aegon,” Aemond asserted without a falter, refusing to part his gaze from the vision which made his heart soar.

“You’re well and truly cuntstruck for her, aren’t you?” Aegon pressed jokingly, choking back a chuckle deep in his throat. “She only arrived at King’s Landing last week and you’re already smitten.”

“She deserves to know she is betrothed to her own brother,” Aemond’s lips slowly puffed into a determined pout. “The Strongs aren’t familiar with our family’s… customs.”

Aegon shrugged, eyebrows quirked. “Keep it in the family, I say…”

“You would, brother,” Aemond snapped. “Besides, if nothing else I cannot see her marry that bastard. A beauty of her standard deserves better than Jaecerys Velaryon, eventual heir to the Iron Throne or not.”

“What if all this backfires on you, though?” Aegon took an eager sip of his flagon. “What if she doesn’t choose you, or she turns against you?”

“She will not,” Aemond insisted, watching the way you smile warmly as you make polite conversation with the Queen. “She will know the right course of action.”

“You remember what happened the last time you made a scene like this, don’t you?” Aegon nudged. “Mother wielded a dagger, Rhaenyra’s family left for Dragonstone. It got messy.”

“Yes, brother, I remember it well. We got rid of those bastards from under our feet for a good few years.”

Aegon laughed, jabbing his brother’s arm in jest.

“You do realise you’re risking our family for the sake of a Strong, muddying our bloodline with brown hair… just because she’s Ser Harwin’s only legitimate child, you don’t have to be the lone saviour to keep their low family name alive.”

Aemond did not dignify his statement with an answer, not even breaking his fixation on your form flowing around the hall in your black dress. Fitting for the occasion, he thought to himself, considering you were as good as signing your own death warrant by boring yourself into the grave.

“Well, I’m all out of protests,” Aegon cinched his lips into a grin, demonstrably slapping his own thigh with his free hand. “All that remains is that I hope there’s something in it for me if you want me to help you in this fool’s venture.”

“Your cup will never empty, you can be assured of that,” Aemond clicked his tongue, nodding his head toward Aegon’s quickly dwindling tankard. “I know your price, brother.”

“As you wish, Aemond,” Aegon sighed. “Don’t come crying to me when mother actually stabs our sister this time.”

Three loud chinks of hollow metal signalled the call to be seated.

It’s now or never, Aemond thought to himself.

—

You could cut the tension in the hall with a butter knife.

“I, umm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” Aegon jibed to you through a mischievous grin, his provocative jest at your betrothed’s lack of carnal knowledge worked as soon as the syllables left his lips, your gaze flicking to Jaecerys’ fists balling at the table. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jaecerys slammed the table and rose to his feet in a fit of rage.

“Jace,” you pressed quietly, calming his temper purely for the sake of public appearances. You may not know many things about Aegon Targaryen, save for his reputation for evocative outbursts like this. The sooner you refuse to humour the platinum-haired firstborn, the better.

Aegon made a demonstrative nod to his one-eyed brother across the table, who stood upright and cast a stony glare over the room at him. The grace of his stature, the manner in which his poker-straight silver tresses flowed like crystal waterfalls over his shoulders — the man was a striking example of Targaryen beauty that had you all wrapped up in his image rather than the palpable tension in the room.

Aegon dutifully returned to his seat, feigning defeat as per their well-orchestrated plan. Establishing a tension between the two would surely dissuade any concern about their scheming, ensuring any and all consequences would not be levelled at them as a pair, instead dismissed as two isolated incidents in the midst of palpable conflicts within the room. The hall obediently fell silent for Aemond as if he wished to make an announcement, but now was not the correct time to break his cover in sure and certain knowledge that whatever he uttered next would be connected to his brother’s snide remark.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace raised his goblet tentatively, casting a suitably awkward nod to each of his uncles. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies.”

Aemond remained aloof, jaw clenching ever so slightly as he glanced over to you, also raising a toast.

“To you and your families’ good health, dear uncles.”

Jace tipped his goblet and sipped carefully before placing an assertive hand on Aegon’s shoulder and jabbing a playful fist into his arm. Aegon swallowed harshly, eyes widening at the insinuation.

“To you as well,” the elder prince conceded reluctantly, stifling a chuckle.

You had yet to piece together exactly why your betrothed was so anxious around his uncles, or exactly why Helaena Targaryen attested to the ease of married life until your husband is drunk. Word had not reached Harrenhal of any quarrels or infighting between the branches of the silver-haired Targaryen clan, but it seemed like such common knowledge among present company that you didn’t dare question it around the table.

As the festivities continued, music drowned out small talk and groups gathered to dance. Your betrothed requested a dance, but you refused with a quick excuse that you were too hungry to consider dancing, noticing that more food was being served at the table. A plump roast pig was placed just in front of Aemond when Lucerys began stifling a giggle. In awkward compliance with the commotion around you, you prepared to rise to your feet and join Jaecerys across the room when the one-eyed Prince slammed his fist on the table, silver cutlery chinking against the wood as he stood to address the room.

“Final tribute,” he declared, raising a goblet aloft as the room fell silent. His jaw tightened. “To the health of my nephews.”

Your gaze fell into your lap, still perplexed by the tension that fell over the room like a grey cloud descending before the storm.

“Jace,” he nodded. “Luke… and Joffrey.”

You swallowed harshly, reading his body language that felt as if he could lunge across the room at any moment.

“Each of them handsome, wise…”

A pregnant pause fell mid-sentence. You couldn’t calculate why, but your fingers had begun clinging to the edge of the wooden table, pressing so hard your skin turned pure white.

“Strong.”

The coil of suspense in the room snapped with his word, but you remained fixed to the edge of the table.

“Aemond,” the Queen interjected, her face pale and fearful.

“Come,” he cut off his mother. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” your betrothed interrupted.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” To the untrained ear, it was nothing more and nothing less. Your gaze frantically scanned the room, confusion washing over you in a tidal wave as you found shocked, horrified and nervous faces all around the room. Aemond paced over to Jace with rigid shoulders. “Do you not think yourselves strong?”

Jace’s fist flung at Aemond’s and clocked him across the cheek, and in the blink of an eye Aegon was slamming Lucerys’ face into the table. You tried to rise to avoid the commotion, but found yourself frozen to the spot with fear. Aemond smirked proudly, shoving Jace to the floor and walking away with a smug grin as the younger was restrained by the waiting guard. The Queen raced over to the one-eyed Prince in blind panic.

“Why would you say such a thing before all these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother,” he dismissed coolly. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

His comment caused Jace to lunge free of the guard’s restraint, and suddenly bile rose up into your throat. The penny dropped, a freezing wave of shock washing over you as you realised the enormity of his accusations, no less factual statements considering the response of the entire room to his declaration.

The three brown-haired princes were not Velaryon offspring, but Strong bastards. You were related to your betrothed.

Suddenly, you flung yourself to your feet and scattered from the room, your chair tumbling to the floor with a loud crack behind you. Racing to the nearest exit, your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough away from the horror your mind was beginning to process.

Each darkened hallway that led you further and further from the epicentre of your discovery made your stomach turn, twisting around stone corner after stone corner with your dress billowing behind you.

Having only arrived at the Red Keep mere days ago, you had no idea where you were, where you were going or even your destination, but the thought didn’t cross your mind. Sheer terror had descended a red mist over your vision, your revelation replaying like a recurring nightmare over in your head until the sound of your own blood thundering through your veins sickened you.

Stumbling around another darkened corner, you hastened until your body slammed into another, a rock-hard cliff face of a human standing before you. The blur of your panic blocked out any features except the black leather chest that stilled your motion, squeezing your eyelids together and opening them to find poker-straight blonde locks flowing over its shoulders, framing a pale, stern face adorned with a leather eye patch.

Aemond. The executor of your terror.

“Eh… excuse me, your Grace,” you panted out, hastily battling for breath and frantically wracking your brains for an excuse to duck out of idle conversation. “It—it is late, I must retire to my chambers. G… good night, Prince Aemond.”

You smoothed down your dress and slinked past his broad shoulders obstructing your path, scanning the doors in the hallway and choosing one to swing open. Yet on the other side, you found less of a lavish bed and more cleaning equipment, mops and buckets stacked high in a restricted chamber.

“You’re boarding in the broom cupboard?” Aemond scoffed lightly as he observed you floundering at your discovery, a gentle dismissive shake of his head disguising the delicate notes of a polite giggle. “Why don’t you come with me, Lady Strong?”

In one swift motion, his hand clasped around your forearm and tugged you through another door, this time one where you found a lavish bed at the centre nestled atop ornate flagstones, the walls draped with a thick black satin swooping from corner to corner.

Carefully casting you into the chamber and releasing his grip on your arm, Aemond turned to close the portal behind you, where he pressed his back to the wood and leaned against it.

“Umm… Prince Aemond, what do you mean by this?”

“You said you wished to rest, my lady,” he nodded dutifully, clasping his hands behind his back. “After the commotion this evening, I shall guard the door for you.”

Your confusion skewed into anger in a heartbeat.

“A commotion you concocted, Prince,” you spat back through now gritted teeth, lunging toward him. “You conspired to humiliate me in front of them all!”

“Not at all, my lady,” he corrected, his brows knitting into a gentle frown as you closed him against the door. “I only sought to help you.”

“By exposing the princes’ parentage in front of your entire family?” Your hands flew demonstrably in the space between you.

“They already knew,” his calming voice reassured. “They just don’t like it when I bring it up in conversation.”

“So that display was for my benefit only, then? I was the solitary person in the dark in the entirety of Westeros, so it was a good idea to tell his future wife that she’s marrying her cousin in the most public manner possible? Seven hells, why did you and your drunkard brother Aegon not simply shout it from the Red Keep so even Flea Bottom could hear?”

“Cousin?” Aemond’s head tilted slightly, perplexed at your presumption and pushing himself off the wood to close the gap between you. “Y/N, Jaecerys is your brother. His father is Ser Harwin Strong.”

The wave of bile rose up in your throat again, your fists instinctively clenching at your sides.

“My… my brother?” You retched, throat thickening and constricting at the mere concept. “I’m to be wed to my brother?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he insisted.

“I could not possibly marry my brother, that’s… that’s…,” you spun away from Aemond, storming across the room to the bed, propping yourself up against the ornate post at its corner. “I’m not accustomed to your… queer Targaryen customs!”

Aemond stifled a laugh under his breath, pacing toward you with his hands still clasped behind his back.

“This is… this is monstrous,” you choked again, palms pressing into the hollow of your throat in a vain attempt to control your sickened reactions. “My mother called for this betrothal, did… did she know too?”

Aemond didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Oh gods,” you despaired at the thought that your mother not only knew your father had sired three bastard sons, but also intended to wed you to the eldest. You sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped your head into your hands. “It’s all such a mess.”

“It does not have to be,” Aemond reassured, approaching to perch by your side. “I want to help you.”

Unsure you had heard him correctly, your eyes squinted hard and brows furrowed as you raised to look at his softened, sympathetic features.

“Why do you care?” Your eyelids half-shut in a suspicious frown. “What does it really matter to you whether a Strong suffers a fate of marrying their closest relation?”

You could hear Aemond’s hard gulp, his eye refusing to meet yours.

“I know right from wrong, Lady Strong,” he dismissed, looking away and twirling his thumbs together like an awkward child. “You deserved to know the truth.”

“The one-eyed prince wanted to do the right thing?” You scoffed. “I would never believe that in an infinity of moons. Tell me the truth, Aemond. Why did you do this for me?”

His lips skewed into a pout. “Because you matter, that’s why.”

“Me? A lowly unwed Strong?” You interrogated him despite his refusal to even meet your gaze as you spoke. “You didn’t even know I existed until last week.”

“The passage of time does not change how you feel for a person!” Aemond’s temper finally snapped, his eye meeting yours with a fierce violet glow. “I could not see you marry that bastard when I would give anything for your countenance to be the last thing my remaining eye sees in this world.”

His words finally slotted into place, and you immediately softened your temper. You reached out a gentle hand to brush his cheek, closely observing the way his eyelid fluttered on contact.

“Aemond, I didn’t know,” you sighed, recalling each time you caught his gaze upon you ever since you arrived at King’s Landing. He wasn’t just observing you, he wasn’t suspicious of the new betrothed to the second in line to the Iron Throne, he was yearning.

“It was never my intention to inform you, you were simply supposed to call off your betrothal to Velaryon and leave the Red Keep behind you.” Aemond’s hand rested on your gown draped over your thigh. “But I could not watch you walk away from me.”

You leaned to gently rest your nose against his, breaths heating up each other’s lips as you waited for him to close the gap between you. His eye scanned yours for confirmation before crashing his lips against yours, feverishly pressing into you for the most contact possible. Within moments, his tongue darted to explore your mouth and beckon your own, your mind swirling as frantically as your tongue around his. You blossomed under his touch, his arms now wrapping around your waist as he rose to his feet and lifted you to the centre of the bed.

Tumbling into crisp silk sheets while jostling for dominance in each other’s mouths, you hardly noticed the tussle to remove each other’s clothing before you found yourself bare beneath Aemond, his knees locking you in on either side as he hovered over you.

“So beautiful,” he hummed against your lips, consuming your frame with his hands brushing down your curves as he refused to part from your mouth. His fingers journeyed toward the valley of your hips, sinking into the expanse between your hipbones before traversing intrepidly over your mound, eagerly pressing his palm to your skin as he continued. Your legs instinctively twitched at the sensation of his touch, battling to both buck away through sheer sensitivity and also grind into him to chase your own desires, spreading open beneath him to allow the prince to crawl between your thighs.

“Easy, my lady, I won’t hurt you,” he soothed, lips trailing feverish searing kisses from your lips down the column of your throat, making a determined path for your left breast as your chest heaved with anticipation. “Not unless you ask me to.”

A soft hiss escaped you as his tongue laved around your nipple, consuming the sensitive bud with his lips and latching as if a man starved of touch all his life.

“Aemond, please…,” you pleaded through shallow breaths, your spine flexing as his touch ignited every vein in your body, pressing his teeth ever so slightly over the hardening bud. “Take me.”

“Patience, sweetling,” he mumbled against your skin, swinging over to lavish your right breast with the same undivided attention while his palm smoothed your mound, fingertips dancing lightly over your pulsing folds to complete his sensory onslaught on your body. “I have no intention of rushing this.”

While carefully suckling on your nipple, his index finger drove an intrepid trail around the perimeter of your waiting entrance, a groan escaping his lips with every soft jerk of your hips into his touch yearning for contact. Unlatching his lips to raise up to hover his lips over yours, Aemond watched your body writhing uncontrollably while your eyelids fluttered from your heightened oversensitivity.

“So eager for me,” he moaned gratuitously. “You really need me this much? Don’t worry, you’ll have me soon, issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

With his last syllable, two fingers swiftly buried knuckle-deep into your heat with a sharp hiss and another buck of your hips in return. Aemond’s eye fluttered closed to the sweet music of your moans while his fingertips deftly stroked your walls, wasting no time in pumping within you at a pace you were not quite ready for.

Stealing chaste kisses with every explicit purr from your tongue, Aemond hardly noticed the droplets of anticipation from his own length dragging onto your thigh as he leaned into you. Instead, his lips journeyed to join his pistoning fingers and lightly pecked your sensitive bud. Your hips keened furiously, weakened cries of his name spilling out as your eyes roved into the back of your head.

“Stay with me, sweet one,” Aemond purred against your clit, the tip of his tongue tracing your sensitive nub as his fingers curled feverishly inside you just enough to bring your attention back to him between your thighs. “I’ll fuck you soon, I promise.”

Aemond licked a flat stripe over your folds before withdrawing his fingers and suddenly dipping the tip of his tongue into your waiting cunt, your walls clenching tightly around the new intrusion while your head threw back into the pillows. Drinking in your moans as the sensation overwhelmed you, he lapped at your core and bucked his hips into the sheets beneath with every flutter of your walls around him. Both hands ventured to spread your folds before him, allowing him easier access to lave deeper inside you.

“Aem… I’m…,” you stammered, hands clawing at his shoulders and clamping down on your bottom lip to drown out your ragged breaths. “Please, just…”

“Cat got your tongue, sweet girl?” He muttered between your thighs, his eye lust-blown to a pitch black as he gently rutted into the sheets beneath. “You come undone for me so easily.”

Reacting to your fucked-out state so soon, he picked up the pace of his tongue swirling around your core, lapping feverishly while the pad of his thumb trailed to rub gently over your bundle of nerves, sending your hips keening up into his face and earning a hungry growl from the prince eating you like a man starved. Your spine flexed with the pressure building up inside you, the sensation of a spindle tightening within that would soon snap against the rising tension.

“Aemond please… I’m gonna…”

The staccato flutters of your walls increased around his tongue, encouraging Aemond to ramp up the thrusts of his tongue inside you, licking flat stripes into your core until you toppled over the precipice of your peak, the coiled tension inside you bursting its banks and releasing a tidal wave onto his waiting tongue with repeated cries of his name. Aemond’s eye widened as he consumed the sight of you clenching around him and mewling softly as you rode out your high with the sensation of his breaths against your cunt and both his palms pressed onto your inner thighs, revelling in the gentle shake spreading through your body.

Planting a farewell kiss to your aching folds, Aemond rose to crawl up your body when the sound of an approaching voice burst through the chamber door, resulting in the image of Aegon frozen in the door frame, eyes on stalks as he calculated the sight before him.

“Have I had one too many cups,” Aegon slurred slightly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow beneath his dishevelled silver waves. “Or is my brother fucking a Strong in my bed?”

Aemond gulped, sloping his body in a bid to shield your modesty. “‘Twas mere coincidence, brother, I do apologise.”

“Oh no, don’t apologise,” Aegon dismissed, a wavering hand flailing in the space before him. “I may not be all that keen on witnessing my brother in such a compromising position, but the lady on the other hand…”

Aemond lowered his shoulder to conceal you further, still shaking softly in the afterglow of your orgasm, head sinking into the pillows and eyes still flickering closed.

“Well,” Aegon slapped his thigh. “I guess I should, umm… I’ll sleep in the…”

“Actually, Aegon,” Aemond interrupted his brother, “Perhaps you could assist me further in this venture.”

Aegon puffed his cheeks. “Go on, dear brother.”

“I’m afraid my sweet girl here is in quite a… delicate condition, Aegon,” Aemond pressed, gesturing down to you still blissed-out beneath him, softly groaning and legs twitching as you eagerly awaited Aemond’s return. “Could you mayhaps help me send her over the edge?”

A satisfied chuckle thrummed through Aegon’s throat. “Brother, I know I requested a favour in return for my efforts tonight but, this… have you even consulted the lady?”

“P… please,” you purred weakly, raising a hand out toward Aegon in the open doorway. “Prince…”

“As you can see, brother,” Aemond observed. “At present, the lady is quite absent of mind. Your encouragement would be… gratefully received.”

“As you so wish,” Aegon hesitated for a fraction of a second before clicking the chamber door closed behind him and hurriedly disrobing on his way across the room. As he arrived unclothed at your side, Aegon swept a hand to brush your sweat-slicked hair from your face. “Poor fucked-out little whore, do you need help reaching your peak with my brother?”

“Pl… please,” you begged wearily, hands flailing to grip onto Aegon’s alabaster skin and drawing him in. “Please.”

The brothers shared a sinister chuckle as Aegon scooped his arms around your waist and settled in the space behind you, bare legs enclosing you on either side and his hardening length pressing into your back.

“You’re going to take everything my brother gives you, isn’t that right little girl?” Aegon sneered into the shell of your ear through an accomplished grin, his manner far more degrading and humiliating than his brother’s which somehow only sought to arouse you further. “Take every inch and still beg him for more, do you hear me?”

Swallowing back a flush of envy as he witnessed his brother’s hands roving over your body, tousling into your hair and tracing your curves before venturing to part your thighs, Aemond’s attentions returned to your soaking cunt, stifling a groan as he noticed the glimmering trail of your own slick coating your thighs.

“Say the word and I will stop, my lady,” he reassured, grasping his length and nudging the tip at your waiting entrance. His eye searched your own faltering ones for a go-ahead signal, finding you making a frantic nod to proceed with all the energy you could muster. In one slow, glacial buck of his hips, his cockhead slipped inside your searing heat and elicited strangled gasps from you both in tandem. Your head dipped back into Aegon’s chest where the elder pulled your hair to face him, consuming your lips in a haunting kiss at the same moment his brother filled your cunt to the hilt. He tasted of bitter wine and desperation, his lips pressing into yours to make the most contact possible. Aegon hummed contentedly into your mouth as you blossomed for the two silver princes, your body and mind caving to their will at every turn as if you belonged to them.

“She’s so desperate for us, brother,” Aegon observed, pulling from the kiss and watching you gaze up at him through glassy, lust-blown pupils. His vision journeyed down to your lips, parted and plumping to a cherry red after his onslaught. “Give this hungry little cockwhore everything and take no mercy.”

Your gaze snapped back to Aemond with a sharp, devastating thrust into your cunt, his thick cock stretching your walls as if a sculptor crafting his design to his own will, modelling your insides to take him and him alone.

“My sweet girl,” Aemond cooed, a stark contrast to the humiliating tones of his brother. Bracing himself with one fist balled into the sheets beside you, his hips gathered a steady pace into your core as his free hand raised to cup your chin and captured your lips with his. Smashing into your face and plundering your mouth with an intrepid tongue, Aemond moaned softly against your lips. “You feel like the seven heavens around me.”

“Is she tight, brother?” Aegon groaned behind you, palming at your breasts in his impatient exploration of your body as if his turn to dominate you could not come soon enough. “Is she choking your cock?”

“As tight as your lips should be, Aegon,” Aemond sassed before returning his devoted attention to ruining you slowly but surely, every determined piston of his hips sending your spine bucking into him, thighs wrapping tightly around his waist to draw him in closer. “Is it too much, darling?”

In truth, it was. Between Aegon’s wandering fingers and Aemond’s relentless onslaught on your insides, you were battling for consciousness. The overwhelming tension within you kept you alert under duress, knowing that you could not give in to the darkness until their shared torment came to an end.

“Y… yes,” you spluttered weakly, unable to gasp out full sentences between Aemond’s full-force thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Good,” Aegon growled lowly, a hand journeying to wrap around the column of your throat and squeezing at each side, stemming the flow of blood to your brain. “Now you’re ours.”

Although reluctant at the inclusion of his brother in the statement, Aemond punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips to press his cockhead against your cervix, making you wail out his name for its echo to carry around the stone chamber along with the lewd slaps of your coupling.

“You’re not going to marry the Velaryon bastard, are you?” Aemond queried while ramping up his pace to an unbearable tempo, his throbbing tip stroking the entrance to your cervix.

“N… no, ser,” you complied, hands scrambling to clutch at Aemond’s poker-straight locks, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and tugging him toward you, helplessly signalling your cliff-edge nearing once more and your desperate need for more contact to push yourself over the precipice.

“Good girl,” Aemond swallowed, swooping down to capture your lips with his and clenching his eye closed to savour the warmth of your cunt bowing to his will.

Aegon’s hand tightened around your throat, exposing your neck and leaning in to drag his teeth over your sensitive skin. His free digits trailed between the valley of your hips to stroke your bundle of nerves, gloating at the keening of your hips into his overstimulation. “Now let go for us.”

You flexed and writhed between the two princes, screaming out into the void as they chased you to your peak, molten flame coursing through your veins as if you might lose consciousness at any moment. Aemond’s thrusts refused to relent, plunging deep inside you while your walls flushed waves of your own pleasure out to greet his throbbing member. Explicit splashes filled the room as he continued to ride out your orgasm in pursuit of his own, plummeting into you with a force that left your vision blurred with stars like the night sky.

“That’s it,” Aegon encouraged, his fingers still working your clit to oversensitivity and enjoying the way your thighs twitched away from him. “Aemond’s going to fill you up now, what do you say, Strong?”

Your fucked-out state could barely hear a word coming from behind you, which earned a hard squeeze on your windpipe.

“I said, say thank you to my brother for filling you up, little bitch,” Aegon spat into the shell of your ear, sinking his teeth into your earlobe.

“Th… thank you, ser,” you spluttered out mid-consciousness, your walls still fluttering so delicately that you could just make out Aemond’s twitching cock pulsing inside you, ragged thrusts betraying his own climax as he spilled his seed into your warm chambers. His own distempered breaths melted with your own as he bumped his forehead against yours, pressing a light peck to your nose while you both steadied yourselves and Aegon released your throat.

“You swear you will not return to Jaecerys?” Aemond pressed once more as he slowly withdrew his length from your swollen folds, a wave of post-coupling clarity washing over him and a sense of dread rising to the surface that him and his brother may have scared you away for good. “Please, don’t go to him.”

“Never, Prince Aemond,” you reassured while you regained breath. “I’m yours, beloved.”

“Well, you say that now,” Aegon interjected behind you, threading his fingers into your brunette hair and tugging you back to face him. “Your evening is not quite over yet, Lady Strong.”

His lips crashed into yours and melted your resolve once more, your spine caving and sinking into his touch. Your spit-slicked lips felt swollen against his own narrow mouth, his kiss so feverishly intense as if he craved you with every beat of his drunken heart.

Your attention turned back to Aemond as the mattress lifted between your thighs, signalling his departure. He rolled back on his knees and grasped your shoulder to prop you up while Aegon moved from beneath you, taking his place caging you between his thighs and planting butterfly kisses on your head trailing down to the nape of your neck.

“It’s alright, angel,” Aemond comforted, long slender fingers entwining in your hair and cupping your neck beneath.

Aegon cleared his throat as he arrived between your parted thighs.

“Lady Strong, you’ve seen how… precious my brother can be,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow, palming at his length and crawling to approach your cunt, reddened and enraged but by no means unwilling to sustain a third orgasm. “Are you ready to find out what it’s like to be fucked beyond your senses?”

You swallowed hard, glanced back at Aemond and nodded contentedly.

As the river bends to the will of fire and blood, two Targaryen princes parted your Strong resolve, never to return to its former path.

“Good girl,” Aegon growled deep in his throat, his aching cockhead nudging at your folds. “Hold onto Aemond for me, this might hurt a little.”

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fabricated-misslieness · 4 months

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: prince alhaitham x knight male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: the rescue of the prince.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.23k ~ OG ONESHOT ~ PT.2 ~ PT.3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: death of knights and death of a dragon

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: nobody asked for it but i just finished the song of achilles and i must grieve

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The dragon breathes fire in the knight's stories. It's breath burns like the hearth of a forge, melting your men from armored, hard bodies, to muscle, then bone, then nothing but dust as though burned on a pyre. Their ash began, already, to fly in the wind. Unburied, their souls would never rest, and so, you prayed instead, for their dreary threading upon this Earth in eternity to be as satisfactory as God could make it.

You hefted your sword above your head. The dragon scale you struck blemished, but the dragon didn't bleed. Its body was impenetrable, guarded not by steel but by the will of nature itself, years upon years of evolution. What did dragons have to fear, if not each other? Scaled, each was, in story and in life. They are solitary creatures for a reason.

The dragon roared, slighted, even, by the smallest blow upon its body. It turned to you and rightfully you ran behind the overhanging of rock from the mountain above. Your men would not call you a coward for this—they were dead.

Rock did not burn as metal nor bone did, but even the air that was left affected by the dragon's flame heated your armor and burned your skin.

You fought through the feeling as you ran. You would be saved from the flame of the dragon's breath if you were below its snout, and so that you did; it almost seemed a miracle the speed that you procured from your limbs, limbs that were heavy with exhaustion of the travel and sudden ambush of the dragon.

But then there was the now, you were so close to the underbelly of the dragon, it could swipe its feet, sharp with claws, and you would be done for. But there was a webbing between its toes, uncovered by scales.

The dragon swiped and you jumped over. Then, with its leg behind your back and its heel between your feet, you struck down.

It was unlucky that you had missed, instead striking the meat of its foot, but the dragon was unluckier so, or more foolish, to flinch away; likely it had never been stabbed before.

You stayed strong even as it flinched away from you, leaning all your weight on your side to make it pierce all the way through, down to the ground, so as the dragon pulled away, it tore a line through its foot, breaking it in two.

The dragon howled in pain. You could not do the same for the other. As negligent as the dragon was to have not seen past this outcome, it would not do the same thing again.

It prepared to strike again in but a moment, you would not be able to run as you had before, you had retrieved your sword from the ground, and you were still stupidly close to this beast.

So instead, as you stood still and seemed to surrender your life hopelessly, you thought. What had made it so easy to tear through the dragon's foot?

The scales of its back were impenetrable, but you hadn't struck its back. The large scales that adorned it seemed to get smaller as they went down to its extremities, to its toes. The way through the top of its foot seemed hard, but plunging it down was not. The underside was easy to pierce.

The underside? With its four feet on the ground, a dragon never had the need to protect its belly. For this reason, it had never needed the strongest scales there.

The dragon lifted its head in the next moment, determined on squashing you with it. You had no doubt it could.

However, as it slammed down, you pierced its chin with your sword. As you expected, it had been easy. Harder, still, was to continue on. You walked further under the dragon, still holding your sword in its body, and the path you walked on the ground mirrored the tearing above you.

Blood spilled down upon your as you walked your path, but you remained determined. You closed your eyes and your nose and the tearing above continued.

Your sword carved down the dragon's mouth, then its throat, then its chest.

In the next instance, you were squashed. You were almost certain you'd be dead, if you hadn't entered the very tear you'd caused.

Had your men been alive, your tale would've become a legend: the first man to escape a dragon's mouth.

You crawled through its esophagus, up into its mouth; treading, then, between the two halves of the tongue, and finally to its teeth. The only resistance you dealt with now as you pried its jaw open was the weight of its head.

Covered in blood, mucus, and saliva, you lay a burnt, but not dead man in front of your once prison.

You could not rest yet, however. The prince still needed rescuing.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He awoke, suddenly, to the loud clanging of armor. The dragon must be back with more treasure to bury him with, but then, as he found the effort to open his eyes, he saw a knight.

His armor was stained with blood. The dragon would not want it.

"Prince!" He recognized him in an instant as the knight pulled off his helmet. Once, you were just one of those gaudy, disused war generals he was forced to be respectful to; but now, you were different. You were his savior.

His eyes lit up, and he had a will the size of the dragon's hoard to speak, but his stomach was empty–what use did a dragon have for keeping its treasure alive?–and his mouth parched.

The Knight dragged him out of his prison of silver treasure, and then into his arms.

He felt warm. Not a scalding kind of warm that came from the burning of one, as he likely was, but warm as a blanket in the winter. He closed his eyes and relished in it. The metal of the dragon's hoard was never warm, especially not on cold nights.

His body rocked as you carried him, but he was too numb to feel it.

After doting on the warmth, he opened his eyes and stared. The heat of his gaze was intense, almost as though he was just as intent on melting you like the dragon was. But it was a different intention he held, as he was instead looking to admire you.

He had never looked at you, really. He only ever let his eyes wash over the room, and you were just one of the many faces he glazed over.

But now, you seemed different.

He saw you in a new light, and in this light, he felt enamored. His savior.

He felt like a princess kept in a tower, saved by an honorable knight. The princesses in the stories never met the knight before that moment, and the simple act of saving them was enough to fall for. He thought it foolish, once, but he was becoming a victim of it now.

His gold tunic stained red where you touched, and the hands that held him felt awfully sticky, but they held him with a gentleness he'd never felt before.

It was just a thing of the moment. He told himself afterward. I am not in love.

And he wasn't, it was true, but that didn't mean he wasn't incapable of it later.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // alhaitham #🌸 // success!

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sunflowersandsapphires · 5 months

Text

You will become it

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

summary: When Frank lets the stress of the holidays get to him, he accidentally pushes you away.

Based on the prompt that @hellskitchenswhore posted about: Thanksgiving or Christmas Day with either Matt or Frank, inspired by the quote "If you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. You will find him even when he is not there"

warnings: swearing, descriptions of anxiety, allusions to past trauma

a/n: Ugh I could write a MILLION of these because it's so relatable. I hope that this brings you all some comfort this holiday season.

w/c: 3.1k

To no one’s surprise, Frank fucking hated the holidays. After losing Maria and the kids, it was just a horrible time of year filled with bitterness over the gap in his life and the fact he’d never have a normal winter again.

He tended to throw himself into his vigilante work, bringing the most permanent form of justice to assholes all over the city. Thanksgiving and Christmas were spent alone, unless you considered his guns valuable company, eating bland food and steeling himself against the shitty weather because he was too stubborn to buy a thicker coat.

But then he’d met you.

Karen had introduced you over the past summer, sort of. He’d stumbled onto the blonde’s fire escape in the middle of the night—startling the two of you who were having some kind of girls’ night after a tough week. And once Frank had collapsed, unconscious, onto the metal grates he stood on, Karen was forced into an explanation to prevent you from calling the cops.

You’d adjusted to the knowledge that your best friend was willingly helping a fugitive faster than anyone expected—immediately jumping in with wide eyes and assisting Karen as she cleaned and dressed Frank’s numerous wounds.

When he came to, he was settled on Karen’s couch, blankets draped over his lap. Across the room, you sipped from a wine glass as you flipped through the pages of a book. He’d hoarsely asked what you were reading and, after the initial shock from him speaking to you had worn off, you’d smiled and asked if he wanted to read with you.

Frank was eternally smitten by your thoughtful nature. You were an angel on earth and, for some fucking reason, you were determined to brighten Frank’s life with your company, though he repeatedly reminded you that he didn’t deserve you. Despite his bumbling compliments and gruff personality, you’d eagerly agreed when he’d asked you out to dinner a week after meeting you—and you’d been together ever since.

You hadn’t been dating long, your relationship still fresh enough to count the months spent together on one of his rough hands, but his perpetual grouchiness was slowly being chipped away by your adorable smile and apparent need to spend the majority of your time tucked against his side.

Frank had fallen head over heels for you at the speed of light, so saying “no” to your sparkling doe eyes when you batted your lashes at him was damn near impossible. Which was how he found himself in his current predicament.

While out at a bar with you and your colleagues at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Red—always the antagonist—had smugly asked him if he intended to spend the holidays with you. It wasn’t a secret amongst your circle that you weren’t overly close with your family. One too many bad memories had resulted in a quieter holiday season without said family, a preferred alternative to the hours of manipulation and abuse you’d previously endured during the winter months.

Frank was aware that you didn’t have family plans for Christmas, perfectly comfortable welcoming you into his house for an intimate few days complete with fantastic food (that the two of you would cook together) and cuddling in front of the fireplace as you nodded off. You agreed that it had been the perfect way to spend Thanksgiving, so Frank had assumed you’d be alright having a similar Christmas celebration.

And maybe you would have, had Karen not suggested that Frank host a Christmas celebration at his place for a larger group.

“Frank, you’ve been bragging about the turkey you cooked for a week. It’s honestly rude of you to withhold that from us.” She remarked, smirking at his resulting scowl.

“And on the holiest day of the year too.” Murdock shook his head, shit-eating grin spreading across his face as Frank scoffed.

“Fuck you, Red. We don’t wanna host your sleazy ass for Christmas. Right, sweetheart?” Frank’s confidence had vanished when he saw your bashful shrug.

Avoiding his gaze, you picked at the label on your beer bottle. “I dunno, Frankie. I don’t think I’d mind a few more people…” Your voice was quiet, hesitant, but there was a hopeful edge to it that he couldn’t ignore.

It took him all of 3 seconds to cave to your apprehensively optimistic gaze, his heart melting as you bit your lip nervously. “Sure, darlin’. What the hell?”

He was regretting his hasty agreement now, though.

Standing in his kitchen, surrounded by Karen, Matt, Curtis, and—thankfully—you on December 23rd, trying desperately to get the cheese sauce for his mac and cheese to combine properly as the four of you drank beer and laughed boisterously around him. As always, you were more helpful than anyone else, offering soft praises and sweet smiles as you cooked side by side, but Frank’s irritation was steadily building and even you couldn’t stop it.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept well all week, familiar nightmares viciously overtaking his subconscious as soon as he closed his eyes. And the lack of sleep, combined with the way his head was pounding as he worried over the pot on the stove, meant his patience was thinner than a fishing line.

“For fucks sake, thought y’all were here for a goddamn reason. Is this a social event now?” Frank groused, whirling around to face the four people in his kitchen as yet ANOTHER cheese sauce failed to form smoothly.

You all fell silent, though everyone but you rolled their eyes at his grumpy tone. Not used to this side of Frank, your face fell—eyes widening as your partner barked orders, creating a much different atmosphere than the peaceful one that had surrounded your perfect Thanksgiving. Shuffling backwards a step, you stood rigid as a statue as Frank scowled.

“Karen, wash the China I took out. Curt, chop those veggies. Murdock, peel those potatoes.” He pointed to each of them in turn before turning to you. “And clearly I can’t make this shit to save my life so you figure it out while I iron the table cloth.”

Nodding dutifully, you removed the pot behind his hips from the heat, scraping the lumpy bechamel into the trash before making another roux. You knew Frank didn’t mean to snap at you, he was just on edge about hosting the gathering. No one else was concerned about his demeanor, so why should you be? Trying to quell the churning anxiety in your chest, you diligently completed every task you were given, silently whipping up a number of sides as the sun began to set.

Eventually, the five of you had prepped everything but the turkey, including the decorations and table set up. Waving farewell to the other three sous chefs, you lingered by the door as you closed it behind them.

You and Frank had previously agreed that you’d stay over for a few nights to watch Christmas movies and bake cookies, your two favorite traditions that you hadn’t shared with anyone for a few years. However, after witnessing his clear frustration, you were apprehensive. Did he still want you to stay?

Because of your history with men taking their anger out on you, Frank’s discontent had brought out a side of you that you never wished to experience again. You were still pretty sure he hadn’t meant it, but your certainty was fading by the minute.

Stepping back into the kitchen, you began scrubbing at the pots in the sink as quietly as possible, hoping that if you handled the rest of the work in silence, Frank wouldn’t have any reason to be upset with you anymore. Unfortunately for your nervous heart, Frank’s mood wasn’t quite over.

“The fuck are you doin’,” Came a harsh voice from behind you.

Willing yourself not to startle, you stayed facing the sink, your back to your raging boyfriend. “Just cleaning up, love.” Your voice was meek, but it luckily didn’t waver.

“And I ain’t capable of doin’ that myself?” His stern response hit you like a brick. Shutting off the faucet, you wiped your hands on a towel and turned to face him, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Of course I think you’re capable. I wanted to help you, I—“

“It’s funny, really. Y’all wanted me to host this goddamn thing and you don’t think I can do my own fuckin’ dishes?” Frank looked at you, incredulously. He never asked for your pity.

“Frankie—“

“I don’t need your help. Get out.” He said, jerking his head to shoo you out of the room.

Choking on an inhale, your eyes stung with unshed tears. “O-ok, Frankie.”

As he restarted the stream of scalding water, you gathered your things and headed out into the night.

Turning off the tap, Frank dried his hands before surveying his kitchen with a satisfied nod. Banishing you from the kitchen was rude—he knew that—but, ultimately, it had allowed him to unwind while efficiently tidying up the sprawling mess that had manifested during a day of cooking. Exhaling forcefully, Frank felt a pang of guilt in his gut as he remembered how abrasively he'd treated you today. Ready to beg for your forgiveness, and offer a few ways he might be able to make it up to you, he strode over to the couch where he figured you were laying.

“Sorry for kickin’ ya out of the room, sweetheart. Guess I needed a minute to calm down. Did ya still wanna watch a movie?” Rounding the arm of the couch to kneel before you, Frank was hit with a wave of dread as he was met with the sight of empty cushions. Treading into the bedroom, his bed was similarly bare, and his bathroom was dark and vacant.

Heart rate spiking, he spun around in the main room of his apartment, looking for any sign of your whereabouts. Your purse and coat were gone. You’d left, but why?

Suddenly, a chilling thought occurred to him as he replayed your previous conversation.

“I don’t need your help. Get out.”

He hadn’t clarified that he still wanted you here. You thought he had demanded that you leave the apartment altogether, not the kitchen while he worked.

Shit, shit, shit.

Scrambling for his phone, he snatched his keys and flew down the stairs as he dialed your number. The phone rang endlessly as he sprinted to his truck down the block. Eventually, he received your voicemail. FUCK.

Turning his keys in the ignition, he called again. “C’mon, darlin’. Please pick up.”

Getting your voicemail again, Frank growled in frustration, before his screen lit up with a text.

You: Hey, bubba. I can’t talk at the moment. Is something wrong? Are you alright?

Closing his eyes in relief, and gritting his teeth as he was smacked with another wave of guilt, he cursed himself. “Of course I’m not alright,” He thought to himself, “I sent you away, sweetheart.”

Flicking open his phone, he hastily typed out a question.

Frank: Are you at your place?

You: Yes, love.

Frank: I’ll be there soon.

Speeding down the city streets, Frank couldn’t help but wish he’d realized his mistake earlier. Maybe a flower shop would've been open then.

Chewing absently at your thumbnail, a new rush of tears rolled down your cheeks. God, you were such a coward. You’d avoided Frank’s call because you simply couldn’t handle him yelling at you for whatever you’d done to upset him. Instead, you’d texted him, hoping to hide behind a wall of messages as he explained your mistake. But it hadn’t worked that way, he was coming here. To scold you. Maybe even break up with you.

The thought of Frank leaving you because of something you’d unknowingly done to offend him forced the air from your lungs with a sob. Desperately trying to get your emotions under control, you threw back the wine in your glass as you stared blankly towards the door.

The footsteps in the hall were deafening, each one sending a chill down your spine as you willed your aching legs to hold you upright. A key scratched in your lock and the door slid open, the large shadow of your boyfriend extending into your apartment. Huffing out a breath as he addressed you, Frank frowned at your tear-streaked face.

“You cannot just leave like that,” He explained, shutting the door with a loud bang that made you jump. “Did you walk home? It’s dark out!”

Frank stepped forward, reaching his arms toward you and ice flooded your veins as you responded to the familiar motion.

Stumbling backwards, you curled in on yourself. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Tears splattered on the floor beneath your downcast face. You were trembling, terrified of being screamed at, or worse.

That was when it all clicked for Frank. Your wide eyes as he bossed you around. The way your jaw remained clenched for hours as you cooked. The lack of your giggles and quips and smiles for the majority of the day. You were afraid. He’d made you afraid.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice broke as you sobbed, just out of his reach. Each of your choked inhales broke off another piece of his shattered heart. “Oh, honey, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.”

Crouching in front of you, keeping enough distance to hopefully not spook you further, Frank brought his hands into a placating gesture. As he exposed his palms to you, you looked at him with glassy eyes. “Darlin’ I’m not upset with you. I ain’t ever been upset with ya, not once. I was grouchier than normal today and I didn’t realize I was being too cruel. I ain’t mad, sweet girl. Could never be mad at my sweetheart.”

You nodded, but didn’t seem to be registering his words. Crumbling to the floor in front of him, you were practically hyperventilating at this point, stuttering through apologies between shallow breaths.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna choke. Let’s sit on the couch for a minute.” Supporting your weight as you collapsed into his chest, Frank scooped you up and carried you over to the couch. He settled down, sitting your shaking body in his lap. Shushing you gently, he tucked your head under his chin, running a broad hand along your spine. “Breathe, sweet girl. Can’t have my baby suffocatin’ because of my dumb ass.”

Breathing deeply to demonstrate the action for you, Frank eventually felt your body still, your inhales evening out.

“‘M so sorry, Frankie.” You whispered hoarsely against his neck.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, my beautiful girl. You were just tryin’ to help. I’m sorry for bein’ such an ass.” Pulling back from you to study your face, Frank brought a hand up to cradle your jaw as he swiped away the remaining tears from your damp cheeks. “I didn’t mean to send ya home, darlin’. I just wanted you to sit on the couch while I cleaned up.” Continuing quickly as he watched your lips part with another apology, he added, “That ain’t your fault either. It definitely seemed like I was kickin’ ya out. That’s also on me.”

Nodding hesitantly, you leaned into him with a tired sigh. “Ok.”

“Did ya want me to leave, sweetheart? I know I scared you,”

“No!” Your hand came up to grasp his jacket, clinging to him fearfully. “Don’t leave me, Frankie, please.”

“Hey, hey, I ain’t leavin’ unless you want me to, darlin’.” Frank promised, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here as long as you’ll put up with me.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” You murmured, tracing a finger over the folds in his lapel.

“Then I’ll be here.” He assured you, stroking a hand over your back once again as he reclined, tugging you on top of him and covering you both with a blanket from the back of your couch. “Right here. Always.”

The pair of you sat in silence for a spell, focusing on getting your breathing back under control. Eventually, Frank pressed another kiss to your head before offering an explanation. “I shouldn’t have snapped atcha, sweet girl. I was tired, and irritated, and I let it out on all of you. That ain’t fair and I’ll try to keep my cool next time.”

Nodding gratefully against him, you mumbled a quivering “Thank you.”

“Of course, doll. I scared ya when I kicked ya out?” He asked, hoping you’d clarify so he could prevent this panic in the future.

“Mmhmm.” You confirmed. “I, um, I don’t do well when people raise their voices. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sensitive.”

“Hey now,” Frank admonished as gently as he could. “I like my sensitive girl. I’ll try not to yell. I didn’t know it would bother you so much, darlin’.”

You shrugged. “People got angry with me a lot when I was a kid. Especially the men in my family. Maybe I was an easy target, I don’t know. But I jump to conclusions now because of it.”

“That makes sense, honey. That’s your brain tryin’ to protect you from big scary guys like me.” Frank joked, but you poked his chest.

“You’re not scary,” You chided. “Just big.”

He chuckled at that. “Well, I’ll try to keep bein’ ‘not scary’ and promise to listen whenever you choose to warn me about this stuff, ok?”

“Ok.” You agreed, lips twitching into a faint smile as he brushed his nose into your hair. Turning your face to his, your lips met in a sweet kiss.

“Have I done anythin’ else that bothers ya?” Frank asked, fear sparking in his chest.

Shaking your head vehemently, you snuggled into him. “No. You’re wonderful.”

“Ok. Just tell me, darlin’. I never want ya to be afraid of me.”

“‘M not afraid of you, Frankie. Promise.”

“Ok, sweetheart. Did ya wanna go to bed, or stay here for a bit?”

“Could we go to your place?” You asked timidly.

“Of course, love. But only if you let me carry you out to the car. My poor girl has had a rough day and it’s my job to make that up to her.”

You giggled. “Mmm kay.”

Frank spoke quietly to you as you traveled back to his apartment, talking about the book he was reading and what he was excited about for the holiday. You remained quiet, the exhaustion of your panic attack weighing on you, but you were filled with a pleasant warmth as Frank shared more of himself with you.

Once he’d carried you into his home and tucked you into bed, you were barely awake.

“Sleep well, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Comforted by Frank’s rumbling promise, you drifted off, dreaming only of his smiling face.

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