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xxsabitoxx · 1 year

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Unfortunate

Hantengu Clones x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: this fic contains dub-con/non-con, anal sex, brainwashing, dumbification, gang banging, rough sex, bukkake,, cunnilingus, rough oral, hitting and marking, degrading, using the reader as nothing more than a toy, taunting.

A/N: this took me too damn long. Curse this month bro, I haven’t had an time at all to sit down and write. Regardless, it’s better late than never right? So here it is, the full length fic. Also ignore the way the paragraphs get progressively longer. It just happens as I write and it’s no use trying to cut them in half lmao

Word count: 7.1K

“A village by the north mountains.” you mumbled to yourself, walking through the empty streets that made up the barely there village. “Some shit this is…” you grumbled again, your findings had been less than pleasant upon your arrival. The village itself consisted of only a few homes, less than ten from what you could tell. The larger of the buildings was likely a combination of essentials for the few residents that reside here. Though you couldn’t be certain any of them were left.

You had arrived to a massacre without any bodies, something that would look like a gruesome bear attack to any passerby. Though, you expected such a scene given the fact that it had taken you three days to arrive here. “How was there no one closer…” you still couldn’t figure out why you had been sent. It was obvious from the start that you’d never make it in time, yet your crow screeched for hours on end about how you must hurry to the decrepit little village at the base of the north mountains. It sucked, to say the least.

“Anyone out there?” Your voice bounced off of the empty homes, splatters of dried blood clinging to their walls. The doors had been ripped off their hinges, windows shattered and the remains laid sparkling on the dirt. It was a lost cause, you knew that, yet for some reason you kept trudging forward. It was eerie, nothing but the moon above illuminating the world around you. The silence wasn’t helping the chill running up your spine, it was obvious that the sooner you got out of here the better.

“Last call! If anyone is out there, make yourself known!” You peaked into the second to last home, confirming no remains and no survivors. “This is a waste of time.” You groaned, picking up your pace as you began making your way down to the last home. From what you could tell, the windows had been broken but the door seemed to still be intact. Maybe they’d run away to a nearby town with a tall tale of a demon attack, treated for minor injuries and hysteria. Though it was likely wishful thinking.

It didn’t hit you until you were a few feet away from the door, blood running cold as you sensed a presence. Immediately your hand flew to the hilt of your sword, heart rate spiking as you moved to take a step forward. Something was preventing you from calling out again, the presence in that house felt wrong to you. You pulled at your blade, unsheathing it a fraction as you pushed your body forward. Just before reaching the home, the door opened itself. At least that’s what your initial thought was until you looked down.

Your mouth seemed to dry up, the scent of that demon was undoubtedly an upper rank. It seemed to be an old man, crawling on all fours out of the home with tears streaking his unsettling face. You couldn’t even make out what he was whining about as he pushed himself into the moonlight. It took you less than a second to collect yourself, diving forward with your blade drawn as you swung for his neck. When your flames subsided you realized you had missed, he was no longer in front of you either.

He was wailing loudly now, your head whipped around to the source. He was behind you, clinging to the corner of one of the houses with tears still sliding down his cheeks. There was no denying it now, his appearance was misleading, his speech was that of an upper rank and so was his scent. You moved forward again, swinging your blade to unleash another fire breathing attack. This time, your blade connected, pain shooting up your arm as it sliced clean through the demon’s neck and slammed into the side of the house.

“Dammit!” You flinched as you brought your sword back, it had only chipped a bit but it was still more than capable of protecting you. The rush of adrenaline that shot through you wasn’t because of the fact that you had beheaded an upper rank. No, it was quite the opposite really. Your entire body seemed to come to life as you watched the severed head grow itself a new body. All the while, the headless body had seemed to replace its missing head.

He… no, they were younger now, your eyes widening as they both straightened. One held an odd looking staff, eyes glowing red as he looked you over with a scowl. The one beside him was holding a fan, green eyes boring into yours as his tongue stuck out. You swore it had the word relaxed on it, yet you were equally as sure that your fear was making you hallucinate. Without hesitation, you dove at the one with green eyes, not processing that he was lifting his odd fan in your direction.

Before you could even lift your blade, you were sent flying backwards, body slamming into the house behind you. A scream of pain left you as you landed, body throbbing as you pushed yourself upwards despite your muscles screaming in protest. It took you a moment to realize your ears were ringing, the noise only beginning to subside as his laughter finally reached you. The one with green eyes had a smirk plastered to his face as his laughing died down. “Oh she’s a feisty one, huh Sekido?”

“She’s a nuisance.” The red eyed demon finally spoke, moving to lift his staff as you surged forward again. Part of you knew this was a useless battle, there was no way you could take an upper rank on your own and expect to walk out of it unscathed. If anything, it pissed you off that you’d likely die on a shitty mission like this. One that should have been avoided altogether really. For some reason, his staff never hit the ground, not bothering to avoid your assault as you sliced his head clean off again.

The green eyed demon began cackling again, the noise high pitched and maniacal as he watched his other half separate once more. You jumped back, the screeching laughter pushing you over the edge as you brought down another attack on the green eyed demon. His laughter didn’t stop, even as his head was removed from his body. Rather, he laughed just a bit harder. You flew back again, eyes watching in disbelief as the bodies split off again. Both bodies gained new heads, both heads gained new bodies.

You had fucked up, big time. “Such a stupid thing! You couldn’t figure out that we wanted you to do this?” The green eyed demon laughed again, watching as you looked between the three of them. Laughing just a bit harder as you realized only three of them stood before you. “I-but…” there was a fourth. You were certain of it… so where the hell did he go? “Karaku…you’re so loud…” the blue eyed demon whined, eyes locked on you as he referred to the green eyed demon. “Shut it, Aizetsu.”

The red eyed one spoke again, staff hovering just a bit off the ground as he scowled at you. “You’re probably wondering where the fourth one went, huh sugar?” The green eyed demon taunted you, completely torn, you couldn’t figure out where to look. If your eyes left the three of them they’d likely attack. If you didn’t try to figure out the location of the fourth, it was likely he’d kill you instead. “C’mon, little slayer… Show us what you got…” the blue eyed demon spoke, voice somber and eyes filled with sadness.

“Urogi, quit playing around.” The red eyed demon bellowed, another name, but your brain was going too fast to remember it. The flapping of wings pulled you from your daze, head whipping in the direction of the noise but it was too late. Two claws grabbed around your waist, the sudden thrust upward knocking your blade straight from your grasp. A scream of shock left you as you were torn straight off the ground, head flying upwards to see what had grabbed you. Somehow, it was the fourth demon.

He looked just as the other three did, the only differences being his eyes and his limbs. Golden eyes stared down at you, a familiar smirk on his lips. Instead of arms and legs, he had claws. His limbs resembled that of a bird or reptile, large wings expanding behind him. You jerked as he stopped, hovering in the air as he looked you over. It wasn’t until he raised his legs that you realized he was using them to grasp you opposed to his arms. “What a pathetic thing you are…” he laughed as he let you go.

You began to plummet to the ground, body and mind so disconnected from your reality that you couldn’t even muster a scream before he swooped down to grab you again. Now, you were facing him, eyes wide and chest heaving. “You humans are so easy to break… though I must say I’ve never seen the fighting spirit leave someone as quickly as it left you.” He admired your petrified face, slowly descending until he was in earshot of his other halves. “Yah know, Sekido? We shouldn’t kill her just yet…”

His eyes trailed over your body, a cruel grin covering his face as he spoke. “Why don’t we have some fun with her? It’s been years since I’ve gotten my fill of human…desire.” The implications had you feeling hot, panic ebbing up the back of your neck as you squirmed in his grasp. “Oh? There it is…” he dropped you a moment later. The fall wasn’t a big one but it still hurt when you hit the ground. The panic was mixing with dread as you realized what the situation was turning to. “Fun? Urogi why can’t we just eat her…” the blue eyed demon whined softly as he stared at you.

“Oi, Aizetsu don’t be such a prude…” the green eyed demon spoke, walking over to where you sat on the ground. He crouched before you, smiling in a way that made you want to run. “She’d certainly have a good time, don’t you think Sekido? You know we need your approval to do anything…” he turned to look at the red eyed demon, a soft thump behind you told you that the winged demon had landed. You met the red eyed demon’s gaze, swallowing thickly as you waited for him to decide your fate.

“There are rules…you know. We each get a turn, no hogging her.” You got the chills, listening intently to the demons conversing about having their way with you. “Listen here, sugar.” The green eyed demon grabbed your face, keeping your attention on him as he spoke. “We’re gonna have a hell of a time with you… satisfy us and maybe we’ll let you leave here with your life.” Behind you, the winged demon snickered, feet dragging on the ground as he too crouched behind you. “You’ll be able to satisfy the four of us with your body, right?”

You didn’t speak, tears burning your eyes as you stared at the green eyed demon gripping your cheeks. “C’mon, answer him, little slayer. It’s not polite to ignore.” The blue eyed demon had somehow closed the distance, crouching down beside you as well. Three out of the four demons surrounded you, the red eyed demon that seemed to be their leader of sorts was still standing by the house he crawled out of. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, you weren’t even sure how to respond.

“You’ll be able to satisfy us, right?” One set of claws gripped your shoulder, tugging you back a bit so you’d be forced to look up at him. You flinched as you did, the green eyed demon’s hand was still gripping your cheeks. “Y-yes…” broken and weak, though the look in his eyes told you that’s just what he wanted to hear. “Good…Oi, Sekido? When can we start?” The yellow eyed demon grinned up at his counterpart, watching him set his staff to the side and finally join you all in the middle of the dirt road. “Now. Karaku, undress her, I’ll let the three of you have free reign for now.”

You swallowed, a noise of surprise leaving you as a single claw ripped your top open from being. “He asked me, Urogi.” The green eyed demon, Karaku, scowled as he moved to rip your uniform pants off of you. “You’ll take years, Karaku… let me help.” Cold air reached your skin simultaneously, pants and top being torn from your body, no longer able to hide any of your skin. “Ah, how modest humans are wearing under garments. How lame.” You felt your face growing warm as the blue eyed demon took you in. “It’s quite useless, I mean really the garment is so thin…”

Your legs were forcefully spread, as if to prove the point of the blue eyed demon. “She smells good, doesn’t she?” Your pants had been discarded, so had your top, nothing but a thin chest binding and your underwear were left to shield you from their wandering hands. “Fear and…arousal?” The winged demon began to laugh, clawed hands coming down to grope your breasts. “She looks ready to cry and yet her body is clearly reacting to this situation.” The green eyed demon kept your legs spread wide, allowing the blue eyed demon to bend down and get a closer look.

“You wanna eat her, don’t you Aizetsu… that smell is so intoxicating…” you could barely pay attention, the rough treatment on your breasts was making your head spin. You hated that arousal was pooling in your gut, cunt throbbing with need as three pairs of eyes stared at you. “I do… you’ll let me go first, right?” His hands were on you now, six hands total touching your body. It was dizzying, “yeah sure, I know you’ll bitch if I don’t… Urogi, take off the chest covering, it’s not necessary.” The green eyed demon shifted out of the way, hands still keeping your thighs spread.

The blue eyed demon, Aizetsu, was tearing your underwear straight off. Perfectly timing it with the winged demon’s motions of slicing your chest covering off. Now, you were completely bare, breasts and cunt on full display for the demons before you. How utterly humiliating. Tears burned your eyes again, this time they broke through the barrier and dripped down your cheeks. “Aww, that needy? How fucking filthy…” your eyes squeezed shut, arms and legs thrashing in their grasp as they held you in place. The green-eyed demon laughed, accompanied by his winged counterpart. Their laughter creates an unbearable symphony.

“C’mon now, no need to fight back. We’re not completely heartless… you’ll enjoy yourself…” his grip tightened painfully, a cry leaving your lips as you thrashed harder. “Aizetsu, quit sitting there like an idiot… get to work.” He mumbled some sort of complaint as he got down on his stomach, the position was too much for you to handle. Your head turned away, limbs giving up their useless fight of escaping the demons’ grasp. Aizetsu moved closer, hands accompanying Karaku’s on your thighs. His breath was fanning over your cunt, uttering a quiet “Itadakimasu” before delving in. You squealed, body thrashing at the sensation of his tongue.

A loud noise slipped past your lips, vibrating your throat as the demon below you kitten licked your cunt. “C’mon now, enjoy it… you won’t find anyone else to give you head like Aizetsu will.” The green demon cooed, face close to yours as his blue eyed counterpart found his rhythm. You could no longer thrash, their grips tightened almost suffocatingly as the blue eyed demon’s lips suctioned to your clit. You could taste blood with how hard you were biting your lip, desperate to not let any noises out. The green eyed demon seemed to catch on, two fingers coming up to pinch your nose. “Ah ah, you’re going to tell us how good we do.”

You gasped for air a moment later, head tilting back into the winged demon’s shoulder as two fingers stretched you open. Aizetsu was lapping hungrily, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He was whining, the feeling sensing vibrations through your clit as his fingers squelched with each thrust in and out of your cunt. Your body betrayed you, seemingly becoming wetter with each passing second. “Damn, hear that Sekido? Aizetsu’s getting her all worked up.” The winged demon behind you cackled, the green eyed one was far too engulfed by the sight. You couldn’t stop the noises you were making, mine fully focused on the pleasure washing over you as he curled his fingers.

“F-fuck…” you choked, eyes shutting as he grazed a particular spot inside of you. “Oh? Do that again, Aizetsu.” Kakaru smirked, gaze shifting from your cunt and your face. Aizetsu whined loudly, sucking your clit harshly and curling his fingers the way he had a moment prior. You convulsed, hips jerking despite their grip on you. You felt it then, the familiar build up in your gut, he was going to make you come. You became more vocal, body giving in to the pleasure he was providing. You held no shame, mind clouded with the desire to reach your climax. Your thighs tensed, a jumble of words slipping past your lips. “Hmm? What was that?” The winged demon cooed in your ear, eyes just barely peeking over to where he was still gripping your breasts.

“…onna…gonna…” you mumbled it over and over as if it were a prayer. Your entire body seemed to be set in fire, the tingling sensations shooting up your spine and down to your toes causing them to curl. “Oh! You’re going to cum aren’t you? All over Aizetsu’s mouth right? I’m sure he’d love to feel your tight cunt squirm around his fingers… right Aizetsu?” The winged demon hugged you tighter, motioning for the green eyed demon to do something you couldn’t see. The demon between your legs only seemed to work harder, fingers moving quicker as he focused all of his attention on your throbbing clit. The green eyed demon keeping your legs apart began massaging your thighs, the sensation enough to push you over the edge as you cried out.

You wailed, body convulsing in pleasure as your orgasm crashed down around you. You couldn’t hear anything outside of the ringing, vision growing spotty as you tried to force air back in your lungs. You hadn’t even realzied the mess you created until the blue eyes demon pushed himself into a kneeling position, a wet patch seeping into the dirt below. You half expected the death grip the winged demon had on you to loosen, he wouldn’t of course. His grip was still tight, eyes shifting around to look at his counterparts… not that you could see it. “Oi, Aizetsu good job…” Karaku laughed, eyes landing on Sekido with a relaxed smile. “Aizetsu had his fun, who’s turn is next? You better say me.” The green eyed demon was doing nothing to hide his erection.

Your limbs felt like jelly, body going slack in the clawed grip of the demon behind you. “It’s your turn, Karaku. Throat fuck her.” Those three words snapped you back to reality, watching as the blue eyed demon was pushed roughly out of the way. “I thought you’d never grant me the fucking permission. You don’t have to tell me twice.” The blue eyed demon groaned as he was essentially tossed aside, whining loudly at the green eyed demon for being so mean. You couldn’t muster any sort of reaction, instead your lips parted obediently. “Oh? Already becoming a well behaved little bitch Hmm? You want my cock don’t you?” Karaku was undoing his pants as he spoke, the winged demon still toying with your breasts while the blue eyed demon decided to sit back and watch.

You swallowed at the sight of him, he was a sizable length with veins running up his shaft. His skin was tanned, the tip was angry red and leaking precum already.. “keep your mouth open.” He’s pumping himself slowly, studying your eyes as your pupils dilate. He can’t help but chuckle at the fact that you’re already that far gone. “Leave it to Aizetsu’s wimpy ass to break her. One orgasm was all it took Hmm? Now you’re a needy little bitch in heat.” He’s pressing the tip to your tongue, holding back a shaky whine as your tongue wiggles around it. “Hold her tight, Urogi.” The winged demon holds you tighter, a loud whine emitting from your mouth as he rolls your nipples between his claws. His front is warm against your back, his breath still fanning against your neck.

You can’t help but close your eyes as the green eyed demon plunged his entire length down your throat. A loud whine changes to a strangled gag at the sudden intrusion. “Fuck…” it’s low, just barely audible to you over your struggled swallows. He draws back, watching as you blink your eyes open, lashes already clumped together from tears. “Oh that’s a pretty sight…” Karaku sighs, completely oblivious to his counterparts' gazes. All that matters to him right now is you and the pretty tears leaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t give you much time to prepare before he’s shoving himself back in. Karaku repeats this motion over and over, not slowing even as saliva drips down your chin and onto Urogi’s clawed hands. “Sekido…”

The winged demon is peering over your shoulder, watching his counterpart’s cock disappear between your lips over and over. “Let me fuck her… please this is too easy for an eager bitch like her.” You’re too focused on the dick in your mouth to even acknowledge the one prodding your back. “Not allowed… I’m the only one that will get to fuck her properly.” his tone is final, not even Aitzetsu bothers to fight that command. Yet, Urogi won’t settle for just your throat like Karaku. “Cmon Sekido! Please… she has more than a mouth and cunt you know.” The red eyed demon scowled at the implication. “You’re nothing more than an animal, Urogi.” The ladder didn’t take offence, rather, he laughed.

“Is that permission?” He cooed, clawed hands squeezing your breasts just a bit harder as you choked and wailed around Karaku’s cock. Sekido huffed, eyes pulling away from Urogi and back to your face. “Go ahead.” You’re being pushed around, the green eyed demon quickly grabbing hold of your head to keep you in place as the winged demon behind you lets you go. You’re shivering at the lack of warmth, not realizing how cold the night air was until his body heat was gone. “You’re doing good for a bitch that was trying to run away earlier.” He’s gripping your hair so tight you think he may rip it out of your head all together. His moans are echoing along the empty village houses, reminding you of just how atrocious these four demons truly are.

“You can take it right? You’re handling my cock so eagerly, surely a whore like you can take it up the ass.” Panic ebbed through your body, no longer overwhelmed by the way he fucked your throat. Rather, your focus was on the pair of claws pushing you forward, hands scrambling to brace yourself using the green eyed demon’s thighs. You felt embarrassment flood your cheeks, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as his claws spread you open. You’d never even dreamt of doing anything… down there. Now, you had no choice. “This will do, since Sekido’s too selfish to share her pussy.” The red eyed demon rolled his eyes “don’t make me revoke my blessing.” The position itself was humiliating, your nails digging into the demon’s flesh as something warm prodded your ass.

You whined, something that sounded like a strangled “no.” But that didn’t stop him, his claws were back on you a moment later, dragging you back towards him. You squealed loudly as the motion forced him inside of you. It wasn’t gentle but it wasn’t harsh either, regardless the intrusion felt foreign, making you squirm as parts of you were stretched in ways you’d never felt before. Karaku showed you no mercy, fucking your throat without missing a beat. Your panic was making your throat restrict, which only made it better for him. You felt as if all air was sucked from your lungs, body completely paralyzed under their relentless attacks. “C’mon Karaku, now is no time to show off your stamina…” It seemed as if he could go on forever.

“Shut… the fuck up… Urogi.” He couldn’t slow his hips even if he wanted to, your mouth was too addictive. The other demon only laughed, using it as a way to hide his strangled gasping. You were suffocatingly tight, clenching around him so hard it was nearly painful. “H-ha… Sekido wants to be selfish… therefore I’ll go for the next best thing. I bet your ass is even tighter than your cunt.” His lips were against your ear, making sure you heard him over your ceaseless gagging. It didn’t take long for him to start his fast and brutal pace, exiting and reentering your ass over and over. You had no time to process, nor did you have time to adjust, rather your body was forced to try and accommodate the sudden intrusion. “Shit…shit…” he was finally losing his composure.

“There we go! About time Karaku, I was getting impatient.” For the first time, the red eyed demon seemed a bit pleased by the events taking place. The green eyed demon’s hands gripped your hair so tightly it brought a whole new cascade of tears streaming down your face. Paired with the relentless abuse of your bottom, you couldn’t understand why you were about to cum. The tension was building with each of Urogi’s thrusts, despite nothing you were used to being stimulated. You doubted you’d actually be able to reach your peak, rather it would be dangled right in front of your face, dragging you along the edge but never actually pushing you over. Your clit was throbbing, neglecting and wishing for the blue eyed demon’s mouth.

You glanced over at him, just barely able to see him over the hip of his green counterpart, your eyes locked briefly. His face morphed into one of shock, tanned cheeks turning a shade of bright red before forcing his gaze away. “Stop prolonging it, I want her to myself for a fucking minute.” Urogi stopped his thrusting, burying himself deeply until you were squirming from the full sensation. He wanted to hear your pretty cries, not muffled by Karaku’s dick shoved down your throat. The other only moaned out a “fuck off” before yanking himself from your mouth all together. You gasped for air, your throat hurting from the constant abuse he had bestowed on you. Karaku’s load hitting your face caught you by surprise, sticky cum pairing your mouth, cheeks and chest.

Accompanied by your tears and drool, Karaku completely ruined you. “How’s that? What you hoped I would do, Sekido?” He was panting, tucking himself away before collapsing on the cold ground, the four of you watched him wipe sweat from his brow, eyes closing as he settled his breathing. “He acts like he even did anything… I’ll show you real stamina.” Karaku on the other hand wasn’t even bothered by the backhanded comment. He was more than satisfied for the time being. You sat there now, knees spread as his arms came up to hook under your armpits and clasp together behind your head. You were completely immobile, fully at his mercy. Tears still leaked down your cheeks but at a much slower pace. “You can handle this…” again, right shading your ear.

Urogi’s hips began moving again, without anything occupying your mouth you truly had nothing to focus on but his cock shoved up your ass. How utterly humiliating that is, your eyes welled with tears as you thought about what this must look like from an outsider's viewpoint. Though your mind couldn’t wander for long, not when the red eyed demon was boring holes into you. You held his gaze with lidded eyes, lips parted and pussy dripping onto the dirt below you. You could see his jaw tense, patience wearing thin despite his emotion being anger. You were mildly impressed by that, maybe a little shocked at yourself for trying to seduce him over to you. You’d experienced all but one, in your lust clogged mind, you found yourself aching for him.

“Oh how easy it is to break the human spirit.” He talks softly, too softly for you to hear over the wild moans escaping the winged demon behind you. “She might be exactly what we are looking for.” Karaku was still relaxed on the ground, hands folded behind his head as he relished in the cool night air. “I don’t think she’ll let us keep her…I’d rather not kill her yet…” Aizetsu sighed, watching intently as Urogi used you. There was no right answer to a situation like this one, but you truly did seem so obedient. As awkward as it initially was, you found yourself starting to enjoy it. The sensation was odd but somehow he was hitting places you didn’t think would be possible, your orgasm still dangling in front of you but completely out of your reach without the extra stimulation you needed. “P-please…” you croaked out in a broken voice.

“Please? Please what…” He moaned, cock throbbing as you continued to suffocate him. He would cum by accident if you kept this up. “She probably wants you to rub her clit.” Karaku sighed in a cheerful tone, one eye peeking open to look at the lewd sight before him. “Oh? That's what you want? One wasn’t enough? Aitezu graced you with such a good one earlier.” you whimpered, hips falling back to meet his thrusts. The action was enough to catch him by surprise, a cruel laugh bubbling out of him. “What a needy little bitch… Aizetsu get over here.” Sekido didn’t argue as Urogi commanded the blue eyed demon, he was rather curious to see how it played out. Aitzetsu was up a moment later, crawling over to kneel in front of you with lidded eyes. “You want this?” he questioned softly as two fingers found your clit.

“Y-yes…please…” the friction alone was sending heat straight to your cunt. “Like this?” he questioned again, head coming close to yours as Urogi nearly thrusted you into him. In a weird way, you wanted to kiss him. “Yes… just like that…fuck.” you were too sensitive, your walls fluttering as your second orgasm crashed over you. You wailed, ears ringing from the intensity of your release. Your face was still sticky, covered in drying cum and tears. A moment later, the winged demon was pulling out of you, painting your back and ass in his pearly cum. “Fucking…shit…” his head fell back, wings expanding as he came down from his high. “T-there you go Sekido… her pussy is all yours to ruin.” Aizetsu was still rubbing your clit, fascinated by the way you fell into him while also trying to pull away from his touch.

“Aizetsu, leave her alone until I say.” The blue eyed demon huffed out a sigh, moving away from you entirely. Now, you were left on your hands and knees before the four demons. The winged one had joined the green eyed one on the ground, lounging as he watched his angry counterpart stalk towards you. “You’ve done surprisingly well for a little bitch that put up such a fight in the beginning. You liked being used as a toy, didn't you? I mean look at the way your pussy has been drooling, covering the ground in your slick arousal. Covered in my counterparts’ cum.” he’s undressing as he speaks, watching your lips quiver as you struggle to meet his eyes. “Don’t act shy all of a sudden, don’t think I overlooked the way you were undressing me with your eyes earlier. You were so desperate for someone to touch your needy little cunt.”

Sekido had begun to undress as he spoke to you, watching as your eyes devoured every inch of tan skin exposed to you. There was something different about seeing him undress, as if you hadn’t seen the bare bodies of his green and yellow eyed counterparts. Part of you had to wonder what the blue eyed demon looked like under all his clothing…how you hoped you would be granted the privilege. “It was so easy to break you, look at you. Kneeling on the ground, completely naked, not even trying to run. Though I wish you would… I rather enjoy the chase.” he’s dropping his robes on the ground, exposing a cock that is bigger than the other two you dealt with thus far. You had nothing to say, watching him with wide eyes as he observed you. “Well, if you’re going to be an obedient slut, turn around and stay on your hands and knees.

You did as you were told, switching your position so your ass and cunt faced him. Your head hung low, hips wiggling as you clenched around nothing at all. You couldn’t run away if you tried, you weren’t even sure why you would want to. Not when a dick like his was so eagerly waiting to fuck you. “Look at that, Urogi did a number on you and your back.” You weren’t even aware of the claw marks he had bestowed to your initially unmarred skin. A low thump told you that the red eyed demon had dropped to his knees behind you. What you didn’t expect was his tongue licking up your back. Blood and cum mixed together, a foul combination that the red eyed demon seemed to enjoy. “I nearly regret letting Aizetsu taste your sweet pussy first, I should have been the one to do it. If anything, I should have been first all together.”

You whined, hips shoving back as if that would get him inside of you quicker. A harsh slap to your already sensitive ass had a sob curdling in your throat. “Don’t rush me or I’ll leave you with nothing.” you stilled, waiting for him to grant you proper relief. “You’d make a perfect pet, you know. Get you a nice collar and keep you on a tight lease. You’d be at our beck and call like an obedient little bitch in heat. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” He wanted you as a sex slave, the rational part of your mind that was still somewhat intact wanted to run away, the rest of your mind was screaming out “yes.” how true his words were, how easily broken you were. “C’mon, answer me or you’ll never get the cock you so eagerly want.” you swallowed, lust winning the argument as you cried out a broken “yes…please I want that so badly.”

“Atta girl…” you shrieked as he entered you in one go, splitting your walls apart as he bottomed out. “Shit…” you clenched, suctioning to his length so tightly he couldn’t pull himself out if he wanted to. You were warm, unbearably wet, soft and inviting. There weren’t enough words to describe the way you felt. “A demon like me doesn’t deserve this.” He choked out, panting as he waited for you to relax. He was the only one to give you a moment to adjust, little did you know it was fully designed for his benefit. Sekido couldn’t recall the last time he had experienced the warmth of a human embrace, probably decades ago if he truly had to guess. His stamina was well off, but your cunt was enough to unravel him in one plunge. “Can’t take it, can you Sekido.” You recognized the voice as the green eyed demon.

“Shut the fuck up.” he growled as his nails dug into your already tender thighs. As if to prove his point, he drew himself back, nearly pulling out all together before slamming back into you. You cried out again, nails digging at the frozen ground, searching for a way to keep yourself grounded as he picked up a deadly pace. Your entire body jiggled with each clap, his arms thrusting you forward and pulling you back to meet the thrust of his hips. The motions created an echoing symphony of skin hitting skin, wet squelches adding to it. You couldn’t breathe under the pressure, every drag of his cock grazed the points the winged demon had ghosted. You could feel warmth gushing out of you with each drag out of your cunt, dripping to the ground below.

The sight must have been nothing short of pathetic, your body betraying you, stomping your pride into the dirt beneath you. You were too sensitive, another orgasm sneaking up on you as your cunt quivered around his length. Your ears were ringing again, loud wails escaping as you quickly became overstimulated. Sekido never slowled, pounding into you with the same ferocity as before, calling you degrading names as his nails dug into your hips. The overstimulation grew unbearable but that wasn’t enough to stop him. A fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks, blurring your vision as a warm gush of liquid splattered across his thighs and the ground below. “Oh? How cute she knows how to squirt.” you were still sobbing as he pulled out of you.

“You aren’t quite deserving of my cum just yet, maybe you’ll earn it one day.” He grounded out, grabbing your hair and tugging you backwards. “Turn around and open your mouth like a good bitch.” he let you go, watching you fall over yourself as you tried to get low enough to take his length in your mouth. “Fucking…” he cut himself off, pumping his cock erratically before shoving the tip in your mouth. Salty, bitter cum coated your tongue. You swallowed, slurping as much of him as you could manage before he pushed you off of him all together. “Look at you, greedy little whore. You want more don’t you?” you nodded, eyes so heavy you could barely keep them open. “Aizetsu, fuck her throat since she seems to be thirsty.” You couldn’t be bothered to feel shame at this point, all you wanted now was the blue eyed demon’s cock.

He didn’t need to be asked twice, immediately undoing his bottoms to finally let out his aching cock. Unlike his counterparts, he was smaller. However, where he lacked in length, he made up for in girth. Eager and exhausted you nearly fell flat as you tried to make your way over to him. He met you halfway, hand gently grabbing your cheek and guiding you to him. Your jaw aches from the previous abuse but you open anyways, happily taking him into your mouth and lavishing him with your tongue. “Wh–ahh… what an unfortunate creature you are.” he’s looking away from you, unable to handle the sight of you licking his cock so fervently. “Look at her, Aitzetsu. Unless you think it would make you cum faster.” Karaku cackled as he whimpered.

His noise fueled you, relaxing your throat the best you could to take all of him. You swallowed, tears leaking down your cheeks still as you tried to pleasure him. The sad demon was far different than his counterparts, you were drawn to him because of it. He was seemingly gentler with you, softer and more whiny. He met your gaze again, cheeks blossoming a neon red as he tangled his fingers in your messy hair. You couldn’t feel the cold anymore, not even as you knelt bare before him, sticky from the mess his counterparts had made of you. Your tongue glided along the velvety skin, hand reaching up to toy with his balls. That earned a genuine cry from him, the noise making your clit throb despite how sensitive and used you felt.

He wasn’t trying to hold back, not caring if he came embarrassingly quick. He could tell you were slowly but surely losing the battle of staying conscious. Seconds away from giving up all together the moment the adrenaline wore off. It was likely due to his more timid nature, you foolishly felt safe in his presence. You moved quicker despite your body’s protest, wanting desperately for him to cum and make more of those cute noises. Tears pricked his eyes as his body tensed, gripping your hair tightly and pulling you off of him. Your hands moved before you could think, wrapping around him and pumping steadily until he came all over your face and chest. You felt filthy, body struggling to stay upright as stars blinked across your vision. You were finally giving in, nerves no longer keeping you upright as you collapsed forward into the dirt.

Aizetsu dropped to his knees, catching you just in time as your body went fully slack. “She lasted until all four of us were satisfied… she’s a tough one.” Karaku was pushing himself off the ground finally, watching Aizetsu use pieces of your torn up uniform to try and clean you off. “I take it we’re keeping her, right Sekido?” Urogi was standing now, stretching his wings dramatically as he yawned. “Might as well, she could be the perfect fit. Maybe if she proves herself over time, we can convince, master to turn her into a demon as well.” Karaku clicked his tongue. “He would never agree. Though we could ask Lord Douma…” Urogi flinched, watching Aizetsu haul you up bridal style. “That bastard would want a couple rounds with her before agreeing to that. I’m not willing to share outside of the four of us.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make, Urogi.” Sekido scolded, albeit he agreed. Aizetsu was silent, holding you patiently while waiting for the other’s commands. “We’ll leave here for now, keep her blade and tattered clothing where it is. It’s likely they’ll send more puny slayers to try and locate her. If they find nothing but that, they’ll assume she's dead.” Sekido was picking up his staff, moving to walk out of the village. The other three demons shared a glance before following after him with you in tow. It seems you would never be getting back to headquarters, a futile mission had completely altered your life. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

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wynnyfryd · 4 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 47

part 1 | part 46 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking; fatal levels of fluffy idiocy

They make their way over to the kitchen, where Eddie snags them two cans of beer off the counter — warm, but unopened, which is really as much as you can hope for at a house party by this time of night.

Steve doesn't mind, anyway. Doesn't want Eddie's hands to be cold.

"You think you're good to step outside for a few minutes?" he asks, tugging at the hem of Eddie's leather jacket. The black hoodie he has layered underneath. They're not nearly thick enough for an extended stroll through the two-inch blanket of snow outside, but he's hoping it'll do for just a few minutes.

Eddie cracks his beer with a grin. "Why? You wanna have a snowball fight?"

"Something like that."

Eddie follows him out back, down the slope of the lawn toward the property's edge. Away from the rest of the party until theirs are the only footprints in the powdery sheet of fresh snow.

It's bright out tonight. Moonlight bounces so fully off the white canvas that Steve doesn't even need to use a flashlight, and Eddie's pale skin shines; dazzles in the moonglow, all shimmer and sparkle and so utterly alive, his limbs in constant motion to keep the cold out of his bones. He's taking these big exaggerated hop-steps, shaking the snow from his shoes with each lift, compressing the fluff beneath his feet with each heavy stomp down so it doesn't creep into the eyelets of his boots and wet his socks.

Steve's gonna thrift him a new jacket. A big, puffy one, he decides. New boots, too, next chance he gets; gonna wrap him up in a big knitted scarf and crocheted mittens and a hat with a silly little pompom on top. He'd look cute like that, all bundled up. Warm and safe.

"What are you smiling so big for?"

"No reason," Steve smiles wider with a shrug. He doesn't bother trying to explain himself, 'cause he never sounds half as eloquent out loud as he thinks he does in his head; shit gets all jumbled up on the way out of his mouth, but he just thinks, "You look cute."

Eddie stops short. "Excuse you!" he squawks, one foot still hovering in the air. Arms out wide to keep his balance on one leg. "I am not cute."

"Uh huh," Steve licks his lip. Your eyes are bigger than the moon and your cheeks get all pink when you're offended, but sure. You're not cute. "Whatever you say."

"That's right," Eddie insists. He sticks his nose up in the air with a little hmph! noise. "I'm mean and big and scary, and you like doing what I say."

"Also true," Steve agrees.

Eddie's face comes back down, expression softening into something sickeningly sweet; desperately so, almost unbearable to look at.

Steve's heart squeezes hard enough in his chest to bruise his lungs.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?"

"Not much further," Steve says. The party’s on a cul-de-sac that backs up to Maple, to Tommy’s old street — weird, considering how much newer and nicer this neighborhood is compared to Tommy's, but that's how all of Hawkins is. The zones stacked on top of each other, new money swooping in and taking over them like kudzu.

In between the neighborhoods there’s a stretch of untouched woods: old trees and tall grass, brambles and dark mulch and the remains of reedy stalks, and through the center of it all runs a massive, winding storm drain. Like the bones of a concrete snake, blanketed by moss and leaves and snow.

Steve and Tommy used to play here. Used to perch where the drain pipe let out to a shallow open groove; dangle their legs over the edge and pretend they were sitting on a lake dock instead of sweating their asses off in the woods beyond Tommy’s yard.

“This one year,” Steve says as he leads Eddie toward the spot, pausing to hold a branch back so it doesn't pop them in the face. “There was this, like- this crazy flood, and the water got so high that we could almost splash our feet in it from the top of the pipe.”

He points out the drain in question. It’s smaller than he remembers; comes up to maybe shoulder height, but it used to be huge. Used to be that he could stand up in the opening and spread his arms out wide and only just scrape the tips of his fingers against the gritty walls.

Now it looks like he’d tweak his back trying to hunch over to crawl in. Guess he was a lot smaller than he remembers then, too.

"Okay..." Eddie says as he takes wide steps toward it, eyeing the curve of snowy concrete. "I can't tell if this is secluded in a romantic way, or if this is just some creepy Stephen King shit."

Before Steve can so much as roll his eyes, Eddie gasps and spins on his heel; snow spraying under his feet, eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, my fucking god," he breathes.

It puts Steve on high alert. "What is it?" he asks as he steps in close; gets Eddie by the elbows, backs him up against the side of the pipe and uses himself as a shield so he can look over his shoulder and scan the undergrowth. Is there an animal out here? Something worse? Did Eddie see something? "What-?"

When he turns back around, Eddie's clamping his lips shut so tight it looks like it hurts. "I just realized..."

His nostrils flare as a snort escapes him.

Oh, goddammit. Steve thought it was something serious! He slouches in relief, letting his hands slip around Eddie's waist; underneath his jacket, to the dip at the small of his back. "Yes?" he sighs, prompting Eddie to spill whatever's got him trying so hard not to laugh.

"Your- your name is Stephen."

Uh. "Yeah?" What the hell...? "I mean, it's Steven with a V, but- yeah?"

Another giggle breaks free. "And- and you're The King."

"...Oh, my god."

He's so stupid. He is so fucking stupid. Eddie's snickering so hard it's making his nose wrinkle up, his whole face flushed a brilliant pink, and there are fireworks going off in the neighborhoods all around them; Steve can hear the countdowns starting, the muted chorus over the hills, people shouting 'ten! nine! eight!' and Eddie's so fucking tickled he can barely get his words out.

"Baby," he gasps as the crowds chant four! and three! "You're Stephen King."

Two!

Steve has to kiss him.

One!

Has to kiss him and never stop.

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson," he smiles against laughing lips, and their tongues meet in the middle as they ring the new year in.

—

part 48

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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dottores · 1 year

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine

notes: finally reader's pov! and YES, theta segment IS webttore! i started making the segment sheet, ill post it at some point sunday or monday so if u want to see it, keep an eye out for it!

THE COLOR PURPLE

“If anyone is to ask, your soulmark has gone black, your thread is severed, and your soulmate is lost to the world. Should anyone find out that your thread leads to the north, all of us will be under suspicion and Her Excellency is not merciful.”

You stood tall, hands clasped behind your back as you stood between your mother and your half-brother, listening to the Hydro Archon’s announcement. It was an abrupt assembly, as they typically had been lately. You had been preparing for bed when the bell rang throughout the massive palace that housed all of the nation’s aristocrats in the center of Fontaine’s capital city.

If you looked up, you would see the moon high in the sky, the stars glittering against the darkness, but you didn’t dare look away from the Hydro Archon or her court officials.

“... for months, we have allowed ourselves to be lenient with the heretics plaguing our capital. We allowed ourselves to be patient, but the time for leniency and patience is over, we must…”

It was an honor to be welcomed into the Hydro Archon’s abode, the chief justice had claimed, but you knew better. It was no honor for the nobles to be forced out of their countryside estates and into the city--it was a means for surveillance, to make sure that the most influential members of Fontaine’s society were not sympathizers to the growing dissent throughout the capital.

The people were unhappy. The Hydro Archon was becoming more and more severe with her sentencing, more and more strict with her laws. Fontaine prided itself on being the center of culture and arts, but the nation was declining, their energy apparatuses were failing, and their judicial system was becoming corrupt, though no one dared to say it.

The Hydro Archon’s descent had to do with rebellion stirring in the north. You weren’t sure what it was, exactly, you didn’t think anyone really did, but you had heard your grandfather whispering about it vaguely with some of the other court officials--an uprising against the gods, one that she believed would draw the wrath of Celestia down upon all of Teyvat. You thought this might have begun as a noble cause, the Hydro Archon desperate to protect her people and keep Fontaine absolved of conspiring with Snezhnaya, but it was going to become a witch hunt where anyone with any affiliation to Snezhnaya would be found guilty of collusion.

You felt acutely aware of the thread tied neatly around your thumb, of the soulmark branded in between your shoulder blades--the ones that connected you to a citizen of Snezhnaya and would make your whole family a target should anyone ever learn.

You thought it was unfair. It was unfair that you had to hide the fact that you had a soulmate. It was unfair that you and your family would be under suspicion if it got out that your soulmate lived in the north. It was unfair that you had to deal with people gossiping about you because of it--because nothing good ever came along with someone that never received their mark. There were a lot of things unfair, you thought to yourself, and while you didn’t have it as bad as some of the civilians living in Fontaine City who had to deal with the Hydro Archon’s forces constantly prowling the streets looking for dissidents, you thought it was rather ironic that everything unfair about your life stemmed from Celestia’s decision to give people soulmates.

You frowned as your gaze tracked to the side instinctively, looking at where your mother was standing next to you. Behind your mother, your stepfather lingered. You could feel him hovering directly behind her, you could see him out of the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t help the resentment that pooled in your stomach.

Your stepfather. Your mother’s soulmate. The man who had all but turned your life upside down when you were three years old after his arrival in Fontaine.

“... this organization is a blight upon our esteemed nation and court of law, staining the purity of our ideals, defiling our magnificence in the eyes of the divine…”

You tuned the Hydro Archon out as your gaze drifted back down to your own thread. Your soulmate was annoyed with something--you could feel the emotion deep in your gut, muted enough to know that it was not your own. Your soulmate never really felt anything strongly--not sadness, not fear, not anxiety, and certainly not happiness. You weren’t sure you had ever felt them actually happy before.

They were angry sometimes, though, and annoyed occasionally. It was never overwhelming like you had overheard some of your peers talk about. They said sometimes it felt as if they could feel their soulmate’s emotions more intensely than their own--when they were angry, a burst of joy or excitement from their soulmate could ease their anger, or worse, when they were in a good mood, a surge of anger could have them lashing out at their friends and family for no reason.

You never experienced any of that, for better or for worse. In fact, for nearly a year after your tenth birthday, the only proof you had that your soulmate was alive was that your mark was still brightly tattooed between your shoulder blades. They did not tug the string back in response to your own goodnight tugs--though you tried not to let it bother you--and you never really felt anything from them, pain nor emotions.

It wasn’t until you learned how to separate their tiny inflections from your own emotions that you had a way of knowing whether or not your soulmate was alive besides the shared mark and thread, but even then it was just… underwhelming. You didn’t know what to expect from your soulmate, which was unfortunate because by your age, most people at least had an idea of their soulmate’s personality through their shared emotions.

“Perhaps, it just means they’re calm,” your nanny, Miss Elyna, had tried to soothe you while you were making yourself upset over it one night.

“Not feeling anything strongly is not a bad thing,” your father had agreed quietly, “it makes it easier to hide that you have one.”

But you didn’t want to hide, you were sick of hiding--you wanted to go looking for them, you wanted to travel to the frozen wastelands of Snezhnaya, you wanted to wear open-back dresses to show off your mark in hopes that someone had seen the match, you wanted to find them, and you wanted to be with them.

But if you wanted to be with them, it would mean leaving your country behind, leaving your family behind. So much as you might resent your stepfather, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving your father, your mother, Miss Elyna, or even your half-siblings. Unless the Hydro Archon changed her stance on Snezhnaya, you would be forced into an impossible decision: your blood or your soulmate.

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head. From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of your stepfather, again. Donned in a lavender dress shirt with a fancy watch that once belonged to your mother’s late father, he looked like the image of Fontaine aristocracy despite hailing from the City of Freedom.

Purple was your favorite color, it was your family’s color, but you hated how it looked draped against your stepfather’s skin. You felt irked again, unable to draw your gaze from the older man. You hated him--you hated how he treated your father, you hated how he treated you, and you hated how he was trying to pit your half-siblings against you. You knew you couldn’t fault your mother for wanting to be with her soulmate, but if this was her soulmate, you couldn’t help but wonder what that might mean about her.

Your throat felt tight as you forced yourself to look away, eyes instead falling on your grandfather standing at the Hydro Archon’s side as she spoke. He was Warden of the Black Cells, the highest security level of Fontaine’s prison--he was one of the Hydro Archon’s most trusted confidants, the one she counted on to make sure her enemies stayed locked deep beneath the lakes of the city. His eyes were sharp as he stared down at the aristocrats standing before him, reminiscent of a predator hunting its prey, waiting for someone to slip up and place themselves under suspicion. He paid particular attention to your stepfather, you couldn’t help but notice, and it made you almost want to giggle.

The assembly was finally near its end, you could tell from the Hydro Archon’s tone: “... a curfew will be instated to preserve our-”

And then your arm burned--so intense that it took all your self-control to not cry out, somehow both hot and cold at the same time. It was dragging against your skin in even strokes as if branding letters onto you. You bit down hard on your lower lip, hand flying to clutch your forearm and trying not to make a scene. You could feel several pairs of eyes on you, including your mother, half-brother and stepfather… and your grandfather.

Branding words.

You felt light-headed as realization began to hit you.

It was past midnight.

It was your birthday, and you were fifteen.

It was the start of the third phase, and the first time that words were shared between soulmates, the pain was excruciating.

What terrible timing, you thought to yourself as your eyes teared up and your half-brother shifted in front of you once he noticed something was wrong, looking at you with a questioning look that you couldn’t even respond to.

Just as your vision began to go spotty, you caught sight of the words being seared into your skin--the same shade as the soulmark stamped between your shoulder blades, but only visible to you:

Deactivate.

“Do you think I won’t have you deactivated, Theta?” Dottore asked, voice calm but internally, his anger was rising as he looked down at the report in front of him detailing the near destruction of one of his labs down in southern Mondstadt and along with it, most of the progress that they had made the past six years in stabilizing delusions.

The Theta Segment looked unbothered, staring at Dottore emptily. “You won’t have me deactivated because you don’t have the resources to create a new segment right now. Otherwise you would have replaced Beta already, and you haven’t. Either way, deactivating me wouldn’t have prevented the situation unless you’ve figured out a way to endow segments with prophetic abilities,” Theta said, voice dry and mocking.

Beta, Dottore inhaled, trying to reign in his temper as it spiked at the reminder of the Beta segment. His head was pounding--he had been dealing with setbacks in his own research, and the Balladeer was being less than forthcoming regarding information about the Abyss and Irminsul. He was losing his patience with it because the only reason Scaramouche was even capable of withstanding the hostile energy in the Abyss was because Dottore had unlocked his latent powers as an Archon’s creation.

He could by all means deactivate Theta, but Theta was right in that he didn’t have the resources to create another segment to replace him. He had all of the physical materials, despite how hard they were to come by, but he lost the connection to Irminsul he had in Snezhaya, drained the sprout of all of its energy, and he needed the connection to Irminsul to create the segments in the mindsets of his past self. There were rumors of other withered sprouts in the ruins of Vindagnyr--he had the Rho and Gamma segments searching through the bitter cold to try to find ways to revitalize the sprouts, but their efforts had been fruitless thus far.

“Careful,” he warned quietly, looking up from the report to finally look at the Theta Segment, who stiffened a bit at Dottore’s tone. “You’re testing my patience.”

“There was nothing I could’ve done,” Theta’s voice was still sharp, defensive, which Dottore expected of the segment. Theta was the segment created right after his expulsion from the Akademiya--volatile, uncontrollable, always angry and always on edge. He never took well to being told that he did something wrong, Dottore was surprised it had taken him this long to snap.

“If it were Rho or Delta, they would have made the necessary preparation to deal with such a situation,” Dottore countered, reading through all of the reported damages and lost research. He pressed his lips together tightly as he realized that all of their research had been lost. It would set them back over a year, maybe two or three. “Instead, we-”

“Don’t compare me to them,” Theta bristled, hands fisting at his side, teeth clenched so tight that Dottore could practically hear them grinding. “Not to Delta.”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Then do not do things that make me compare you to them,” he said coldly. He leaned back in his seat, placing the papers down. “This was easily preventable, Theta.”

“How was I supposed to know about a stray wyvern nesting in the Mondstadt countryside?” Theta said, aggressive and loud.

Dottore stared at him, “You research, Theta,” he responded, tone a bit more sharp. “You research the area where you plan to waste hundreds of thousands of mora building one of our labs to make sure that it’s a location conducive to our research. All of the older segments would have known to look into the property and the surrounding land before throwing away our limited mora. If you can’t even bother to make an effort to show a little bit of responsibility, you will be stripped of your independence and sent to the Fontaine border to assist Delta permanently, do you understand?”

“You can’t do that,” Theta hissed. “I’m not a child-”

“No, you’re not. You are a tool,” Dottore interrupted, “and tools do what they were created for and when they are no longer useful, they are disposed of.”

Theta turned to leave, fists balled tight at his side, Dottore spoke up again before he could walk away, “Did I dismiss you?” he asked. Theta stopped but did not turn to face Dottore. “You will go to Sumeru with Lambda. The two of you will work on replacing all of the lost research. You will explain to him the situation and why he is being forced to halt his part of the residue project. You have half a year to replace all of the lost research.”

“Or what?” Theta spit out.

Dottore did not respond, he figured that was enough of an answer.

You will be deactivated.

Theta scoffed, shaking his head—and just like that, Dottore’s temper snapped. His hand shot forward quickly, iron-grip latching around Theta’s wrist as he yanked the segment closer to him, tone low and laced with poison as he leaned forward over the desk, “You have wasted far more resources than you are worth. Time and time again you have proven yourself to be the most useless segment that I’ve created. Tread carefully because your next mistake will be your last, I don’t care enough to replace you.”

Theta ripped his arm out of Dottore’s grasp, taking a step away. His lips were twisted, and his eyes were ablaze with rage, but he didn’t respond this time.

Dottore looked back down at the desk, shuffling through the papers and looking for the one that he had been trying to get through before Theta had arrived to disrupt his peace.

“Leave,” he ordered, void of emotion as he relaxed back into his chair. “Now, and don’t ever bring up the Beta segment again.”

Theta didn’t say another word as he left the room, closing the door harshly behind him. Dottore let out a sharp exhale, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself down so he could refocus. Instinctually, his gaze drew to his other hand, where the thread was tied snugly around his thumb.

His soulmate hadn’t tugged the thread tonight. He looked back to the window on the far end of the room, where the sky was dark and the stars shone brightly against the black canvas. He wondered if they had finally given up or if they just hadn’t fallen asleep yet--he wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Usually, he could tell when they fell asleep, but this time he had been distracted by Theta and wasn’t paying attention.

Tonight would be the start of the third phase.

He looked over to the side, in the direction of the chart that he had set up. He wouldn’t know the exact time, but it was soon, and he was glad he got Theta out of the room before it began. His thread had shown up in the dead of night ten years ago--he remembered the day very well--and he had dreaded this day ever since it had shown up. The third phase was a violation, a breach of his privacy. He did not want his thoughts being transcribed onto a random person at all, much less when he couldn’t even control what words were being sent to them.

This was when the concept of a soulmate really became an issue. They had already been a personal issue, but now it extended beyond just him. It was an issue for the whole organization because if one wrong word got transferred to them and they mentioned it around the wrong people, it could spell a lot of trouble for the Fatui and their goals.

He should have gone to the Jester by now. He should have gone to him and told him the situation so they could work to track down his soulmate before it got to this point before it put the Fatui at risk. He didn’t know why he hadn’t yet. Something odd and unfamiliar tugged at his gut, an emotion he couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t from his soulmate, he could feel that much, but he convinced himself it was.

You haven’t gone to the Jester because you’re going to sever the bond, he reminded himself, and then this would become a nonissue. But it was not as easy as he thought it would be. There was no previous research done into severing a bond between soulmates, there were old folktales but no legit information to back the validity of them. Dottore had a feeling that Irminsul would have answers for him and he found it ironic that the tree seemed to be the root of all of his most recent issues--he had half a mind to burn the thing to the ground when he finally got to it.

Just as he was going to finally force himself to focus back on the report, he felt it--a searing pain in his left forearm, nothing compared to what he had dealt with before but he hadn’t expected it to be as intense as it was.

He paused only for a second before rolling up his sleeve.

Purple, the word said, and Dottore couldn’t help but shake his head. He wasn’t sure what he had been anticipating from them, but he supposed that a color was about as predictable as it could get.

He wondered what they might have gotten from him--it could’ve been anything from his argument with Theta to his thoughts on Irminsul. He hoped that it wasn’t the latter. He felt stressed suddenly, rubbing his temples and letting his eyes slide shut as he tried to figure out what he could do, if there was a way that he could control his thoughts and filter out what they could be receiving from him.

He didn’t think there was, realistically. He had done a lot of research trying to prepare for this day, and he had come up empty-handed. The only way to prevent his soulmate from receiving words he didn’t want them to receive was to stop thinking about them, and that wasn’t an option. He had work to do, research to complete, and he refused to let them interfere more than they already had.

Hesitating for a second, he reached for a notebook laid out on the desk next to him, jotting down the word he had received before pushing the notebook out of sight and pushing his soulmate out of mind, returning to the heaps of papers he had to get through before the night was up.

You lounged in the garden, relaxing to the soft scent of lilies beneath the gentle glow of the sunset over the horizon. You could hear a songbird chirping in the distance, people chattering in the streets as they made their way back to their homes before curfew, the quiet hum of the apparatuses set up throughout the garden to keep the flora rich and healthy. It wasn’t raining, for once. You swore that the past two weeks had been nothing but torrential downpour, you’d been trapped inside the library of the palace, spending your time reading old tales of forbidden love and the old gods.

You didn’t like being in Fontaine City. It was always muggy and ugly outside, it was usually raining, and even when the skies were clear, there was a strange, intense mechanical scent that made your head hurt--the only place free of it was the garden on the roof of the palace, but even then, sometimes the sweetness of the flowers was sickly. You wanted to return to the countryside, to your mother’s family estate near the Snezhnayan border where the air was brisk and fresh, and the grass was lush and green, the thick scent of the wild and the subtle scent of smoke from the estate’s fireplace being the ones most familiar and dear to your heart.

You sighed as you rested your head against the cool stone of the statue you were sitting against, pen tapping steadily against your notebook as your eyes grazed over the past few words that you had received from your soulmate: sever, residue, research, failure.

You couldn’t make much sense of it, you had thought two years ago that maybe you would finally get to know more about your soulmate now that you were sharing thoughts, but you found yourself at even more of a loss than you were at before. They were a complete mystery to you. They thought words in the old tongue rather often--Theta, Iota, Lambda, and Delta, most frequently but there were others that appeared less often: Kappa, Rho, Gamma, Epsilon, Zeta—and no one really knew the old tongue unless they were an academic or some sort of priest of the dead gods.

And even the thoughts you received in the common tongue were just strange, and you didn’t even understand half of them. Ever since the start of the third phase, you seemed to spend the majority of your days in the palace’s libraries trying to understand them by looking up the random words that were showing up on your forearm, but somehow, it only left you more confused.

You thought that maybe they were a scholar at Sumeru’s Akademiya who had traveled north for research. Fontaine had its own institute, but it focused on engineering and mechanics, not languages, and students who graduated from the institute typically remained in Fontaine unless they were granted leave to introduce and promote their invention to other nations… and even then, they would never be granted leave to Snezhnaya, but as far as you were aware, the Akademiya did not have such restrictions.

It would be better for you if that were the case--that way, your soulmate wasn’t a citizen of Snezhnaya, and you didn’t have to worry about being prosecuted by the Hydro Archon for treason.

You hummed to yourself, doodling on the corner of your notebook as you eyed the word that was currently branded against your forearm: dead. It followed the string of words you had received earlier in the day--normally, you only received one word from them a day, two if you were lucky, but since you woke up this morning, you’d gone through five words.

You bit down on your bottom lip, hesitating before you finally noted the word down beneath failure, adding it to the grouping you had made for today. Sever, residue, research, failure, dead. Not foreboding at all, you thought to yourself, trying to put together what it all might mean. You weren’t sure how the first word fit in with the rest, but you figured the other four were all related.

Research into some sort of residue? What residue? Failed in whatever they were doing, something or someone ended up dead.

They didn’t seem distressed about it, so you supposed that no one important to them got hurt or died… or if they did, your soulmate simply did not care… and it kind of worried you that you genuinely did not know them well enough to know which was the case. You sighed, a pout tugging at your lips as you looked away from your notebook and up to the sky.

There was another storm already rolling in, you could see the dark clouds in the distance. You didn’t know what to think about your soulmate. You got strange words from them, you never felt anything from them sans the occasional annoyance or anger, and they never responded to your tugs when you tried to tell them goodnight.

You supposed it hurt a bit. Your whole life, you had watched kids your age babbling on, excited about their soulmate. You watched them have invisible flicking competitions that only the two of them could follow--seeing who could flick the thread the most before the other person gave up. You watched the way they reacted to feeling waves of emotions from them. You watched the way they would all giggle and talk about the words they received--figuring out their favorite colors, their favorite foods, what they liked to do and maybe even narrow down to where they might be living. You watched as they blushed and got flustered when it became apparent that their soulmate was thinking of them.

You couldn’t do any of that--not only because your soulmate was from, or lived in, Snezhnaya, so you couldn’t even talk to anyone your age about them but also because you weren’t experiencing any of that with your soulmate anyway. Every time you tried to get them to flick the thread back, you were ignored, and your soulmate never thought about you, the most frequent words you received from them were deactivate, failure, and sever. You didn’t know what deactivate meant, you assumed failure was in regards to whatever research they kept thinking about, and you had no idea what they were trying to sever.

It was frustrating and upsetting. You just wanted a soulmate that you could be with like your peers, someone to be excited about and look forward to. And you were excited, and you did look forward to eventually meeting them, but you couldn’t help but be a bit bummed and anxious over it all.

Three years.

You were seventeen now. There were three years left until you and your soulmate entered the fourth and final stage--being able to communicate through the shared thoughts and then you would finally get some answers from them.

“There you are.”

You slammed your notebook shut, eyes wide as your head snapped to the side, gaze falling upon your half-siblings, Elliot and Sylvie, approaching you from behind. You smiled as best as you could, trying to glance around to make sure that their father wasn’t following them.

“He’s busy with mother at a meeting,” Sylvie said quietly, eyes lit up with a sort of mischief that you hadn’t seen in her for quite a bit. “We snuck out.”

She spoke hushed, as if the flowers around them might tell her father what she was saying. You supposed it was possible--you wouldn’t put it past the Hydro Archon and the court officials to install listening devices throughout the city to make sure that no one was conspiring against them.

“How did you sneak past Miss Elyna?” you asked her as the two of them came to sit cross-legged with you on the ground next to a bed of pretty pink flowers.

They were almost fourteen years old now. Both of them had been born with their marks, so they and their soulmates would be entering the third phase soon too. They were excited, constantly whispering about what they thought their soulmate would be like. You remembered when you had been like that, bouncing around in bed as you rattled off possibilities to Miss Elyna because you had no one else to talk to about it.

Now, you only felt a dull sense of disappointment.

“She wasn’t looking, so we snuck out the door and ran,” Elliot told you, a bright smile on his face. You doubted that was the case—Miss Elyna had the senses of a hawk, it was more likely she let them leave because it’s their only chance to spend time with you without their father hovering and dragging them away.

You hated their father. At one point, you had been hopeful. You thought that your mother meeting her soulmate would change little in the way your family worked. Your father was more than happy to step aside and let your mother find solace with her fated, but it wasn’t enough for your stepfather. He wanted your father gone and he wanted your brother to replace you as your mother’s heir, but you had no way of proving it. He hid the rotting carcass he called a personality behind a kind smile and empty eyes that your mother refused to look past.

“Can you tell us what it’s like?” Sylvie whispered, drawing you from your thoughts. Your brow furrowed in confusion, shooting her a questioning look, but Sylvie only looked pointedly down at your notebook.

Your eyes widened, instinctively tucking the notebook closer to your chest. Your lips and mouth felt dry as you stared at your half-siblings, trying to figure out if Sylvie was implying that she knew that you had a soulmate. No one should know—no one besides your father and mother and Miss Elyna. You had worried the day you received your first word from your soulmate would draw suspicion, but your father had brushed any unwanted eyes off by telling them you had been ill.

No one should know, you felt sick and anxious, unsure of how to respond to Sylvie--both of them were looking at you expectantly, excited for an answer.

“It’s okay,” Elliot said, once he realized how upset you suddenly looked. “We’ve known for a while, we won’t-”

“Elliot! Sylvie, have you seen-”

It was Miss Elyna, out of breath and on the verge of tears--she cut herself off as soon as she saw you hidden behind the statue. You rose to your feet, concerned, “Miss Ely-”

“It’s your father,” Miss Elyna said, voice choked and wobbly. At once, the world around you shattered. “Come, we must hurry.”

“I suppose I owe you thanks,” a familiar voice murmured, approaching Dottore from behind. He tilted his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder to where his old recruit, now promoted to the Ninth seat as the Fatui’s Regrator, came to a stop next to the column that Dottore was leaning against, waiting for his chance to slip away from the celebrations.

“Thank me with funding,” Dottore said. “I’ve exhausted all of my resources. I’ll need a significant amount of mora and test subjects to begin research into Archon residue if we want to find a safer alternative to delusions any time soon… which I’m sure you’d be personally vested in and I am not cutting the funding from my own personal projects.”

Pantalone let out a huff of laughter, Dottore was not sure what exactly the new Harbinger found amusing about what he said so he turned to face him, lips flat and eyes void of emotion behind the mask he wore.

“Relax, doctor,” Pantalone said quietly. “I have not forgotten about our original deal. Have you not already seen an increase since my induction into the Fatui?”

“Not a large enough increase in comparison to the risks I took advocating for you,” Dottore said coldly, looking away from him up to where the Jester was preparing with the Captain for the official inauguration of Pantalone as one of the Eleven Harbingers. “Go, this event has lasted long enough. As soon as all of the official business is over with, I can leave.”

Pantalone did not look pleased, lips pressed together tight as his gaze swept across the large room. All of the higher-ranked members of the Fatui based in Snezhnaya were attending the event--agents trained by Arlecchino, vanguard captains trained by Capitano, even some mages and Mirror Maidens that had gone through La Signora’s strict training regiments lingered around where the Eighth Harbinger was lounging back at one of the tables. She looked just as ready for the night to be over as Dottore was.

Pantalone looked anxious, only thinly concealed behind an otherwise blank expression, and Dottore supposed he couldn’t blame him. All of the people in this room were the people that had been considered and rejected for the Ninth Seat in favor of him. The Fatui were united, yes, but their loyalty only went so far when the prospect of a promotion was dangled in front of their face. Not a single person in this room would forego the chance of taking out the new Harbinger if it gave them a shot at being one of the Eleven.

They had tried it with him centuries ago, when Dottore had initially been promoted to Harbinger. The Fatui was a younger organization then, less structured and far more anarchic, and there had been more attempts on his life than he could count. Only one had succeeded, and he had made it so that it could never happen again.

Now that he had centuries of authority, his moniker inducing fear and respect throughout their ranks for all of his accomplishments, he didn’t have to worry much about greedy, ambitious underlings trying to take off his head and claim his position.

But the Regrator would have more trouble, he noted to himself.

Something felt odd in his chest--a twinge of anxiety, or fear. It was not his own, and he had been blocking off his segments for the duration of the night so he was not interrupted while at an important event. He could only assume that it was coming from his soulmate. He frowned to himself, eyes darting down to his forearm but it was covered by his sleeve, and he would draw too much attention to himself should he go to check if the word had changed.

Instead, he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

Pantalone was no fighter, his delusion harmed him as much as it helped him--more so than it did to the average person--it tore apart his body from the inside whenever he summoned the volatile energy, and he couldn’t even control the energy yet. He was incompetent with a sword, couldn’t pick up a claymore, and was awkward with a polearm. He was decent with aiming a bow, but that would be useless in a close combat assassination like the ones that would be attempted on him. If he were attacked, the only real defense he had would be that decorative blade strapped to his waist.

Dottore wondered if it would be worth it to enlist Sandrone in creating a sort of projectile weapon that could be used both in close and ranged combat… but that was not something he was going to waste his own time doing, he would present the option to Pantalone only once Dottore’s funding has been increased significantly.

“Is funding the only thing you want?” Pantalone suddenly asked, voice cryptic in a way that Dottore did not like. He peered at the younger man from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to explain himself. But he didn’t, instead, violet eyes only looked down pointedly at Dottore’s right hand--the hand that his red thread was tied around his thumb. Dottore inhaled, not responding, and finally, Pantalone continued, “I’m just saying, I have other resources, connections… should you need to find something,”

Someone.

Dottore was livid, he could feel his anger rising, and he could feel that strange anxiety begin to get worse from his soulmate’s end, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that now--was it a taunt? A threat? Or a genuine offer of help?

Either way, Dottore didn’t like it. No one should know about the thread tied around his thumb. No one should know that he had a soulmate. Did one of the segments let it slip? Did they mention it in public? It was possible, but Dottore doubted it--the younger segments were never around people and the older segments knew better, even Theta. They knew very well that even if they had no interest in meeting their soulmate after all of these years, that if their soulmate died, it would cause irreparable damage to all of them.

They would not risk it.

So then how-

“If you’re wondering how… I’m very observant, that’s all,” Pantalone interrupted his thoughts, watching him carefully. “I had to be, considering my lifestyle before you recruited me into the Fatui. Abrupt movements for no apparent reason, flinches, stiffening, sudden jerks… a gaze flickering down just a bit too often… tucking a thumb into your fist--I learned to watch for certain tells to find weak points in my enemies...”

Dottore unfisted his right hand immediately, not moving nor responding even as Pantalone stared at him expectantly, waiting for a response. He felt like a fool, and he hated feeling like a fool. He wanted to say something, make a dry comment about how yes, of course the way he held his hand meant that he had a soulmate, but his lips wouldn’t move and he wasn’t sure if responding would be more damning because Pantalone hadn’t even said the word soulmate yet anyway, only implied it.

“... but we are not enemies, so you need not worry. It’s not something I plan to use against you… just offering some extra resources. If you need them, just let me know,” Pantalone finally said, the heels of his boots clicking against the marble ground as he began to make his way past Dottore toward where Pierro and Capitano were waiting for him. “You know where to find me.”

Damn all of the subordinates looking for a quick promotion, Dottore had half a mind to kill Pantalone himself, right there in front of everybody. His rage was clouding his mind, a wicked storm about to break through the calm facade. He felt like he was young again, the years just after he was kicked out of the Akademiya when he was brewing with uncontrollable fury and a switch that could flip on or off at any given moment with no warning.

He forced himself to leave. He would deal with the Jester and his complaints about his premature departure later, he was certain that if he remained there any longer, blood would be spilled and all of Dottore’s efforts to get himself more funding would go straight down the drain.

He couldn’t tell anymore if the anxiety he was feeling was from himself or his soulmate. The corridor around him swayed like he was on a ship sailing through the rough, northern sea. He had been so careful to keep it hidden and the way he positioned his hand gave it away? There was no way. Pantalone had to have been throwing out a wild guess and hoping for confirmation--his only hope was that he had been able to keep his face devoid of the anger that was twisting his insides, that he hadn’t given Pantalone any reason to believe his suspicions had been correct.

His chest felt tight--like he couldn’t breathe properly, which was ridiculous because he was breathing but it felt like he wasn’t getting enough air to his lungs. He didn’t know what this was. It was not something he had ever felt before, and that meant it had to be coming from them, his soulmate--he cursed himself for giving in to his own bout of emotion, a show of weakness that allowed their emotions to engulf his and he didn’t know how to fix it now that the spiral had begun.

Unless it wasn’t emotions, and that was why it was so intense.

Were they getting strangled?

It didn’t make any sense, he would be able to feel the hands around their throat, the bruises forming against their skin.

He leaned against the wall of the corridor he had escaped down, only dimly lit by a candle halfway down the hall--far enough from the event that he shouldn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon him while he was like this. He pulled off his mask, pressing a hand hard against his chest, right over where his heart would’ve been.

Calm down, he wanted to spit out at them, his rage blending with his soulmate’s anxiety and fear. Calm down.

This was not the place. He could hear the Jester speaking in the distance, he could hear the crowds of people applauding dutifully at the official announcement of the Regrator’s position, he could see the shadows of people walking just a bit too close to the side hall for his own comfort.

He was being overwhelmed, and he had never been overwhelmed by someone before, not like this. His fury was subsiding, being replaced by his soulmate’s intense surge of emotions. He had never felt anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure what it was or how to describe it. It felt as if the walls were closing in around him, as if someone was dragging jagged nails down the inside of his throat, as if his blood had turned into lead—thick and heavy, weighing his whole body down.

He couldn’t even tell what was wrong, he couldn’t tell if the pain was physical or emotional. Was his soulmate dying? Was that it? The thought made his stomach churn, wondering what that would mean for him, if he would become the husk that all widowers became after their mark went black.

No, he told himself, you are stronger.

The Captain was able to move on from the death of his soulmate. Dottore had seen the blackened mark himself when the man asked him to fix up his arm after a challenge had gone wrong years ago against one of the ancient gods of the far north.

Had he moved on? Dottore questioned himself, or was he just a shell of himself, moving on autopilot to bring the divine to their knees before he could join his soulmate in the next life?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether or not Capitano had been able to move on because Dottore would--he was above man, above mortal. He refused to let something as inconsequential as the death of a stranger inhibit his research, and obstruct him from his goals. He refused to let nearly five hundred years go to waste.

But he wasn’t sure, no matter how much he insisted to himself that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t confident he would be able to brush it off, and the uncertainty was damning because the thought of his soulmate—who would be no older than sixteen or seventeen now, a year or two older than the Gamma segment—dying such a brutal and untimely death made him sick to his stomach for reasons beyond just selfish ones, reasons that he didn’t dare try to delineate.

Celestia is cruel, he thought to himself as this situation forced him to come to terms with what he had been pushing away for over a decade. Because they were not just a stranger, so much as he tried to convince himself of it. Dottore was a pragmatic man at heart, and he knew himself very well, no matter how much the past twelve years have tested his sense of identity. From the moment he had noticed that thread and felt those childish little tugs, Dottore had formed an attachment to the person on the other side. He was selfish and possessive, and he had never in his life had something that was so fundamentally meant to be his before and he didn’t want the gods to take yet another thing from him--he convinced himself it was more out of pride, out of anger toward Celestia than out of fear.

He had known it was too good to be true from the start. He knew that the gods would dangle his soulmate in front of his face like meat to a starved dog--it was why he was so intent on finding a way to sever the thread before this could happen. He knew that they would let him get accustomed to their distant presence, they would let him get accustomed to the goodnight tugs and the frequent swells of emotion that he was not capable of feeling on his own. They would even let it get to the point where he was beginning to accept it, noting down all of the words that were transferred to him in hopes to find clues regarding where they were… in hopes of getting to learn more about them—who they were, why they were meant to be his fated.

He knew that they would let this all happen, and he knew that they would rip it away, and he let himself fall for the trap they had laid out anyway.

Dottore was a fool. He had always been one, but the past decade or so had truly made a comedy of it in the eyes of the divine.

His fingers fumbled for the buttons on the cuff of his dress shirt, trying to see which words would be branded on his skin for eternity--to see if it would give any sort of hint as to who they were, or where they were, or what happened to them so if the opportunity ever arose, he could deal back tenfold to the person that did this.

Father

He paused, taken aback for a second. Was their father the perpetrator? If that was the case, it might not be all too hard to find the culprit--filicide was considered taboo across all seven nations… but Dottore had a feeling that it wasn’t so simple because him being startled at the word gave him the bit of clarity he needed to compartmentalize and digest all of the stray emotions tearing through him.

It was not physical pain, he realized, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. He had gotten better at deciphering emotions over the past seven years, but whatever this was, it was still foreign to him. The only consolation he had was that he couldn’t feel his body weakening, he couldn’t feel any physical pain. The thread was still bright and very much connected to him.

And the intensity was fading--albeit at a snail’s pace, but it was fading. It was becoming something heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of the world was being tossed onto his shoulders.

Grief, he slowly recognized, this must be grief.

Grief. He had never experienced grief before. Not like this. He had mourned failed experiments, he had mourned the loss of his resources, he had mourned wasted time but he had never experienced an emotion like this before.

He felt relieved knowing that his soulmate was not, in fact, dying, knowing that he didn’t have to stress about figuring out how he was going to move on when Celestia damned all those who had lost their soulmates to desolation, knowing that he would not have to deal with his segments losing their minds over this but at the same time-

“Dottore.”

He was not even able to dwell on his train of thought, forced to try to compose himself as a familiar voice met his ears. Now back in control of himself, getting ahold of the unwelcome emotions still crawling around inside of him, Dottore could focus. He tucked away the feelings deep within him as he straightened, slipping his mask back on and rolling his sleeve down as discreetly as he could.

He looked over his shoulder to where Brighella was standing several feet away, a glass of wine in his hand, green eyes beady and curious as he spoke, “Is something wrong?”

He spoke with a sort of faux care that made Dottore irrationally annoyed because he knew very well that it was just that--faux. He wanted something. Brighella always wanted something and Dottore wasn’t particularly in the mood to humor him this time, lips twisting down as the man brought it upon himself to draw closer to Dottore.

“No,” Dottore answered shortly. “Why are you not attending the event?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Brighella’s response was challenging and quick. Dottore raised his eyebrows beneath his mask, not that Brighella could tell, but the other Harbinger quickly grew uncomfortable in the silence, letting out a sheepish laugh, nervous gaze flicking back and forth. “Ha, sorry. I’ve had a few drinks, you know how it gets-”

“I do not,” Dottore said, voice icy as he observed the man.

Dottore had never been particularly good at reading people. He spent more time in his lab than socializing, even during his years at the Akademiya, and the only use he found for humans once he joined the Fatui was utilizing them to make advances in his research. But he could tell something was off, Brighella’s eyes were too sharp--they didn’t have the drunken glaze that they usually did when the man had been drinking.

Was he faking it?

Dottore didn’t think so. Brighella reeked of alcohol, and he seemed off-balanced, and Dottore didn’t think that he could really fake much of anything to anyone, much less to Dottore. He was always skittish and anxious around higher-ranked members of the Harbingers, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. Dottore thought-

“Oh god, I didn’t mean-”

Dottore stared down at his stained clothes, at the red wine seeping through his white dress shirt, sticky against his skin. Dottore’s lips twisted, barely restraining the resurfacing fury and Brighella was panicked, stuttering over his words as he apologized, stumbling over his own feet as he searched for something to use as a cloth or napkin to clean up the mess he had made.

Dottore only inhaled sharply, turning on his heel and ignoring the calls after him as he made his way down the hall in the direction of his quarters for the night.

Tonight had been a trainwreck, he thought to himself bitterly. Between Pantalone, his soulmate, and now the drunkard that called himself a Harbinger, Dottore swore he was on the verge of losing his mind.

Ever since the red thread had appeared on his thumb twelve years ago, he had been losing control. He was losing control of his segments, he was losing control of all of the carefully calculated plans he had created, he was losing control of himself, and tonight was proof enough of that.

He was done.

He would figure out a way to sever the damned thread before this got any further. It was too close of a call for comfort--he didn’t know how the death of his soulmate would affect him, and it was a gamble that he wasn’t willing to take. He couldn’t afford to let something like this happen again, especially in public. It made him seem weak in front of those that would use it against him—and Dottore was not weak. He was sick of being strung around like a marionette by the emotions of a child.

And if there was not a way to sever the thread, then he would make a way.

reblogs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact smut

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 3 months

Text

Reckless Driving - Lando Norris

warnings: slight details of a car crash near the end, character death

You and Lando had just gotten out from dinner, and you had had nothing short of a wonderful evening with him. The moon was sitting as a beacon in the sky, the stars twinkling around it like pin pricks in the darkness.

As you were stood by his car after he offered to drive you home, you suddenly felt the urge to kiss him. It was a very random, spur of the moment thing. It wasn't even that you really meant to kiss him, you just kind of did.

Well, you did, but you didn't think it would go this far.

For Lando, however, that was the one thing that cemented something in his brain. He was in love with you. He was completely, undoubtedly, unequivocally in love with you. Head over heels, in too deep, falling too far.

And that kiss was the thing that proved his suspicions completely right. He held the car door open for you as you clambered in, needing to take a second for himself to breathe. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and he couldn't seem to calm down.

It felt like electricity was surging through his veins, and he was drunk on the taste of you. He was inebriated, but he never wanted to sober up.

On the way back to your house, you had to go down a long street, completely lined by by dark fur trees. The evergreens were completely shadowing the world around you, like you were in your own little bubble. Your own microcosm, your own world.

Lando's glance keeps landing on you, and he can't focus on the road when you're in his car. As he drives, he stares at you like he's not convinced that you are real. It's like he gets distracted, before snapping back to reality momentarily.

It was just an endless cycle of focusing on the road, then letting his eyes wander back over to you, sat cross legged beside him. You looked so stunning, features highlighted by the moonlight as the stars reflected in your eyes.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Norris," you chuckled, half as a joke and half as a real command. You had told him a couple of times when you had caught him staring at you, not wanting him to stop concentrating on the more important task at hand - getting the both of you home safe.

His intentions weren't even to drive you home, he was just going wherever the road took you. All he wanted was to be with you while he figured out how to convey his feelings in a meaningful and sincere way.

He didn't want to bombard you with it out of the blue, but that was seeming like the best option at this point. He wasn't sure how to do romance properly, but he wanted to learn for you. Quite frankly, he'd be whatever you needed him to be.

On the other hand, you were in limbo. You could tell by the tiny glimmer in his eye that he had feelings for you. That was very much reciprocated, but the level to which he felt for you seemed... greater, than what you initially thought.

You almost regretted kissing him because that's when you felt things change. You felt something shift in the atmosphere. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't quite what you felt you were ready for. You didn't love him like that, but he loved you like that. As he sped up, you wished you were driving because you were a more careful driver. Lando was reckless. You were going at one hundred, then one eighty and you could just see it all happen. You could see it all happen in your head as he carried on hurtling down the road.

He was looking again, his eyes glued onto yours when you turned your head. "You'd rather die than take your eyes off me, huh?" you said, more stern in your tone. Lando looked like lost puppy as he turned his head away from yours, but you could see his attention wasn't centered on the road.

He thought your words over in his head, wondering what would happen if you did crash. Would you hold him if you crashed, or would you let him go? He'd hold you, that was for certain. He'd use his last dying breath to hold onto you, keep you grasped in his arms. If you were the last thing he saw, felt, touched, he'd die a very happy man.

"Lando, please can you slow down?" you said, the pine trees on either side blending into a blue of darkness as you could feel the force pushing you back in your weat slightly. Your voice quivered as you talked.

*insert possible dirty innuendo about asking Lando to slow down with a quivering voice good stuff*

"We're fine, Y/N, calm down," he chuckled, not taking your fear seriously. He didn't slow down, instead keeping at the same, fast, dangerous pace.

"I don't want to scrape you off the pavement, and I certainly don't want to be here when you lose control," you carried on, since he wasn't taking the hint. All you wanted was for him to slow down, that was it.

For a moment, you were transported out of the car and into an outside perspective. You could see the headlines now, F1 talent driver Lando Norris and his supposed girlfriend killed in a freak car accident because he was reckless driving way too fast. How ironic.

As his heart beat faster, he pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. All of the extra adrenaline he was feeling was put into gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white and the car was nearly going flat out.

"Look, Y/N, I really need to tell you something, and you'll probably think it's stupid, but I think I-" he rambled, before being cut off by being thrown to the side. He tried to regain control, but all he could hear was your ear-splitting scream of his name that would haunt him through to the afterlife.

In that split second, he saw his life flash before his eyes. He saw his past and his future, then all he saw was you, flying forward as the seatbelt braced around you. It all felt numb to him as his hand weren't gripping the wheel anymore.

Time and space moved in solemn harmony before screeching to a complete halt with the remorseful crunch of metal and the crack of wood.

And it's over in a second, crashed the car into a tree.

A/N - I am steaming through this series I can't lie, I am rather proud of myself. How is everyone's day going? Hope you've had a good one, requests are open, love you lots!

|masterlist|five seconds flat|

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yoonivy · 8 days

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 3.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. smut! loss of virginity, fingering, riding, creampie

wc. 16k+ 01| 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

––––

The private library in Maegor’s Holdfast is Prince Aemond Targaryen’s favored spot for solitude and peace. It is the one place away from all the noise, gossip, and politics in the castle; and he often finds himself there, reading whatever book catches his eye that day or quietly contemplating by the fireplace. The only person that keeps him company there is his sister, Princess Helaena, but that only happens once every blue moon. So it is usually only him and Snowball – a stray cat he had claim as his own only a year ago, finding the little fellow near the docks of Blackwater Bay and taking pity since he thought the cat to be a mirror of himself, with it’s pure white fur and one eye blinded from a street fight with another stray – and he likes it that way.

So why, oh why, is his usual peace in the private library being demolished when today is the final day he can have some time by himself before the festivities of his siblings’ wedding begins?

“This is going to be the worst week of my life!”

Aemond’s facial features slightly twitch in annoyance, but chooses to ignore his older brother, continuing to read the text he has in front of him. Or at least, trying to – Aegon has been whining for over half an hour already, and it is really hard to focus when a big man child is crying into your ear.

“So many beautiful women from all around Westeros have been arriving into the city, all so they can witness me marry my strange, little sister!” Aegon bemoans, actual tears falling from his eyes as he runs his hand through his hair. Aemond rolls his own, thinking about how Helaena is the one given the short end of the stick in the deal. “It is so unfair!”

“Now imagine how our dear sister is faring with this,” Daeron says with a snicker at his place by the window, scratching under the chin of the small cat he has tucked in his arm. “I highly doubt she is any more ecstatic at the prospect of marrying you than you are.”

Aemond grins at his little brother, adding on, “And I would even propose she has it worse.”

Daeron laughs hard, head knocking back, which could only mean he is in agreement. It has Aegon’s jaw dropping, looking between his two younger brothers, “How can you two be so cruel when I am already in distress?” Then he turns to Daeron, “Is this what they taught you in Oldtown? To disrespect your older brother?”

Daeron shrugs, throwing him a boyish grin, and Aegon heaves a bothered sigh as he slumps against the chair he is sitting on.

“You know,” Daeron begins, “I’m surprised our mother and grandfather even allowed you to put it off for so long. You and Helaena have been betrothed for nearly a decade.”

“And every single day I prayed to the Sevens that our mother would change her mind…” Aegon grumbles petulantly.

Aemond closes the book he has in his hands – clearly unable to read anymore – and tells him, “And each and every one of those prayers were completely useless. An annulment was never going to happen. Your marriage with Helaena is not only a way for our Targaryen bloodline and your inheritance to the throne to stay strong, but also so our mother would not have to agree to a betrothal between our sister and one of our bastard nephews. It is why mother sent an olive branch to our half-sister and rogue uncle and invited them to the wedding. It is purely just to gloat to Rhaenyra that she did not get what she wanted.”

Aegon rolls his eyes at Aemond – already knowing all that himself – and mutters angrily under his breath, “I detest this fucking political bullshit.”

Daeron shrugs again, returning to showering Snowball with affection. Their youngest brother is probably happy that he is a ward and squire of their uncle, Lord Ormund Hightower, over in Oldtown instead of being around here with all the drama.

Aemond, on the other hand, does not mind the intrigue of the court. Sometimes, he can even say he enjoys it. Besides, as heirs of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he and his brothers should at least be knowledgeable on the affairs of the land that their father rules over – whether they like it or not.

“I know what you two can do to make it up to me!” Aegon perks up suddenly, obviously over talking about the previous topic. Grinning mischievously, he leans forwards on the table in front of him and whispers to two in the room, as if the walls had ears, “Tonight… We’ll all sneak out… Have ourselves a little party all throughout the Streets of Silk in my honor…” He lifts his brows a few times, “Huh, how ‘bout it, brothers?” Then he smirks at Aemond, “You had fun the last time, didn’t you?”

Aemond grimaces while Daeron questions in disbelief, “You actually went with him?!”

“Once,” Aemond answers, then sharply glares at his older brother. “And never again.”

Aegon huffs and rolls his eyes, once again slumping in his seat as he mutters, “What a bore.”

“Wow…” Daeron awes, walking towards Aemond and gently drops the cat in front of him, Snowball purring as soon as Aemond starts scratching near his ear. Daeron pushes aside the book Aemond had been reading and lifts himself to sit on the table. “I did not think you are one to let him coerce you to do anything, especially his stupid ideas… I’m a bit disappointed, Aemond.”

Daeron is obviously teasing, but Aemond shoots him a glare anyway.

Aegon is beaming again, amused, and laughs too. Truly a hurricane of different emotions – probably the wedding jitters.

“Hey, if it were not for my coercing and “stupid ideas”, Aemond would not have met that girl he is over the moon for,” Aegon says, still laughing. “The Northern bitch he is always writing his gay, little love letters—Eurgh!”

Aemond suddenly has him by the collar, cutting off his airway by how tight his younger brother’s grip is. The rage in Aemond is palpable, especially given how close their faces are, it’s clear to see. Aemond is seething when he spits out in Aegon’s reddening face, “I will have your tongue if you dare utter anything like that ever again, I don’t care. She is a lady of House Mormont and you will put respect on her name, or I’ll cut off your cock along with your tongue. Then we shall see if you will be having any fun on the Streets of Silk anytime soon.”

“Brothers, brothers…” Daeron tries to put himself between his two older brothers, pressing against their chest to push the trembling Aegon away from the furious Aemond. “As much as I think it is deserved, I do not wish to witness the heart attack that both our mother and father will have when they find out that their dear oldest son has been maimed and circumcised just days before his wedding.”

That has Aemond loosening his grip, letting Aegon fall back down unceremoniously on the chair. With his father’s deteriorating health, Aemond did not want to be the one to cause him more pain.

He sits back down too, trying to calm down as he ignores Aegon murmuring under his breath, “The Mormonts are hardly a house.”

“But tell me, what is the story there? Why did you fly North that day?” Daeron curiously asks, so used to his older brothers’ fighting that it does not even phase him. “You never did tell us.”

“Well, you see…” Aegon grins, still rubbing at the soreness around his neck before he starts the story. Aemond shuts his eye, choosing to drown his idiotic brother out to recall the time he told you himself.

It was when he visited during the third anniversary of the night he had landed on Bear Island, the snow on the ground in abundance but not as bad as that first time. The two of you were trudging through it, hands clasped together to prevent the other from falling. Although the two of you were falling behind the group of woodcutters that you, Aemond, and your brothers were helping out to gather firewood for the upcoming week, in case a snowstorm hits. It had been a long day, both of you tired but happy of the hard work you had done. As the sun started setting, Aemond turned to you and questioned, “Have I ever told you why I ended up here all those years ago?”

As you kept walking side-by-side with your best friend, you shook your head. “No… but I have been curious. King’s Landing is awfully far from Bear Island.”

Aemond heaved a sigh, stopping at his track and it made you stop too, your hand still in his. He eyed you hard, a serious look on his face. “I’ll tell you if you promise you won’t laugh at me.”

Facing him, you took his other gloved hand, holding both now, and just as seriously as he was, you said, “I promise.”

“My older brother he…” Aemond took a breath, and you squeezed his hand in comfort, knowing every story he told about his older brother does not end well. He gave you a small grateful smile, before he started again, “Well, first of all, we were reading this story book — about different creatures, and the horrible things they do — and then we got to the story about giants. It absolutely terrified me and it caused me to have nightmares for days after that… Then he found out I–” His mouth snapped shut, frowning, “A serving girl told him what I had done, and he began to make fun of me. I tried to act brave and say it was a lie but he saw right through me. So he dared me to fly up North, go beyond the Wall, find a giant and bring him back the head. If I did not, I was a coward and he would tell everyone what I had done…”

Aemond’s lips were trembling when he finished the story, his eye was wet. Frowning, you reached up, tugging the corner of his mouth up with your thumb. “Your brother is the stupidest, dumbest, most idiotic person I know.”

Aemond laughed through his sniffling. “You’ve never met him.”

“I don’t have to. I just know,” you told him with a shrug.

Aemond smiled at that. “But doesn’t that make me even more of an idiot for trying to prove him wrong?”

You thought about it for a second, lips pursing to the side, then answered plain and simple, “Yes.”

His mouth dropped, and with a teasing, toothy grin you added, “But at least you met me.”

He was about to retort, but karma got you first, in a way of a snowball to your face by your brother, Jorah. You screeched as you wiped away the freezing ice covering your face, then screamed at the boy who was laughing, far ahead the two of you, “This is why Renee doesn’t fancy you!”

Thus started the Great Snowball War of Bear Island, the one that you and Aemond lost horribly.

Aemond huffs out a soft chuckle fondly at the memory, almost missing when his older brother says your name and continues with, “I actually cannot wait to meet her soon and see what all the fuss is about.”

Aemond snaps his attention on him. “What?”

“Your little Lady Mormont,” Aegon says so slowly, dragging each syllable like Aemond is dense. “She should be arriving in the city right now, with all the other Northern Houses.”

Aemond’s head shakes, disbelieving. “What are you talking about? House Mormont are never invited to these things. Believe me, I’ve tried before.”

“Yeah, well, when you are the oldest son of the King, what you want, you get,” Aegon says with a cocky shrug. But as Aemond continues to glare at him, calling his bluff, he sighs. “I asked our mother to invite them to the wedding. Told her it would be… nice, to do this for you. Since you have not seen her in years. I saw her write the invitation and everything. There is even already a chamber in Maegor’s Holdfast ready for her arrival.”

Aemond knows his brother well enough to know when he is lying or not, and so he abruptly stands, running to the door. As soon as he has it open with a swift kick of his pointed black leather boots, he takes off, Daeron watching with grand amusement and Aegon shouting after him, “You’re welcome, by the way!”

---

The small hall is already crowded to the brim when Aemond gets there. The new arrivals from the North easy to spot with their heavy clothing not suited for the southern weather. Among them, he sees someone familiar that has him smiling wide as he stride his long legs over to her.

“Lady Dorothea!” He calls out, and she turns around to face him with a smile of her own. Aemond had already had the pleasure of greeting your sister during her arrival a couple days ago with her Lord-Husband, Tobias Tully of Riverrun. He stands beside her now. Aemond bows his head towards him, “Lord Tobias.”

“My Prince,” they both answer back in respect.

“Did you know your sister is coming here as well?” Aemond asks Dorothea, which has her smile falling, confusing the prince.

“I–” Dorothea starts, but then sighs and smacks her palm lightly against her temple. “How did you find out?” It has Aemond frowning this time, unsure of the reaction. Then Dorothea chuckles. “My sister wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Oh… My brother told me. Just now, actually.”

“She’s going to kill him,” Dorothea murmurs in a low voice that only her husband and Aemond could hear. Aemond’s lips start tugging up into a smile, and even more when Dorothea further explains, “My sister, she was looking forward to just… spring up on you. She even wrote this… Really long and foolhardy letter to your Lady Mother, her Grace, about why she wanted to keep it a secret and begged your mother to keep it a secret as well. Imagine that? Asking the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to go along with your childish plans for… I don’t even know what,” Dorothea shares a laugh with the two men at her side, sighing at the thought of you. “Ah, my beloved little sister… How I do love her so…”

Aemond can’t help but chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Do you know when she’ll arrive?”

Dorothea exchanges a look with her husband, then tells the prince, “She’s already here, my Prince.” The news has him sucking in a breath, his gaze already searching around again. “I have yet to see her, but I’ve already met with my father just a bit ago. He is taking their possessions to the two chambers they’ve been graciously given, and my sister… Well, I would hope you know her enough to know exactly where she is.”

A secret smile is shared with him, and in an instant, Aemond knows precisely what your sister meant.

---

Unlike the usual stoic and aloof prince that the staff of the Red Keep are used to, they are passed by a hurried yet bright-eyed Prince Aemond. There is an out of the ordinary grin gracing his face, so handsome that as he weaves through the mingling guests, he turns the heads of every pretty woman he passes by, hoping to gain his attention with a bat of their eyelashes. But he does not even notice, not when his own eye is searching around for the one face he is longing to see.

As Aemond takes the now very familiar cobblestoned path to the Godswood, he catches sight of his twin cousins, Baela and Rhaena Velaryon, giggling together by the wisteria archways leading to one of the many gardens on the castle grounds. This could only mean that his bastard nephews are also running amok the Keep as well, but not even that can ruin his day… Because how can this day ever get ruined when as soon as he steps his foot onto the dirt ground of the Godswood, he has to suddenly stop short to catch his breath and calm his rapidly beating heart?

Clutching a hand over his chest, he feels that he has to. Like if he does not try to protect it, his yearning heart will shoot out of his body to lay itself down for the heavenly being in the lilac dress who is staring up at the great oak Heart Tree of the Godswood.

Although right in front of him, Aemond is still in disbelief.

Is it truly you?

He has dreamt of this a million times before – you, here, at his home, with him – but now that it is actually happening, he cannot even fathom it to be true.

Aemond watches as your eyelids flutter shut, a gentle smile on your face.

He wonders what you pray to your Gods for. All his visits to the Sept ends with him praying for your wellbeing and happiness – and more selfishly, for you to return his feelings. He used to pray for a taste of the crown on his head, but now he just wants you by his side, always — so is it really that bad?

The Targaryen Prince waits, giving you peace for your private moment, and only makes his move once your eyes flutter open. He keeps his footsteps light, so light that you are none the wiser he is by your side until he makes himself known, close enough that when he whispers your name, he can see the shiver going down your spine in delight.

Spinning towards him, you murmur his name just as tenderly as he said yours. It makes his heart ache; remembering how long it has been since he has heard your voice, seen your smile, and felt that feeling when you looked at him – like he is someone that can be revered and loved.

Then suddenly, your face is crumpling in mixture of a laugh and a cry, standing on the tip of your toes to throw your arms around him.

It catches him by surprise. But it seems he is not the only one — because just as he is about to return the gesture, you are springing back and away from him.

“I’m terribly sorry, I forget myself,” you apologize as you glance around, your cheeks burning up with embarrassment at your display in front of the many others that came to greet the Old Gods after their long travel – and towards a prince . They are probably wondering why a girl from such a small and insignificant house thinks she is so familiar with the prince to even dare look him in the eye, let alone touch him. How you didn’t even address him with his title as well. At that thought, you dip your head down and murmur, “My prince.”

You feel fingers grazing under your chin, gently coaxing you to tilt your head up. You are met with Prince Aemond’s soft gaze and a warm smile on his lips. He is breathtaking, and you can only think about how pretty he is. You stare at him in awe, lashes fluttering as your eyes take in all his beauty so greedily, tucking in the image of him in every corner of your mind for safekeeping.

Before you can even form any thought other than that, his arms are wrapping around you. So tightly that you could not jump away if you wanted to like last time.

You stand there frozen in place, feeling the curious stares of everyone around on you and your Prince. You can hear murmurings — whispers of his name, wondering who you are, and what the two of you are to each other. It should have you worried, how it might appear improper and scandalous in some way… But if your best friend did not care for their gossiping, then why should you?

So you let go of the worry.

You press your face against his chest, breathing him in as you hold him just as closely as he is holding you.

It felt so nice and right that the two of you stood there like that for what seemed like hours.

In reality, only minutes passed — and although still long, when the two of you did part, it truly did not seem enough.

“This is unfair… I wanted to be the one to surprise you, not the other way around!” You tell him with a playful pout, hoping it will hide the secret yearning in your heart.

Aemond’s perfectly straight and beautifully long silver hair swishes elegantly when his body shakes with laughter. “I’m afraid my older brother sold you out.”

“Your older brother… Prince Aegon?! How did he…?”

“He was the one to suggest to our mother to invite your family to the wedding.”

Your mouth drops in shock and it makes the corners of Aemond’s own tug up in a grin. “Believe me, I was surprised by his out of character thoughtfulness as much as you are.”

“Well if it were not for that and the fact that he is to be married soon, I would have had his tongue–” You catch yourself and glance around, hoping no one heard your treasonous thoughts uttered out loud. Luckily, no one did.

Aemond laughs again. It has been a while since he has laughed this much and he knows it is because of you. He always seems to be full of merriment whenever you are around. “Funny that, I had the same exact thought earlier.”

You share a smile with him, standing there and just happily basking in each other’s presence.

“It’s been too long…” Aemond says. Slow and carefully, he reaches a hand towards you, placing it on your shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

You suck in a breath as you allow him, emboldening the prince. He has you glancing down to follow the way his thumb gingerly brushes across your collarbone, gentle yet firm. A familiar feeling of heat toils deep in your lower belly, one you have come to know whenever you have thoughts of Aemond when you are alone in the privacy of your bedchamber. You look up at him from your lowered lashes, “I’ve missed you too.”

As you stare into his eye, you can not help but remember how you would slip your hand under your covers, your unpracticed fingers in between your thighs as you sigh his name into your pillow. It is burning you up to be thinking of something so impure in front of the Prince — if you only knew he has had his own fair share of sleepless nights doing the same.

Aemond lets himself be selfish for a couple more moments, trailing his palm across and down your shoulder before he clasps his hands together behind his back. If he did any more than that, he knew he would have done something unbecoming for a Prince.

“It seems you intend to stay true to your family nickname…" he says then, full of mirth. "You are still but a little cub.”

You gasp, appalled. “I’ve grown!”

Aemond hums with a teasing smirk.

You straighten up your posture even more, holding your head up high, trying to convince him. “I have!”

His answer remains the same, a hum, and the infuriating (and begrudgingly – charming ) smirk still on his lips.

“It’s not my fault you grew so freakishly so, with your long, spider-like legs,” you grumble. And it is true. The last time you had seen him, he was only an inch or two taller than you. Now he has at least a foot over you. So much has changed, especially when the first time you met him, you were the taller one.

Aemond can not help but be amused at the petulant look on your face and repeats out loud your use of ‘long, spider-like leg’ in disbelief. He licks his lips as the smirk turns into a beaming smile.

“I apologize, my lady,” Aemond says, dipping his head in mock apology. “May I make it up to you by showing you around the Keep?”

Then he is holding his arm out for you to take. You narrow your gaze at him for a long second, letting him sweat. You notice the way he takes a hard swallow and thus, becoming satisfied.

Sighing dramatically, you lock your arm around his elbow, your hand holding onto his bicep, sticking close by his side. “I suppose that is the least you can do.”

Aemond is a very thorough tour guide. For every place he shows you, he tells you about the long history of it and the most significant events that happened there. If it were anyone else, you would surely be bored. But since it is Aemond, he has your rapt attention. Besides, it overjoyed you to finally be able to put a place for all the stories that Aemond has told you over the years.

The prince takes you everywhere in the Red Keep – the Sept, the White Sword Tower, the Maidenvault, the Great Hall, the rookery, the training yard, the private library, and all the other places that are not off limits.

He saves the dragon pit for last, being the furthest from the Keep.

“How are you feeling about the wedding?” You ask him, curious to know. You and the prince are still arm in arm as he leads you there, not at all in a rush and enjoying the leisurely walk.

Aemond shrugs nonchalantly. “It has been a long time coming. They’ve been betrothed since even before we’ve met. I think I’ve already come to terms with it.”

“Do you find it strange that your siblings are getting married?”

Aemond takes a moment before he answers, “I pity my sister, if that is what you are asking… But if it is because they are of the same blood… Well, I’ve told you about my many ancestors before, how they often married their own family to keep our bloodline pure for our legacy and to control dragons… And I must admit, there was even a time I had wanted for Helaena to have been betrothed to me instead—” He feels you stiffen slightly at his confession, “— Not that I felt anything romantically towards her in any way, but for duty and our birthright. And perhaps even to save my sister from the cruelty of our older brother. But now though…” he trails off, giving you a sidelong glance, “I am glad that the duty did not fall on me.”

You do not notice or feel his stare, deep in your thoughts and humming in contemplation at what Aemond just told you. Then finally, you say, “I could never picture myself marrying any of my brothers.”

Not only do you physically cringe, but the grimace of disgust that twists your features has Aemond laughing so heartily.

“Good,” he says plainly, after his laughter lets up. Then he clears his throat before asking, “And what of other suitors? Surely you have many…”

You snort at the notion, very unladylike. “You think too highly of me, my Prince. I have none at all… Although I do think that they are all too scared of my older brothers to even try to court me.”

“Good,” he says once again. You look up towards him and see he is staring straight ahead, a satisfied smirk on his face. You want to ask him what has him grinning like a cat who got the cream, but before you get the chance to, Aemond turns to you and announces, “We’re here, my lady.”

You look at the building you are approaching in awe, the immense structure with the dome-like roof unlike anything you have seen before. You truly are not on Bear Island anymore.

Aemond leads you inside, once again a walking history book. As you take in the information, you clutch onto him a little bit tighter when he takes you down into the dungeons. Though brave, you are not stupid, and you knew if you were to stray away from Aemond, there is only one dragon there loyal to the prince – the others would not be as kind. So you and Aemond pass by the others without giving them much attention, only catching glimpses of them. All of them big and mighty, and yet not nearly as immense or as ferocious as the dragon you have come to be so fond of.

Finally, you make it to the largest holding area of the dungeon, the mighty beast inside laying down, resting.

“I took her for a long flight just this morning,” Aemond tells you with a smile. Then he parts from you, striding to the dragon first. Vhagar perks up when she hears him call her name, though only lifting up her head minutely. He stands beside her, murmurs something in High Valyrian, and then turns his heel to look towards you. Folding his arms behind his back, he waits.

Now both their attention are on you. Cautiously, you approach the she-dragon, not knowing if she remembers you or not. She huffs hot air through her nostrils as you get closer, but does not move, only her pupils following you. When you make it to the prince’s side, he gives you a nod of encouragement.

You reach out your hand, softly grazing the scales on Vhagar’s snout. Immediately, the she-dragon starts to rumble. Her eyes shut, basking in your touch and purrs even louder, happy.

You exchange a joyful laugh with the prince. Aemond places his hand on his dragon just beside yours and leans to whisper hotly in your ear, “It seems I am not the only one who missed you dearly.”

You can not help but burst inside with happiness.

For the next couple of days, you and the prince try to spend every waking hour together. Since the attention is mostly on Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena, Aemond had less commitments he had to attend to, leaving him with more free time than he has had the past three years. But he does get pulled away from you sometimes. Like this morning, after breaking fast together at the garden pavilion overlooking the ocean, leaving you with his sister, Princess Helaena.

You did not mind one bit, you quite enjoyed the princess’ company. Her eccentricities remind you a lot of your brother, Jorah — who chose to stay home with Braeden and your mother.

Like Jorah, Helaena talks your ear off about various subjects you are not familiar with. It is as if they think that if they know it, you know it as well. Still, you try to understand, asking questions when you see fit. It does not make things any more clear, but they seem to enjoy it all the same, and it makes you happy to indulge them with their special interest.

But when you do find yourself understanding what Helaena says, you notice that the princess has quite a funny side to her. Her jokes are very understated but intelligent, and when it hits, she has you laughing out loud. Even the dutiful royal guard following closely behind you and the princess cannot help but chuckle a bit.

The princess is so sweet and lovely, and it makes you all the more sad that in just a couple hours, she will be forced to marry her crude older brother.

You have only had the displeasure of being in Prince Aegon’s presence once – and thank the Old Gods, it was a very brief encounter because that was more than enough. Your skin still crawls in remembrance of his crass words towards you and the way he looked at you like you were merely just a piece of meat. He was lucky that he was pulled away to meet with some important Lord, because if it were not his brother, Aemond, to punch his lights out – holding back, with the knuckles of his fists whitening at his sides – it would have been your brother, Forrest, who also heard the Targaryen Prince.

“What are you thinking of, enkelitsos?”

You snap out of your thoughts, turning to Princess Helaena with a smile.

“Hmm…? Oh, it is nothing…” You say, then you tilt your head at her. “What does that mean, by the way?”

“Enkelitsos?” When you nod, Helaena poses another question, “My brother has not told you?”

“No, he calls me it often yet keeps me in the dark.”

Helaena giggles into her hand that is not wrapped around your arm, then looks up at the clear sky, seeming faraway from you now. “When my brother disappeared that winter day all those years ago… I had a dream that he fell and met an enkelitsos, surrounded by shrouds of snow. When your father wrote us that first raven from Bear Island, I did not even know where my brother ended up, but I asked my father to send Aemond back my note asking if he has met the enkelitsos,” she looks towards you now, a peaceful look softening her face, “He wrote me back that he had.”

Then like her brother, that is all she gives to you, and you are still no closer to figuring out what that Valyrian word even means. You can guess, sure, but you would rather not. So once again you are just hoping it means something good rather than bad.

---

On the walk with the princess, the two of you somehow ended up at the training yard.

It is bustling there. The air is heavy with the stench of sweat and grime. All of the men busy with practicing for the upcoming tournament later at noon, in celebration of the wedding taking place right after.

You catch sight of Forrest surrounded by four men, always the life of the party as his boisterous laugh and vibrant way of speaking enraptures their attention. There is a silver-haired fellow with your brother that could only be the coloring of someone of Valyrian blood, but his back is turned towards you to know who for sure. You know it’s not Aemond – for you know the sight of your prince’s back better than you know the back of your own hand – and it is certainly not Helaena’s husband-to-be. He stands tall and regal; reminiscent of Aemond, but not Aemond.

Could it be Aemond’s younger brother, Prince Daeron?

You had not have the chance to meet the youngest and most loved prince. He had been savoring his time in King’s Landing with old friends he left behind for Oldtown, poised to head back with his uncle directly after the wedding feast.

Forrest then spies you from over the man’s shoulder, mouth spreading in a wide grin and jovially waving. “Little cub!”

It has the silver-haired man turning around, and you see it is not the younger prince at all. This one is older than Aemond and even Prince Aegon, with roguish good looks.

This has to be the King’s younger brother and Aemond’s uncle — the rogue prince, Daemon Targaryen.

He follows behind your brother and Willam Stark, with two dark-haired boys in tow. The sly smirk that graces his face as he regards you and Princess Helaena has your companion pressing against your side closer.

“The halls ablaze brings a ring of blue,” the Princess murmurs beside you.

You turn to her, confused. “What was that, my princess?”

Helaena shakes her head, just as Forrest steps up in front of the both of you.

“Princess Helaena,” Forrest bows so deep, his knee hits the ground. “Your presence must be the reason for this beautiful, clear sky.”

Though you roll your eyes, you are grateful that Forrest has a certain effect on people as you feel Helaena relax beside you. She even giggles, offering your brother a playful curtsy of her own.

“Aye, get up. Before they make you the jester for the feast tonight,” Willam Stark chides, lightly kicking Forrest’s bum.

Forrest stands, brushing off the dirt on his back and knee while throwing Willam a cheeky grin. “Doubt they will make the winner of the tourney the jester.”

It was Willam’s turn to roll his eyes, not bothering to give Forrest a satisfaction of a reply for his cocky statement. Instead, Willam turns to Helaena and offers a well mannered bow, “My princess.”

Then to you, he takes you in a short yet tender hug. You squeeze him tight. For how long you’ve known Willam Stark – the younger brother of the Head of House Stark, Cregan Stark – and how close he is to your two oldest brothers, he is like family to you now too.

“I’m glad your travels went well, my lady,” Willam says after the two of you parted.

“I’m sorry yours did not go as smoothly, Willam,” you say, frowning. The Starks just arrived a day ago when they were supposed to arrive even earlier than your family. A brawl at an inn they had stayed at, Forrest told you last night after he helped the Stark men settle in. “At least you are here now, and safe. My brother was absolutely miserable without you.”

“Do not stroke his already huge ego, little cub.”

Both you and Willam snap at him a, “You’re one to talk.” and a “Says you?” – respectively.

Forrest frowns deeply in mock hurt, just as someone comes in for his defence, “Even from the little I’ve seen Lord Forrest fight, I think his ego is deserved.”

“How you flatter me so, Prince Daemon,” Forrest says with a bright smile, making space for said prince and the other two behind him to join your little circle.

So it is him, you think to yourself as Daemon’s eyes find yours, a mischievous twinkle in them. From the little Aemond has talked about him, Aemond seems to respect the rogue prince as equally as he did not like him — both highly.

You are not one to let others’ opinion form yours (except maybe when it is towards Prince Aegon) but when you give Prince Daemon a once over, you cannot stop the scowl from forming on your face. Because when you look down, what you see wrapped around Daemon’s grip is an all too familiar sword, a bear head crafted of silver signifying House Mormont at the pommel. You glare at his hand, like the heat of it will make him drop the precious sword so you can catch it. But fire cannot burn a dragon, and so you chose to glare daggers into his eyes instead.

If Daemon is confused or startled by the fire in your eyes, he does not let it show, the infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“I should give this back to you, Lord Forrest,” Prince Daemon says, handing over the Valyrian steel sword that had been in your family for generations back to your brother. “It is something treasured that should not be touched just by anyone.” He winks your way as he teases, “Isn’t that right, Lady Mormont?”

As you watch Forrest slide the sword back into its sheath by his side, you say with narrowed eyes now directed at your brother, “When Braeden passed over his inheritance of Longclaw over to you, he entrusted you not to just hand it over to anyone, all willy nilly… Even if it is towards a prince.”

Forrest huffs, clearly embarrassed to be scolded by his little sister in front of a group of people he respects. “Oh, come off it, little sister. Prince Daemon was merely looking. He has a Valyrian steel sword of his own, he does not need mine.”

Daemon chuckles. “You never know. Perhaps I may need it in the future.”

You glare at him again, not quite sure if he is joking or not. Forrest, on the other hand, takes it as a playful jest and laughs foolishly.

Once again, Helaena murmurs so quietly the strange phrase she had said before. The halls ablaze brings a ring of blue. Daemon overhears, titling his head in confusion at the young princess.

“How rude of me. My darling niece, I've not even greeted you — and on your wedding day,” Daemon says, taking Princess Helaena’s hand and places a dainty kiss on it. “Please forgive me.”

“It is alright, kepus,” Princess Helaena forgives, but she says it to the ground and is quick to snatch her hand away.

That is when you feel the weight of someone’s stare, and when you look, you lock eyes with the taller of the boys beside Prince Daemon. He jolts, his face turning red as he looks away – at the sky, the others around, the ground, everywhere, but on you.

He is quite handsome. You feel your cheeks heating up as well. You are not used to male attention, so when you get it, you do not know how to act. You wonder which House he is from–

“I hope today treats you well, Princess Helaena,” the younger and smaller of the two dark-haired boys says.

Helaena smiles, genuinely this time. “Thank you, Lucerys.”

That has you stilling, hearing the name. The boy looks so sweet, so young, so innocent, and yet… and yet..

“I also hope the same, princess,” the older one says to Helaena, and she nods sweetly to him. Then he takes a breath, puffs out his chest, and then turns to you with a boyish smile. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Mormont. I am Jacaerys Velaryon, but those close to me call me Jace.”

You felt traitorous, finding attraction towards the man who had a hand in traumatizing your best friend – the person you secretly claim to love – and left him blind in one eye. Even more so when he offers you his hand and you take it without question.

Then, as he keeps his gaze on you from under his long and dark lashes, he brings your hand up slowly towards him, has you sucking in a breath as his lips—

An ironclad grip wraps itself around Jace’s wrist, freezing you both in place before his mouth can touch your skin. You glance to your side and gasp, meeting Aemond’s furious face, nostrils flared and mouth pulled back in a sneer. His glare is not on you, but on his nephew, and yet, you feel just as ashamed.

“He was just introducing himself, nephew,” Daemon says with a huffy laugh. “No need to get your smallclothes in a twist.”

If Aemond heard him, he does not show — choosing to tighten his grip harder, making Jace wince in pain as he drops your hand.

Aemond does not take his eye off Jace when he grabs for your hand and wraps an arm around his sister. “Come, my mother is looking for Helaena.”

Then he takes the two of you away, the stares of the men left behind burning your back.

After taking Princess Helaena back to her solar to get ready for the festivities of the day, Aemond whisks you away to the private library he calls his own. The whole time though, he did not speak one word to you, fuming and brooding to himself.

And in this room, where the two of you are alone, he keeps it up. Still fuming and brooding as he stands by the hearth, staring at the fire he had just kindled.

You watch him from where you are sat on the floor, back against the wall and the cat you had helped name sleeping peacefully on your lap. Having had enough of the silent treatment, you thump the back of your head against the wall and say out loud, “You’re angry with me.”

The silence is even more deafening now that you tried to break it. Aemond lets it simmer for a while. Then finally he answers, clipped and short in tone, “No.”

He cannot even look your way when he says it. So how are you supposed to feel?

You are about to voice out this concern but then Aemond starts speaking again, “I’m angry with myself… for letting them get so close to you.” The fist he has clenched on his side hits the wall suddenly, startling you. “His filthy mouth almost touched you!”

It makes you frown, this side of the Targaryen prince. You don’t see it often, but when you do, it scares you sometimes. “Aemond, you’re being ridiculous. He was just being respectful.”

Aemond huffs out a mirthless laugh, finally turning towards you. “If you think he was doing that out of respect then you are more naive than I thought. Perhaps you are also blind to the many suitors I know you have, if that is the way you think.” He grins sardonically, aiming to be cruel and mean. “Although I did not think you would be one to fall to your feet for the lackluster charms of bastard boys.”

You hold his gaze, yours getting blurry with tears. Though before he can get the satisfaction of seeing a tear fall, you look down, threading your fingers through Snowball’s soft fur to help with your feelings of hurt. “That was mean, Aemond.”

Towards me and your nephews , you wanted to say. You know that Aemond has very valid reasons for his hatred towards his nephews, but you remember what your father had said before — holding a grudge leaves nothing but more pain in its wake, poisoning your own soul . It was a lesson for Jorah and Forrest, after another tiff between them, but it stuck to you too.

But you hate the way your voice had trembled when you spoke earlier, so you let it lay in your mind.

You hear Aemond sigh, then there is a shadow falling over you. You look up just as he starts to bend down, both knees on the ground to level with you. His face sullen, and sorry.

“I…” He takes a swallow, looking down at his hands he had on his lap. “I apologize deeply… for snapping at you when you did not deserve any heat of my ire. And for whisking you away in here without even asking… If you want to leave and go to the tourney instead, I will not stop you.”

You press your lips together, head shaking. Snowball is blinking up at you, awaking from his slumber, stretching his limbs in a yawn before curling up again, purring loud. You start to stroke his fur again as you tell Aemond, “I am content right here.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure Forrest would want you there, cheering for him.”

Smiling, you hum, “I’m sure he does… But I’ve spent my life watching him train all the time. It has become a bore. I do hope he wins though… he is determined to prove to Willam that he is the better warrior out of them…” You sigh, chuckling to yourself. “Those two are always butting heads… and swords.”

Aemond huffs out a laugh, smiling at each other, as if sharing a silent secret.

Then you take his hands from his lap, holding it in yours. It forces him to gaze into your eyes, his own violet eye sheepish. It is that soft look of his that has you confessing straight from your heart, “I did not come to King’s Landing for a tourney, or a wedding, or anything or anyone else.. I came to King's Landing for you, Aemond Targaryen. My best friend.”

Then you pull one hand away from him to pat the floor beside you, inviting him to sit with you.

“And I intend to spend all my time here with you, whether you like it or not.”

Aemond exhales a shuddering breath, as if he had been holding it the whole while you were speaking, then nods before he crawls and takes his place by your side, his hand still holding yours.

From your other side, you pick up a book on the floor, the one you had picked out earlier from a shelf when he was all taciturn and morose, and hand it over to him.

His eye widens as he recognizes the cover, “This is…”

You grin at him. It is his favorite book. One that he talked to you about often but could have never brought to Bear Island because of how big and heavy it was. He had told you many times over the years that once you visit him, he will read it for you, over and over again, until you have it memorized, until you are sick of it. So…

You lean close to him, whispering so soft yet he feels the tickle of your breath on his lips, “Can you read for me, Aemond?”

Aemond wets his lips, glancing from your pretty mouth to your big doe eyes, not knowing he had been leaning closer and closer with every passing second. Just when you were about to flutter your eyelids close, Aemond catches himself and moves back, smiles your way, tender and true.

Although a bit disappointed, he has you humming sweetly as you let him wrap his arm around your shoulder and pulls you tight towards him, getting comfortable in each other's company — like the two of you are little kids again in the common room of Mormont Keep – and he opens the book and reads.

It was impossible for Aemond to not lose track of time when your head is on his shoulder, your light laughter and clever commentary like music in his ears, and your heartbeat beating like one with his, lulling him deeper and deeper in that dreamland you two had created in the privacy of that library.

As the sun outside starts to set, the fire burning in the room gets brighter and brighter — but it is Snowball’s whining for food that has Aemond realizing that it is late. Really late.

The tournament is surely over and the wedding—

Seven hells. The wedding.

Aemond shakes you, stirring you awake from the sleep you had just succumbed to moments ago. He feels awful for it, wishing he could just let you rest on his shoulder like he wants to, but he has a duty to perform. Always the good and honorable son.

You don’t protest or whine, grasping the situation quickly, and he takes your hand to pull you up, taking off with one another.

Luckily, the two of you manage to make it to the Great Hall in time.

You catch sight of your brother-in-law close to the back, towering over the other guests, and you easily weave through the many bodies to slip beside your sister, her grin wide and happy to see you as she pulls you close with her arm around your hips.

Aemond, though, strides confidently down the middle of the hall, no one the wiser that he is late with how sure he carries himself. Except for his older brother, already standing in his place and waiting for his bride-to-be (wiggling his brows at Aemond when the younger passes him by, slyly making a gesture with one hand making a circle with his fingers and the other has two straighten out, pushing them towards the other) and his mother (clearly disappointed in Aemond’s unusual tardiness and confused as to why he wasn’t wearing the formal clothes she had his chambermaids lay out for him) — both to which he ignores, to take his place beside his younger brother, Daeron.

It is good that Daeron knows the time and place when to tease, can gauge how people are feeling, and so he just grins placidly at Aemond, before both their attention towards the opening of the huge double door of the Great Hall, the wedding about to begin.

---

The wedding was beautiful. Well, as beautiful as a loveless marriage between two siblings could be. Aegon was completely out of it, not bothering to hide how bored and listless he was, and Helaena was meek and quiet when she repeated her vows.

As Aemond watches them walk back down the long hall together, he cannot help but feel pity – for the both of them.

Yes, Aegon may be a twat but it must be a terrible weight on his shoulder. That ever since he was young, this was what he was destined for, out of duty for his family and the crown. Perhaps it is the reason he grew up to be so horrible, why he drinks, why he is the way he is.

And Helaena – sweet and dear, Helaena – could have had a pick of anyone she wanted, but here she is, stuck with her rude and crass, older brother.

As the crowd starts to disperse, Aemond stands there, thinking about you. How you and him could have a wedding ceremony just like this when he finally tells you how he feels for you. It will be even more grand and gorgeous because that is what you deserve, and because he loves you.

Or… Would he also be forced into a political marriage, to create a stronger alliance with some House that would never feel like a family to him like yours have? Forced to wed someone he does not love, while you slip through his fingers, married to another?

He swallows the lump in his throat, shaking away the dreaded thought.

Aemond’s eye searches for you now, knowing one look at you will bring him back to the library, bring him back that peace of mind you and him created in there, away from all this. He thinks he spies you near the back, but he quickly loses sight of you in the masses of guests heading out the Great Hall to get ready for the celebratory feast.

Though before he can move to really look for you, his mother grabs his arm and leads him to the back doors of the Great Hall, chastising to get properly dressed. Aemond looks back over his shoulder and sees the hall almost completely empty. He frowns, guessing he’ll have to wait to see you again.

---

After the wedding ceremony, you head back to your guest chamber, the swarm of guests leaving the Great Hall did not allow you to do anything else. Your sister accompanies you so the two of you can get ready for the dinner celebration together.

Dorothea has you sitting at the vanity, brushing careful strokes into your hair, making it shiny and pretty for the night. Your eyes are closed, humming in content. You miss this, it is like when you were little girls. You’d put up more of a fight back then but now…

Opening your eyes, you place a hand over Dorothea’s, stopping her mid-brush to find your gaze through the looking glass in front of you. “Come back to Bear Island with us. It’s been awfully lonely without you around.”

Dorothea looks down, hiding her smile, putting the hairbrush down to start braiding your hair in the way the pretty ladies in King’s Landing do. “I never thought I’d hear this from you. You’ve always been closer to our brothers than with me.”

“That’s not true!” You protest, shaking your head. Dorothea tuts and forces you to still. “I may jest with them more, but you have always been my favorite.”

Dorothea chuckles at that. “You are awfully bold tonight.”

Pouting, you whine in a way that only a little sister can get away with, “Can’t a girl just say what is in her heart without being questioned so much so?”

“Then tell me… Have you told the prince how you felt about him?”

This time, it is you who looks away from Dorothea’s gaze through the mirror. “I did not come here to burden him with my feelings.”

Your sister sighs. “You will not be burdening him with your feelings. Don't you see the way he looks at you?”

You bite down at your lower lip, not sure what hurts more – how your sister is pulling your hair back so tight that your face stretches with it or the hollow feeling in your chest. “I do… but… you were at the wedding. The princess and prince hold no love for one another, not even familial love… And Aemond… he is also the son of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. In line for the Iron Throne… We— it’s not a match, the two of us. As much as I want it to be.”

Dorothea frowns, letting your hair free to walk around you to kneel in front of you. She takes you by the shoulders to make you look her in the eyes, properly this time. “Don’t say that, little cub.”

You sniff, holding back the incoming tears. “Our house… it’s… We’re not…” You lick your lips, trying again, “What will they gain from letting Aemond marry me?”

Dorothea squeezes your shoulders in reassurance, then says, “They will gain a wonderful daughter-in-law. One who is smart, and strong, and stupidly stubborn, but lovable nonetheless. One that adores their son so much and looks at him as if he puts the stars in the sky.”

You manage to smile at her words, albeit one that is watery and sad.

“I don’t think that is enough,” you whisper to her, voice trembling for the second time that day.

Dorothea purses her lips together. Her silence an admission that you may be right.

---

When it came time to head to the Queen’s Ballroom for the wedding feast, it is like you and your sister did not have that talk at all, laughing together as you walk hand-in-hand. Following behind you two are your Lord Father, Lord Grover Tully, and his two grandsons, Elmo Tully, and Dorothea’s husband, Tobias Tully.

You are so content with your sister’s company that you do notice all the handsome lords that make eyes at you when you pass them by. Instead, you are more entranced by the delicious food filling the many tables, taking your pick and then offering a piece to your sister and father whenever you find something so mouthwateringly good.

You were in the process of popping a stuffed olive into your mouth when someone chose to slide up behind, shouting your name and startling you to choke on the darn thing.

“You idiot,” Dorothea hisses at her twin brother as she pats on your back to aid dislodge the olive stuck in your throat.

“I’m sorry, I did not– Are you alright, little cub?!” Forrest exclaims with worry, smacking his palm on your back as well. Finally, you cough out the olive, and thank the Gods for Dorothea, as she slides a small plate in front of you – making the sticky and wet olive fall on it instead of in your hand.

While Dorothea berates her twin, Forrest keeps asking if you were really alright. You wave him off with a laugh.

“Are you sure? Really sure?”

“Yes, Forrest. I’m quite sure,” you say once more with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Good,” Forrest sighs. “I was quite worried… Also for the fact I didn’t see you at the Tourney.”

“I was… Elsewhere. But I heard you got second! Congratulations!”

Forrest pouts now. “Thank you, but… I wanted to ask for your favor. I had to settle for Dorothea’s and I think that is why I did not win.”

Dorothea glares at him and snaps, “I can hear you, you know?”

Forrest throws a cheeky grin her way that has her eyes rolling, turning her attention towards her husband instead.

“But are you sure you are alright?” Forrest asks as he takes a careful hold of your hands, voice low and firm so only the two of you can hear. “I’m asking seriously this time… That scene in the training yard with Ae and his nephews… I’ve never seen him like that before.”

You squeeze your brother’s hands reassuringly. “It is alright. He has apologized.”

Forrest hums, frowning, but takes your word for it. Then he straightens up, happy-go-lucky Forrest again. “Then will you join me to sup tonight? Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra asked me to their table. They were quite impressed with my skills at the tourney. And well…” He whispers the next part, a teasing smirk on his lips, “There is a certain Velaryon boy that was quite taken by you, and they want you to join them as well.”

Before you can even accept or refuse, Dorothea nudges Forrest aside to wrap her arm around yours, as if to claim you for the night. “Nuh-uh. Our sister is to sit with me and my Lord-Husband tonight,” then to you she asks giddily, “Do you remember Jeremy Strong? Ser Fallon Strong’s second youngest? Well, ever since you visited Riverrun for my wedding, he had been asking about you and well, before, with the whole… situation, I let him down easy. But now after our talk…”

“A Strong? Over a Velaryon Prince for our lovely sister?” Forrest scoffs quietly. “You are a terrible matchmaker, Thea.”

“Titles and Family Names should not matter. What matters is a good man. You should know that, dear Forrest, with all your canoodling with the Stark —”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you both–” Your father cuts in, smiling fondly at his children before standing at your side. “But our little cub and I have been formally invited to dine with the King and the Queen tonight… And that is an invitation we simply cannot refuse.”

Then without another word, your father takes you by the arm, leading you away from your siblings that are as dumbfounded as you are.

---

Aemond is running late again. So late, in fact, that his mother has Daeron knocking on his door to chaperone him to the feast.

It puts Aemond in a foul mood. Or perhaps, fouler than the one he was in before, when he was all alone in his bedchamber, stewing in dreadful thoughts about the future – the reason he is running late in the first place.

Aemond waves off Daeron in a way that could also be interpreted as a more polite way of Aemond flipping him off. The youngest prince just shrugs, and follows closely behind his older brother as they make their way to the ballroom together.

Aemond thought that maybe once they reach the ballroom that he’ll be free to mingle, be free to find you. But of course it cannot be that easy, because what they find when they arrive is Ser Criston, waiting for them near the entrance of the ballroom to lead them straight to the main table of the room.

With not many options on where to sit now that almost all the guests have taken a seat at a table, Aemond plops down on the chair beside his mother, all sulky and surly.

Aegon is to his right, takes one look at the One-Eyed Prince’s face and laughs, hard – clearly already in his cups. Aemond simply shifts his body slightly more to the left to ignore him.

Only two empty chairs remain at their table beside Prince Daeron, who is sitting directly across Aemond. At first, Aemond thought it would be for his half-sister and heir to the throne, Princess Rhaenyra, and her uncle-husband, Prince Daemon, but he spies them at another table with Rhaenyra’s bastard children, and Princess Rhaenys and her granddaughters. It was probably by his mother’s arrangement to not sit them at their table — if it were up to his father, they would be by his side. His mother – though petty at times – would rather not ruin her two beloved childrens’ wedding day and end it with another huge family feud.

So who would be sitting on those empty chairs? From looking around, Aemond sees all his immediate family already sat. Could it be for the twin knights, Ser Arryk and Erryk Cargyll, the former being the champion of the Tournament, or maybe –

Suddenly, the Queen rises, beaming with joy. “Our guest of honor! It is lovely to see you two!”

Aemond glances over to who his mother is speaking to and what he sees has his eye widening, body moving on its own as he is standing up too.

Because it is you, standing right there at the other side of the table beside your father, and looking like an absolute daydream in that dress — no, the dress, the one he gifted you for your sixteenth name day.

Aemond had often dreamt about you wearing the cream colored dress ever since he got a look at it – how lovely the color would look against your skin, the way your dainty collarbones and shoulders will be on display due to the off the shoulder sleeves, and the elegant way you would move around him in it.

But, as you often proved, dreams could never compare to the brilliant reality of you.

He can’t keep his eye off of you. You have completely stolen his breath away — and his heart, once again.

He can tell you were very nervous, with the way your fingers twist together in front of you. But then your eyes meet his and you are exhaling out air as you stand up a little straighter, more sure of yourself.

Aemond smiles to himself. It is nice to know that he gives you as much ease as you give him.

“Sorry for the tardiness, your Grace,” your father apologizes, bowing his head at the Queen and the King.

“It’s alright, Lord Mormont,” The Queen shakes off with a kind smile. “The invitation was quite last minute, so I thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

Then she puts a hand on Aemond’s arm, a gesture for him to stay put, before she rounds the table to greet you and your father.

Queen Alicent talks to your father first, thanking him once again for taking care and bringing back Aemond safely all those years ago, and for always welcoming him to your home. Then King Viserys pipes up from the seat over where the Queen had been, too weak to stand up to greet your father properly, but your father leans over the table to shake his hand, and they start to converse as if old and very close friends.

That has the Queen’s attention flicking to you, and she smiles at you in a way that seems like she is about to burst into tears. Then you are being pulled into her tight embrace.

“It is so wonderful to finally meet you,” the Queen says softly into your ear. “Thank you for being such a good friend to our dearest Aemond.”

Alicent pulls back, but her hands are now on your arms. “I have heard so many wonderful things about you.”

You glance down bashfully. “Thank you, your Grace. I heard many a great things about you too.”

Neither of you hear Aegon’s comment, “Well, of course. Aemond, the mommy’s boy,” or how said ‘mommy’s boy’ kicks his shin from underneath the table.

Alicent then looks you over. Even if her stare is anything but scrutinizing, you still felt very self-conscious. The Queen is the very definition of perfection, and you cannot help but think of all your flaws in that very moment. Is your hair all in place? Is there food stuck in your teeth? What will she think about that scar you have on your arm from sparring with Jorah when you were young?

“You are such a darling girl,” Queen Alicent declares. “So pretty…” She then gasps, “Is this the dress Aemond and I have gotten made for you?”

You nod in confirmation. “It is. Thank you graciously, your grace.”

Alicent sighs, head shaking as she smiles at you and squeezes your arms. “Lovely…”

Then she breaks away fully, gesturing at the empty chairs for you and your father, “Come, sit! Sit!”

And when you take a seat, that is when Aemond finally sits down too.

You share a smile with your best friend, before turning to your left to greet his younger brother. Prince Daeron gives you a handsome grin and takes your hand to shake. But before you can take your hand back, he leans in close and murmurs hotly in your ear, “I would kiss your hand, but I heard whispers about what my dear brother did earlier to our nephew… And I’d rather keep my head, no matter how absolutely divine you are.”

You are a flush when he pulls away, the youngest prince silently laughing to himself, and your prince at the other side of the table narrows his eye in question at the exchange.

The main course of the dinner arrives and soon the Queen’s Ballroom is alive with joyous laughter and utensils scraping on plates. You are slow to eat and drink, afraid if you are not careful, you will stain your pretty dress with something you cannot get off of it. This also means you are a lot more sober than anyone else around you – even Aemond, who does not drink much or often.

He is so relaxed and happy, often looking towards you with that sweet smile on his face.

From beside him, his mother seems quite tipsy as well. She is staring at you, her chin in the palm of her hand.

“I apologize, Lady Mormont, I can’t seem to stop myself from looking at you,” Queen Alicent confesses, head tilting with a sigh. “You look even more gorgeous than that stunning painting Aemond has of you in his –”

“Mother!” Aemond sharply barks, the tip of his ears immediately burning bright red.

Maybe you are not as sober as you thought, because, what?

“Painting…? What painting?” You ask, confused.

Alicent is silent now, realizing she had blurted out something her son did not want you to know.

“Oh, right! That one!” Aegon exclaims, as if suddenly remembering. “The one that Aemond surely jerks it—”

The oldest prince groans, doubling over. The one responsible does not look sorry at all but just miserable now, his fingers pressed to his temple.

Luckily for Aemond’s (and Aegon’s) life, your father had gotten up moments before to chat with Forrest at his table.

“It is quite life-like!” Princess Helaena gleefully adds on from beside her brother-husband. “It looks exactly like you!”

Befuddled even more, your brows crease closer together. You try to get your best friend’s attention to make things a bit clearer, “Aemond..?”

But the one-eyed Prince is so embarrassed that he refuses to acknowledge you — leaving you in turmoil for the rest of the dinner.

---

Even when the plates start getting cleared away, Aemond still does not say one word to you.

Prince Daeron tries to ease the tension, making small talk with you about things that his brother could easily input a thought or two in. But Aemond doesn’t take the bait, not even then Daeron kicks him from under the table.

Although Prince Daeron is quite nice to talk to, you still felt very out of place – especially with how Aemond is ignoring you.

Every passing second, your smile feels more and more forced – until you cannot do it anymore, choosing to stare at your hands on your lap instead, making yourself small.

Seeing you like that has Prince Daeron huffing and shaking his head at the stupidity of his brother, and he decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands then and turns towards you, “Lady Mormont, will you honour me with a dance?”

With his jaw clenching at the question posed, Aemond feels your gaze turning to him, but he keeps his steady on the wall. You stare at his profile for another moment or two, then resign yourself to the fact that you are not going to get anything out of him – maybe not even for the rest of the night. So with a tight smile, you take Prince Daeron’s hand. “Of course, my Prince.”

As the youngest prince leads you out to where the other guests are dancing, Prince Aegon laughs out loud when Aemond furiously inhales deeply. “Seven hells, you’re an idiot.”

And for once in his life, Aemond thinks that Aegon might be right.

---

Aemond is watching you now, once again cannot take his eye off of you.

How can he when you are laughing so prettily, smiling freely, spinning around and around, and enchanting everyone with every twirl of your dress?

But he can’t even bring himself to find a little bit of joy for your happiness, not when the ones giving it to you are the admirers after admirers asking for your hand to dance, tripping over themselves to have even a morsel of your precious time.

Aemond is wild with jealousy, seething as he has Ser Criston murmuring in his ear who each one was.

Lord Thorin Tyrell. Ser Jonas Lannister. Lord Thomas Vance. Lord Alwyn Swyft.

And the one who currently has his arms around you now, making you beam from ear to ear, is Lord Jeremy Strong .

It’s nauseating, but at least it is not that bastard, Jacaerys. He has noticed his nephew making eyes at you all night. But he might not be as daft as he looks because he keeps his distance. Maybe what happened that afternoon still burned in his mind.

Good, Aemond sneers in his head, glaring at where Jace leans against a bannister, moping.

That is when Aemond realizes he is doing the same pitiful thing.

Feeling sorry for himself as he lets others get what he wants. It’s pathetic.

Having had enough, Aemond stands and straightens out his cufflinks before stalking his way to you.

As he gets nearer, he overhears the conversation you are having with the Lord leading you around the dancefloor.

“I did not mean to offend you, Jeremy. If I had known you were the one that made the dish, I wouldn’t have—”

“Wouldn’t have… so blatantly said it was revolting in front of me?”

“That was not the word I used! I just said it was bad!”

“Well, if it pleases you to hear, my Lady… I, uh, have gotten better at it.”

“...Truly?”

“Don’t– Don’t look so doubtful! Maybe I can, um, show you some time, how does breakfast–”

Aemond has to refrain his eye from rolling. Instead, he takes an interjecting step towards the two of you, his looming presence intense enough to halt you completely from moving even an inch.

When your eyes round at him, he simply smirks. “Lady Mormont, I believe I am owed a dance.”

You glance at Lord Strong, smile apologetic as you take your hands off him, a faint thank you for the dance out of your lips.

Aemond does not even spare a single glance at your partner for the whole interaction, his eye only on you. He hears the Lord murmur a low my prince out of respect, but Aemond doesn’t acknowledge it, just overtakes the Lord’s place in front of you, placing his hands possessively on your hips.

Although you put your hands on Aemond’s arms – thus accepting his invitation to dance – your gaze follows the retreating back of your previous dancing partner, a frown worrying your features. Then your fierce glare is on him, “That was pretty rude of you, don’t you think, my Prince?”

He should be happy that’s what he got out of me after he dare thinks he could just court you so easily at my home, in front of me, Aemond thinks uncivilly , Vhagar is itching to burn something alive.

But it would be unwise to say all that out loud, so he just presses his mouth together and holds his chin up a little higher, as if to let you know that what he is going to say next is not at all genuine, “I apologize for my very impertinent behavior towards Lord Strong. It shall not happen again.”

Your look of exasperation does not falter, but you do not move away, not even when Aemond pulls you to him a little more closer.

“I do also apologize though, for how I treated you at the dinner table,” Aemond murmurs, this time sincere. He takes a swallow, frowning. “I was… uncomfortable with some things that came to light. I could not face you to preserve my own selfish pride, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

You cannot help it, you are too soft for him. Your anger just dissipates away. Your hand skims down his arm, comforting him as you sway slowly together with the music from the band, “You’ve been apologizing to me quite a lot today, my prince.”

Aemond hums, head bowing low, his breath tickling your cheek when he speaks, “I intend to make it up to you, enkelitsos.”

From beneath your lashes, you peer at his hungry gaze, your nervous voice shyly asking, “And how will you do that, my prince?”

And again, as if gravity is simply forcing the two of you to each other, the distance between you and the prince closes in more.

Too close to be appropriate in a hall full of nobles, with eyes that see and mouths that talk.

From the main table, Queen Alicent is one of those eyes and mouth. Fondly, she leans to her husband to comment, “Aemond looks so smitten.”

But beside the jovially laughing King, the man with the gold hand pinned on his chest watches too – disapproval strong in the lines of his face.

---

With the Bedding Ceremony underway, it is easier for Prince Aemond to sneak you into his bedchamber. Still, if the two of you were caught, the punishment will be harsh. But he has one goal in mind and he intends to see it through – to show you the painting that caused quite a stir at dinner.

“I promise you it is not as strange as you think it is,” Aemond says, his hand holding yours as he leads you carefully yet swiftly through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You huff, pressing your back against the wall when Aemond does, watching as the prince peers around the corner. “Do not put words into my mouth, Aemond! I do not think it is strange. I just want to know what it is!”

“It’s–” he stops, then he is tugging you to move again, across the hall and into a door that leads to a stone staircase. As you climb the steps with him, Aemond continues, “Well, you’ll see soon. We’re almost there.”

Your heartbeat is beating so fast at the thrill of all the sneaking around. But as exhilarating as it is, you were delighted to finally be pulled into the safety of Aemond’s bedchamber, to allow the pulsing in your veins to finally calm and to breathe normally again.

Or at least you try… Because it is then when it comes to you that you are in Aemond’s bedchamber, alone with the prince.

You don't know how you do it, but you are the perfect image of serenity when you glance around the room to take everything in.

Nothing there was really surprising to you. He keeps his own bedchamber the same way he kept the guest chamber that is his in Mormont Keep – pristine, and not a thing out of place. But there are things around that make your heart sing with delight – the little gifts you and your family have given the prince throughout the years.

The long black leather gloves that Jorah made, with an embroidered red of the House Targaryen sigil by you on the cuffs, hanging on the handle of his armoire. Wooden Cyvasse pieces crafted by Braeden on a fancy marbled Cyvasse board — reminding you that Aemond still hasn’t beaten your oldest brother yet. The leather ball by the foot of his bed, the one that he kicked in the goal and earned a victorious win with Forrest in a game of mob football with the other kids on the island. A very amateur drawing you made of you and him riding Vhagar in a golden frame on the bedside table. A leather bound journal on his desk, gifted by your mother and father, looking well-loved and well-used. And many, many more.

He keeps it intertwined with his other things, as if they are as precious as the golds, jewels, and all the other clearly more valuable items he has.

And that is when you see it, hanging on the wall opposite of his bed, surrounded by the golden ornate frame, is you — brought to life on a canvas by talented strokes of rich oil paints.

“This… Dorothea painted this,” you inform Aemond – who stands in the center of the room with his hand nervously clasped behind his back – as if he already did not know.

“Yes, she did.”

As you continue to stare at the painting in disbelief, you start to recount, “I… I remember this day so clearly. She made me sit in her room for hours and hours – seven to be exact. Believe me, I counted. And then after she was finished… The next day, it was just… gone . I was mad at her for weeks. I couldn’t believe how she wasted my time, and she cannot even explain how it disappeared. But now—” You look at him, a mirthful smile on your lips, “She sent it to you.”

Aemond nods slow, taking steps to meet you by your side. “When I couldn’t travel to visit you, I was slowly succumbing to a state of dep—” he clears his throat, and tries again, “Deep discontent. I just wanted to see you, but I could not. So I sent Dorothea a letter in hopes that she can provide me with a picture of you. I just wanted something small but what she sent back was… Well, I am grateful, but I asked her not to tell you about it. Not even the part where I wanted a picture in the first place.”

“Oh Gods,” you mutter, slapping a palm on your forehead. You remember that too. When you start to laugh, Aemond looks down at you with confusion.

“I thought you were writing those letters to Dorothea because you were courting her,” you say in between fits of giggles. So all those days you spent crying in bed were all for nothing? How your heart only truly mended when you watched Dorothea make her way down the aisle because that means that Aemond could not have her anymore? You feel so utterly silly.

There is a grimace on Aemond’s face that makes you laugh even harder. “She was so secretive with them, so I did not know what else to think!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Aemond says, as if you are offending him. “I could never look at Dorothea in that way.”

“And why not? ” Now it’s your turn to be offended, on behalf of your sister. “Everyone is in love with Dorothea! She’s so pretty, and clearly very talented, and so polite, and—”

The way Aemond takes your hands in his has you shutting up your prattling.

The prince shifts closer, your hands intertwined together over his heart, his gaze heavy on you as his forehead press against yours.

“Because I…” he breathes, and his mouth – his sinfully alluring mouth, crafted so prettily by the Gods – so close to yours, only breadths away. It is hard to tear your attention away from the way his tongue peeks out of to wet his lips, but you do, only to witness the beauty of his violet eye just as he confesses, “I’ve only ever had eyes for you.”

And you don’t even know who makes the first move. It might have been you. It might have been him. But his mouth is on yours, and yours are on his, and that is all that matters.

Aemond’s lips are as heavenly as you dreamt them to be. So soft yet firm, and he knows the right pressure to apply with them to have you moaning against his mouth.

You feel his smile, and he murmurs how delectable you are before his tongue laves along the seam of your lips, asking for permission. You give in to him, also craving for more.

As the kiss deepens, you pull your hands away from his to wrap around his strong shoulders, and he places his own greedy on your hips, gripping tight onto the willowy fabric of your dress. You feel like you should be embarrassed about the needy, whimpering sounds you are making, but you’re not.

Aemond starts moving now, pulling you back with him, though his hungry lips stay attacking your lips. Although your own kisses are unpracticed, it fills you with some strange sort of satisfaction that you have the prince panting in your mouth, desperate for more. His mouth so hot you are getting delirious.

“Aemond…” you gasp, so sweetly, when you part for an intake of air. The prince growls, nipping along the underside of your jaw. “Please…”

You don’t even know what you are asking for.

He turns you around, so sudden it has you gasping and grasping onto the footboard of his bed. His lips are quick to latch back on your skin, mouthing down the side of your neck while his fingers unties the lacing on the back of your dress. With every undoing of the silk ribbon, the bustier gets looser, causing your breast to spill out, the heat of Aemond’s palm on one of them without a moment’s delay, squeezing.

Your whole body is lit ablaze, burning hotter and hotter as more and more of you is becoming exposed to Aemond’s eye as your dress starts to fall – his mouth now kissing down your spine, following the fabric down – and drops onto a heap on the tiled floor.

Then Aemond is straightening up, his hands tender on you, skimming across your shoulders, putting your nerves at ease under his touch.

“Gevie… ” He whispers hotly in your ear, his fingers now in your hair, undoing the braids and letting the strands free. You know that one, gevie, a word he taught you after you had wanted to compliment Vhagar.

Beautiful .

Your eyes flutter shut, humming under his gentle ministration.

And that is when you feel him, hard, pressed against your lower back, rubbing onto you. You bite down your bottom lip, suppressing a wanton moan.

Once he is done with undoing all the intricate braids in your hair, he is turning you around again to face him, this time more gentle. You are a flush, his eye roaming on your bare body – completely and wholeheartedly just for him.

You don’t know how or why, but you don’t feel self conscious at all under the heated gaze of your prince. If anything, you might be bolder, standing on the tip of your toes to press another desperate kiss on Aemond’s lips.

“I want you so much,” he tells you; voice low, breath heavy, and eye full of lust.

Your lashes flutter at him, smiling wide as you cannot contain the happiness inside from bursting out. “And I want just as much. Perhaps, more.”

He takes your hand, his grinning lips grazing the knuckles. “I don’t think that is possible.”

Then he leads around to the side of the bed, lays you down with such care, your head landing gently on the rich duvet. He does not join you, not yet, still standing beside the bed frame.

You call for him, desire burning between your thighs.

What is he waiting for?

You sit up your elbows to watch him, watching you as he wordlessly unfastens the sashed belt around his waist and unbuttons the form-fitting leather tunic he is wearing, stripping both off unceremoniously. Your mouth gapes open at the sight of his marbled and broad chest, marveling at how gorgeously toned it is, defined by years and years of special training.

There is a cocky smirk on his lips as he starts to unlace his breeches. His ego inflating as you eye the thickness of him with a hard swallow. He takes himself in his hand while he kicks away the rest of his clothes – now as naked as you are.

He crawls onto the bed now, his knee sliding in between your thighs, his mouth on yours again – he simply cannot get enough.

You cannot not think straight, you need him so much it makes you dizzy. You need to ground yourself, so you touch his chest, feel the solid planes of it, his heartbeat beating fast underneath your palm. It makes you feel so safe. Aemond makes you feel so safe.

Aemond’s hands are roaming too, worshiping every inch of your body as if you are the altar he prays to. Fondling your breast, tweaking your nipples until they harden, clutching at your hips and your thighs so hard that it will leave bruises… And then his fingers – your heartbeat speeding up so — his fingers trail along the juncture of your thigh, so close to where you want him most.

You moan wantonly, throwing your head back and baring your neck for him. Without even noticing, you also part your thighs further apart, allowing him easier access.

“Needy ,” he tuts with a huffed out chuckle, teeth biting to leave a mark on the underside of your jaw. Aemond looks down to where his hand is, exhaling out a shaky breath as fingers slide closer to the dewy folds of your precious cunt. He groans when he finds you dripping wet, and it’s because of him. All for him. “So bloody needy.”

His fingers make a mess of you, rubbing so firmly yet tenderly at your sensitive clit. You’ve done this to yourself before, but somehow the way Aemond does it feels different. Better . He has your hips moving on its own, your mouth crying out his name, and your cunt clenching, begging to be filled.

Then a finger starts to press inside you — thicker than your own, thicker than what you are used to.

Aemond sees how you squeeze your eyes shut, and he stills. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes flutter open to Aemond’s face of concern, and you quickly nod, clutching a hand on his arm. “Yes, please keep going.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, to make sure this is what you really want. When he deems your words true, he starts to move his hand again, his finger slowly sliding in and out of your entrance, coming out wetter and wetter each time. You start to pant softly, licks of pleasure rolling through you.

He eases another digit in, scissoring the two apart inside of you. You bite your lip, hips lifting off the bed at the slightly uncomfortable feeling. But it doesn’t take long for the fuzzy, good feeling to take over you again. So much so that when he presses his thumb on your clit again, you start to tremble, whimpering as you peak for the first time, your sweet juices spilling over his fingers and onto the sheet beneath you.

“You’re so good for me, enkelitsos,” your prince praises, has you preening underneath him as he places a kiss on each of your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and your lips. He then sits up on his knees, palming his hard cock again. Still trying to catch your breath, you watch in fascination as he spreads the precum beading at the tip along the rest of him. “Think you can take me now?”

Although extremely nervous, you find yourself nodding at Aemond.

You have had lessons about this before, about the deflowering, from your mother, your septa, and even Dorothea, but never in great detail. You do not know what to expect.

But what you do know is that Aemond will treat you right.

He bends over you, one hand gripping his cock while the other is beside your head, pressed against the bed to keep him from falling on top of you. He teases the tip of him on your still sensitive nub, making you shiver, sliding himself up and down along your folds to build up anticipation. But his set on torturing you has the same affect on himself. Not when you feel so warm and good and was so tight around just two of his fingers.

Aemond curses under his breath, unable to put it off anymore. He guides his cock to the entrance of your cunt, pushing inside with a low, impassioned groan.

You are so bloody tight, it feels too good. But he knows you need to adjust to his size, the rapid clenching of your walls letting him know you are trying to get used to his cock.

He sees you blinking away the tears. It hurts, but not as much as you thought it would.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Aemond murmurs as his head falls, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, finding comfort there as he inhales the scent of you.

And in that moment, you knew you are so full of love for him, snuffling as you nudge your nose into his hair. “I’m ready, Aemond.”

He peers at you, his hand finding yours, intertwining together as he starts to move.

He fills you to the brim in one slow thrust, hilting as his hips knock against yours. You are stretched tight around his throbbing cock, the pushing and pulling building up something fierce inside of you. He buries himself deep inside, over and over again, slamming into you like a man possessed.

The heat of his mouth is burning like the dragon he is, open above yours, hovering and close enough to touch, but they don’t — only moaning your passion for each other.

He pulls you up suddenly, still deep inside you. Has you sitting on his lap, hands gripping on your hips as he makes you move, making you bounce on his cock. He sets the pace, and you are completely under his control, letting him with no regret.

“Ae!” You cry out, feeling him hit so deep, the head of his cock probably already breaching the deepest parts of you. Your arms are wrapped tight around him, tears streaming from your eyes, all out of pleasure and none out of pain.

“Peak for me, my love,” Aemond demands, an animalistic growl rumbling his throat. “Come all over my cock as I spill my seed inside you.”

And you do. Breaking again just as his cum fills you up, just like he promised.

He kisses you deeply one last time before you are both flopping on his bed, completely boneless and aching with exhaustion.

You lay there for some time in your lover’s embrace, completely content in the silence save for the evening out of both your heavy breathing.

Is it possible to be this happy? You must have saved a million lives in your past life for just this moment. You cannot believe how lucky you are to fall in love with your best friend.

To have someone you love everything about.

“Eye…” You say softly, but it still breaks the quiet between you. Aemond hums in question, his fingertips absentmindedly trailing over your skin, just to feel you. You roll to your side to look at him, his hand gripping your hip when you do so. “Eye… you only have an eye for me. Earlier you said eyes , during your confession. But, you only have one …”

That has Aemond spluttering, mouth opening and closing in sheer disbelief.

And then he is laughing, fingers digging into your sides, tickling you into a fit of giggles. “You cheeky, little…”

As you two laugh, you grab onto his face to press a sweet kiss on his lips. When you pull away, he is not laughing anymore, and neither are you. You lick your lips, staring into his violet eyes, “But this one eye.. It is the beautiful eye I fell in love with… When you opened them to look at me that first night.”

Aemond’s eye waters as he lets out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss on your inner wrist. Then his hand is moving behind his head, unclasping his eyepatch.

It has you holding your breath. You have not seen Aemond without his eyepatch since the first time he landed on Bear Island. So why is he now taking it off?

As Aemond lets it fall onto his hand, what you see has you gasping softly.

For it is your sapphire there, taking the place of his missing eye.

You reach your hand up, running your thumb tenderly along the bags underneath it. Aemond hums happily, nuzzling his cheek against your palm.

“I keep it here because I… I always want you with me,” he declares. “The woman who has my heart wholeheartedly and for evermore.”

You say his name, so full of fondness. He kisses you fiercely, puts all his feelings in it that he cannot put into words anymore.

“I want to be selfish now,” you say against his lips, already dreading the thought of leaving him in the morrow. “I want you to write to me everyday. I do not even care if you have nothing at all to say.”

“I will do that, enkelitsos. And many more.”

“Like what?”

Aemond simply smirks, before he is descending kisses down your body, your hand threading into his hair and pulling as his tongue spreads over you.

---

Prince Aemond sends you off a day later with a tight embrace – stealing your kisses in every shadowed corner of the Keep as the two of you made your way to your father waiting at the gates – and you are barely even out King’s Landing but he is already in his bedchamber, writing you a raven that will be waiting for you when you arrive back home. He will keep good on his promise, writing to you every day. Greedy to steal more of your heart with every prose he writes about how much he loves you, how he cannot wait to see you again, and more salacious things that will make your whole body heat up.

With the first letter done, he makes his way to the rookery.

When he steps inside, he almost collides into the Hand of the King, his grandfather, Otto Hightower.

“My apologies, grandfather,” Aemond says, stepping aside to let him pass.

“It is alright, my prince,” his grandfather says, about to take his leave.

“Important business?” Aemond cannot help but ask, stopping the Hand on his track. He does not see his grandfather at rookery much — or at all, if he thinks about it. He usually has his serving boys deliver his scrolls to the rookery Maesters. So whatever he is here for is probably important enough for him to hand it off himself.

“Yes, you can say that…” Otto says with a stiff smile, glances over his shoulder and giving the Maester a solid nod — a silent understanding between them. He then pats his grandson’s arm before walking out the open door.

Aemond is used to his grandfather’s taciturn ways, so he lets him be, turning to the Maester with a grin. “A raven to Bear Island, if you have the time.”

---

Aemond waits, and waits, and waits. Several moons pass, many letters written, and the couriers traveling back and forth… Still, he gets nothing back at all from you.

And so like the harsh temperament of the North, he fears you have completely iced him out of your life.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd #aemond #aemond targaryen

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socheckitout-mikey · 1 year

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do u think u could do something where johnny and the reader aren't officially dating or anything but she keeps stealing and wearing his clothes, and the gang starts teasing them for it, which eventually leads to him actually asking her out? i'm sorry if this is too much or anything but thank you so much!!

ahhh this is so cute! idk how i missed this one. my apologies for taking so long writing it out. it came out waaay longer than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy what i came up with. (': <33 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Title: The Shirt Thief

Pairing: Johnny Cade x reader

Summary: A cold night with Johnny Cade in the vacant lot brings you an unusual sense of warmth in the form of his denim jacket. What starts off with said jacket, causes you to end up with multiple articles of Johnny's clothes. It all seems harmless until the gang starts digging their noses into Johnny's business. Are you guys friends or are you more than that?

Word Count: 9,472

Disclaimer: THIS IS EDITED! I fixed the spelling mistakes and some of the grammatical errors. I also added a few new things to it, mainly in dialogue. I hope you like it though! :)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse in Johnny's home (with his parents), animals hunting and fighting, Soc's bullying the reader - vice versa, almost attempted assault, the gang coming to the rescue, rough housing with the gang (banter mainly) and a whole lot of sass! Johnny is somewhat ooc here because he's more talkative and sassy, but it's just how the piece came along! Let me know if I forgot anything else.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The story of our pesky shirt thief begins in the vacant lot under the sparkling night sky. This night was a relatively clear one in the cusp of autumn’s frost. The full moon was ample, a stunning silver glow that hypnotically danced, shrouded slightly from the wispy clouds sent onward by the chilly fall wind. Amber, golden and burnt brick red crumpled leaves tumbled noisily across the sandy dirt in a mini whirlwind. A toasty fire was being nurtured timidly upon the outskirts of this deserted place, courtesy of Johnny Cade. Underneath the jagged canopy of an almost bare tree, losing its wrinkled leaves, our greasy raven haired boy’s fingers quivered around the spindly stick in his hand. Gave an experimental poke to the half snapped branch swarmed by the smouldering, orange flames. He did not shiver from the cold, but from rampant nerves that pertained to someone he was particularly fond of being there beside him. That person being you.

In a gloomy haze, stretched over sixteen years, the dependent vacant lot with all of its decaying junk left to rot had become his home away from home. It was somewhere he could come to in order to escape the harshness he had just down the street, riddled with its cluttered and intense violence. The one he had with his parents – if he could ever really call them that – had never been consumed with even an inkling of love or nurturing. It practically rotted away from the inside out with its creaky floorboards, dust riddled insides and the damp lining the walls like a thick winter scarf. A location where he was destined to be neglected in, for the only attention he obtained was to be hollered at by his mother when she was hacked off at whatever or whoever it was that particular time: Whereas his father brandished anything he could in hand to pelt him with. The thought made Johnny shudder, a sick nauseous feeling welling up inside of him. Slimy and cold.

However, not all was lost. There had been some silver linings in teaching him things such as love, loyalty and camaraderie: His gang of reliable buddies that would stretch to the ends of the Earth for him were the culprits. Although they had nothing too, they gave him everything he’d been missing. Well, almost everything. They were the sole reason he had not run away about a million times by now. They grounded him, created a net of safety and support that he never would have experienced otherwise if he had not been born in this very downtrodden neighbourhood. Yet they could not save him from everything – a harsh reality he came face to face with daily. Nothing and no one could ever replace the lacking love of his parents.

Nevertheless, the youthful greaser that looked as if he were a puppy that had been kicked one too many times had grown used to bumming around most nights on the busted leather car seat left to waste away in the lot. A frequent bed he now sat upon to gaze up at the glittering stars in the midnight haze of the dark sky. He pondered to himself, watching it while his most favourite person in the world sat off to his right. The silence between you both wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Just off experiencing your own inner worlds whilst you enjoyed the other’s presence. Johnny wasn’t much of a talker as is. You understood the chips he had on the table and didn’t mind in the slightest, but you had your ways of getting him talking.

Despite the fact that he had a warmer and much more benevolent destination to crash at nightly: The Curtis House. He felt an immense pang of guilt and shame engulf him entirely at the thought of taking up that space. This house did not consume the same dreamy and abundant riches that one would desire at the core. Instead those fantasies were only destined for reality on the Wicked West Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. “The home to the rich and greedy,” as Sodapop loved to put it.

Although the Curtis House lacked in material volume, it oozed a charm in its bare necessities and rundown appearance, with its peeling papered walls and well played piano that needed a miracle of tuning. What it lacked when it came to standardised beauty was made up for by its glowing warmth of love, companionship and acceptance of all the inhabitants that nestled under its rickety roof. It was a safe haven for anyone needing a place to lay low to avoid getting into trouble that could be avoided; a.k.a trouble with the law. Dallas and Steve were also regular inhabitants of the well loved couch perched up against the wall by the front door of the home: A product of powerful tempers that needed quenching. They found solace on that old, brown cushiony hunk of junk just as Johnny did when the nights grew too cold or unbearable on his lonesome.

Johnny stared up at Orion's Belt wondrously, remembering the time he'd heard Ponyboy rattle on about how he'd woken up to find the notorious Tim Shepard occupying his couch, reading the morning paper.

'Now, what in the hell was someone like Tim Shepard doin' on the Curtis’ couch?' Johnny thought silently.

Never had he bagged the likes of the eldest Shepard to reach out for a lifeline like that. It was almost unheard of, unfathomable. Tim was a handsome young man with a gnarly looking scar running from his temple to his chin. He was hard, cold and twisted. Jail, booze and all the criminal endeavours he had under his belt were like a morbid toolkit of how to be the best hoodlum out there. He looked about as capable of accepting charity as a lost soul in Hell. Then Johnny supposed that he never really knew him like Dally did. Johnny's silent disposition made it challenging for him to get close to anyone outside of his gang of buddies. Sometimes he preferred it this way, but usually he loathed it. Loneliness was easy in warping the soul of a good man.

From what Dally had told him of Tim Shepard, it'd be an immense knock to his swelling pride to reach out for help and have everyone aware of it. Inflated prides and fragile egos didn't do wonders for people with big mouths. Hence why Johnny kept his damn trap shut about it after Pony had told him.

'Man, he's gotta be pullin' my leg or somethin'.' He said internally before shaking his head.

Expelling a breath, Johnny settled back into the leather seat as comfortably as possible. He swore he'd get a bad back after opting to take the lumpy side of the car bench with the springs gnawing their way through. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He was a good guy with a good heart.

Warmth pervaded nicely from the reasonably sized fire he'd established in front of you both, but the chilly wind licked at any bare bits of skin daring to peer through tiny cracks in clothes. He hardly shivered outside of a nervous twitch. Perhaps that was only due to the fact he'd grown accustomed to the elements no matter the weather – unlike yourself.

Instead his charcoal eyes were doe-like, shakily flickering to his right where you sat. Only then in this moment did he fully come to the present moment, understanding the cold bit at your nose, ears and fingers in a way that looked cute. Yet despite your shivering that you so desperately attempted to hide, you sat there in all of your beautiful glory with only a few inches of space between you both. A comfortability you bathed in that seemed so raw, as if you were merely sitting on your living room couch with both of your knees and feet tucked under you and just off to the side. Peace prevailed from the tender smile gracing your features. A subconscious practice, you definitely seemed to be lost in your own thoughts. Johnny stared at you, and wondered what kind of movie was flashing behind those pretty eyes to have the sun dawn across your face like that. To him, all he could see was the vacant lot – a desolate place where only hoodlums would hang in droves, drawn in by its trashy grounds.

"You starin' cuz I got somethin' on my mug or it's just that ugly?" You grinned like a chessy cat, turning to look him directly in the eye. Thinking that being a wise cracker was funny.

Damn you and your perceptiveness.

Instantaneously Johnny ripped his gaze from yours, stiff as a plank. Embarrassment dashed across every cell in his body and left his lungs flat of oxygen. Man, if he thought his usual heartbeat was fast, what was happening inside of his chest right then must have been the speed of goddamn light!

All he could do was stammer out, "U-u-uh n-n-neither!" The poor guy sounded like Porky The Pig.

Your eyelids fluttered in astonishment at the stuttering mess of a young man he was. So jumpy. A mouse scuttling around on sharp eggshells. Part of you would've felt proud of your handiwork if it had been anyone else, but it was Johnny, your best friend. "Awe shucks, Johnny-cake," you offered him sheepishly, "I didn't tell you to stop. I was just messin' with ya. Gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

Messing with him? That was evident. He wasn't cross with you for pulling on his leg, just bothered by himself for getting caught out in the act. "S'okay, I g-get it." He shrugged, trying to play it cool whilst he stared into the portal to the Underworld.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You tried again, bumping him softly with your shoulder.

"Nothin' much," He lied smoothly, picking at the hole in his tennis shoe.

"You sure you ain't developin' the cure for cancer or somethin'? You're pretty smart." You inquired with a cheeky beam.

"Shoot! Do I look like I know what two plus two equals?" Johnny was getting a little bit sassy.

"Okay okay, I get it. I'll back off." You chortled.

'Yeah, thank goodness for that…' Johnny thought to himself. Suddenly he was uneasy with the idea of you ever discovering his little moments of staring at you because he loved the way you looked in candid moments like this one just passed. How did one go about saying these kinds of things? Johnny didn't know a lick. He was a dejected lost cause in the romance department. An awkward bump on a log. Felt he looked cruddy right about now too so he scratched the back of his head fervently for a second. No one really gave him a second glance. He was invisible and too quiet to be noticed.

Yet he failed to realise that you noticed him.

His forlorn expression had been obscured by his shaggy bangs that hung on his forehead. In fact, they no longer existed. You watched him struggle with something akin to wrestling a twenty foot gator inside of that skull of his. It made you feel funny on the inside, as if you were to blame. Diligently Johnny picked up the jagged stick he'd used to poke the flames with earlier. Started drawing in the dusty cold dirt at his feet. Back and forth, left and right, then round and round. A tedious therapeutic cycle.

'Yup, he's off to the moon again.' You thought. 'I'll give him a sec to recoup. I think I made him short circuit a little too hard.'

Just then the bleakness of the night pressed its breathy lips against you. You shivered in response, huddling unconsciously to Johnny for his radiator heat. Part of him was shaking too. The flames jolted haphazardly. A violent twirl of dead leaves kicked up into the air before the wind relented altogether and they fluttered into the fire that engulfed them. It was a beautiful sight indeed, albeit destructive. The elements typically were unforgiving. That was the cycle of life. Mother Nature worked in wondrous ways that went beyond the mere perception of the human mind. Ever evolving and always there. It had put a smile on your face, and Johnny looked at you once more.

"Now, you wanna give me a penny for your thoughts?" He asked.

You slowly turned to look at him, your smile unwavering, "And cash in my trade secrets when you won't give me yours? That don't tally up to me."

Johnny shrugged, trying to hide a ghost of a smile on his features, "You just caught me off guard that's all…"

"Oooooh so I got the element of surprise on my side?" You wiggled your eyebrows. "Who knew I was mighty smooth!"

Johnny rolled his charcoal eyes, shook his head with a laugh, "Don't get too big headed now," he warned.

"Why, cuz I'll float away?"

"Naw," Johnny shook his head, "You sound like Two-bit."

Your countenance fell from grace then; all of the humour drained completely, replaced with a sulk. "Now you just went and ruined it."

Johnny laughed heartily, "I dunno why you got it against him, yn. It was only fifth grade-,"

"Don't remind me of fifth grade! He put gum in my hair and you saw it." You warned with a finger pointed at him. “I looked like a coconut headed bum for two years, Johnny Cade! Two years I ain’t ever gonna get back.”

"Alright, alright! Don't shoot." He mumbled with a half smirk on his face.

"And don't laugh either. Who's side are you on anyway?" You mumbled with your arms folded over your chest.

Johnny met his match in attempting to swallow the laughter down, "Who knew you were this much of a sore loser," with a shake of his head.

"Sore loser my ass…" You retorted, looking off to the side like a petulant child.

All Johnny could do was laugh.

The sourness of your mood forced you to realise the lateness of the night. The cold showed its first signs of frost that danced mistily away from the firelight. You quivered fully this time, rubbing your nimble hands up and down your arms. "Are you cold?" Johnny finally had the courage to ask.

"Uh-huh! But I'll be okay."

"You know you don't have to tough it out for me, right?" Johnny said sincerely. "You shoulda brought a coat. It's November not August."

"I forgot, mom." You mumbled wryly.

"Man, don't call me that. It sounds strange." He pulled a face as he spoke.

"And why not?" You demanded.

"Cuz you sound like T-," He began, but you cut him off.

"Don't even think about saying that name!"

Despite himself, Johnny was laughing something awful. A grin spread across his face akin to a mixture of pride and victory. He'd bested you in the end and even you knew it. "You asshole-," You muttered, but it all bled through into your own sense of laughter that mingled with his.

Then it seemed to die down, a comfortable glow encasing you both. In the midst of it you hardly realised Johnny shimmying beside you – too caught up in the afterglow. But then an uncanny warmth of freshly worn denim was draped over your shoulders. Ghosts of fingertips touched the nape of your neck as it was laid there. Your head turned to find Johnny retracting his hands shyly and passing it off without a word. The gesture touched you, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Why?" Your better judgement couldn't stop the question from flying out of your mouth.

Johnny squirmed uncomfortably under your focused stare, "I dunno…" he shrugged. "You were cold and didn't have a jacket. It was the right thing to do I guess."

The right thing to do. It made you beam beautifully then. Johnny Cade was always doing the right thing. Well, maybe not all the time when he was with his buddies, but usually he did. A good guy with a good heart that made yours flutter at the touch. The act of giving you his most prized possession really touched you in ways that made your eyes begin to water. You needed a second to blink them back. Hoping he hadn't noticed. Luckily he hadn't.

You thanked him in the only way you knew how to, by leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened to the touch, unfamiliar with it. Johnny wasn't much of a hugger, so physical contact was reserved for special moments. He allowed it this time and you felt his body shake, unsure with what to do with himself. Your fingers wrapped around his bicep, a reassuring squeeze so light it helped him realise you weren't going to hurt him. You never could. He was too special, too gentle, but wild in his own way when he let himself out freely. Yet the person he was now, the boy that gave you his jacket and talked with you the most; that was your Johnny Cade.

"Thank you, Johnny-cake." You whispered into the air, gently holding his hand and squeezing softly. It was sweaty.

"D-don't mention it." He swallowed, giving you an experimental squeeze back. "It's just my jacket, softie."

"Who you callin' softie?" You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"You."

Silence befell you, and it was laced in a tranquil dose. Hushed whispers reverberated off of the caverns in your hearts, growing more prominent. All the giggles filled with the springy frolicking of baby lambs. Clumsy and endearing. Johnny lit a fire in you unmatched and vice versa. Young love that was mutual, but unknown to the other. You stayed with him for quite some time, until he walked you home. You'd sent him off with a wave after him shyly telling you to keep it. Made him promise not to sleep out in the cold, and Johnny kept his word. Slunk all the way to the Curtis House three hours before sunup to fortunately find it free. Rest was his, all with a smile screwed on tightly to his features.

Many more instances of thievery occurred with your pesky little fingers and the growing feelings that possessed you like a restless spirit. Time spent with Johnny became your drug of choice, and you could not get enough of him. No funny business was happening, it was just your personalities melding well together. You brought out a sassy part to him, and surprisingly he could keep up with you. Each meeting was set in colder conditions than the last. Forcing Johnny to bring in what little reinforcements he had. You either seemed to forget a jacket or your layers weren't nearly enough. His jacket was a chameleon's skin, bouncing from his shoulders to yours. His shirts were a comforting reminder of him when he wasn't around – shields against the bleakness of winter. His grey sweatshirt was your favourite. Everything began to accumulate.

One day you were both coming from the tracks in the Shepard outfit where a little creek was running through another vacant lot by an old abandoned factory. The water was still frozen and the trees were barren. All sorts of junk stuck to the frosty ground. It was kind of niche-like, a quiet place that seemed abandoned when the sun shone its rays upon Tulsa. It had been an accidental find during a summer day the year before. A superb place to explore when things were warmer and less soggy. Though it was apparent that neither of you had the courage to explore the dangerous insides of the abandoned warehouse in its entirety. Anyone could be lurking there, boobietrapped the innards to protect their stashed hoards. So the pair of you stuck to the outskirts towards the vacant lot beside it.

There you both were, sat upon a crumpled wall, admiring a winter's afternoon like a pair of Humpty Dumpty’s. The sun was bright in the sky, threatening to melt the world entirely. The first inklings of spring graced reality. The robins were chirping, hopping around in search of food nearby. Adorable feathered critters, so fluffy. They reminded Johnny of Christmas as one turned its neck beside him, curiously looking up into his black eyes. Both were inquisitive of the other.

"He looks like you-," your half whisper broke out into the air too loudly. The disturbance made the robin jolt and fly off.

Johnny sighed, "Man, he got so close this time. You just had to go and ruin it didn't you?"

"I'm sorry. Was there a spiritual connection happening? How rude of me!" You gasped with a hand over your heart.

He shook his head, grinning because he wasn't angry about it at all. "He was a cute little guy though…"

"Hence why I said he looked like you." You clarified.

Johnny exploded with a blush, shaking his head again, "You must've hit your head when you fell on the ice earlier."

"My head is not any worse off than it was before, thank you very much!" You defended yourself.

"You know, the first sign of someone tellin’ porkies is denial, right?"

"I am not tellin’ porkies!"

"Are too-," Johnny countered, nudging you with his elbow.

"Am not!"

Falling back into that effortless banter made you both grin like chessy cats. It was silly, but very much needed. You knew Johnny got extra embarrassed whenever you'd start complimenting him, especially in the looks department. You didn't say these things just to throw him off, but because you truly meant them. Johnny was cute. One of the cutest guys you'd seen in a longtime. Maybe he wasn't moviestar handsome like Sodapop, but girls were missing out when they overlooked him. He had his own things to bring to the table; loyalty, kindness, abiding the law… Just to name a few. You suddenly shook these thoughts out of your head, deciding if you went too deeply down this path that it was best not to be done in Johnny’s presence. Lest you were to blabber about it like you'd done to your other friends who'd told you to ask him out already. They just didn't understand how delicate the matter was really. Johnny wouldn't say yes anyway.

"Hey look! Those cats are back," Johnny quietly hissed by your side, pulling you out of your daze.

You followed his line of sight and sure enough the two male felines were there. Lithe in nature and mean looking. A skinny orange tabby trotted forward, a snaggle tooth protruding from his mouth. By his side was his black Bombay counterpart, scraggy bodied with dirty fur and a distinct chip taken from his ear. They were silent, far from their former glory days when they knew what a good home was. The Bombay was a little bigger than his cheddar companion, and it was easily understood by any human looking in that a pact had been formed between them through a necessity to survive. The pair of you had spied them before, a distrusting set that initially hissed and growled. They were all claws and teeth so you kept your distance to avoid any surprise visits to the clinic. However now they seemed to tolerate your presence, acting as if the silence you exuded exempted your existence. Johnny and you admired them, goofy grins on your faces, because the cats were ready to commit their timely crime of hunting for some grub of the day. You knew who they reminded you of.

"Well if that ain't Dally and Tim," You consciously made the effort to whisper.

Johnny nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I can see it."

"Which one's which?" You asked, genuinely curious about Johnny's take.

He was reluctant to take his eyes off the cats, watching them begin prowling forth towards an unsuspecting robin. "Huh?" he hummed, finally looking at you just as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

"Which cat is Dally and which one is Tim? You know 'em better than I do." You pressed softly.

"Oh, that's easy, Dally's the ginger tabby and Tim's the Bombay." He offered with a nod of his head in the felines direction.

"What why?" You demanded it up at him.

“Well if we’re goin’ off their looks for a start, Tim looks like the Bombay cat. Guy is a real alley cat – got a lot of street smarts and carries himself well. Besides, he's tougher than a bag of nails.” Johnny did have a point – Tim looked just like that black cat with his curly jet hair.

Speaking of the black cat, it had entered a state of hunting, kneeling down with coiled taught muscles – just ready to pounce on that unsuspecting robin below, pecking at the seeds you and Johnny had left behind earlier. You hoped it wouldn’t be eaten, couldn’t stomach to see something so savage. However, you supposed that was only the way the circle of life worked.

“The orange tabby’s Dally cuz of that cool look in his eyes. The way he carries himself so freely. Out of the two, the tabby’s the one that’s in charge somehow. He writes the rules that the other cat’s always tryna best.” Johnny offered with a brief shrug before continuing, “Not that the black cat is following any rules. Both have minds of their own.”

Boy, you could really hear the way he admired Dallas Winston from the way he spoke about the orange tabby. It was wholesome. Dally was Johnny’s hero — the kid practically worshipped the ground the guy walked on. You didn’t see why. To you, Dallas Winston was a rotten hoodlum with a track record of breaking the law in every way, shape and form that he could. He frightened you like The Boogeyman had when you were nine. Where you both engaged with each other somewhat cordially, you preferred to keep your distance. You supposed that you had no room to judge after all. There was a deep friendship that had developed between him and Johnny; you’d seen it in Dally’s cold hard eyes… affection. It made you grin then, wondering if Johnny thought strangely of your heroes too.

“And both of them are jackasses.” You countered, bumping his shoulder mischievously.

Johnny laughed a little, looking at you for a few short moments. “Yeah alright, I’ll give you that.”

You liked the way he’d described the two though. It was a statement that fit the pair of hoodlums in a peapod together. Yet the orange tabby did appear to be the leader as it licked its wonky chops delectably. Inched closer by the second, a silent assassin to carry out its hunter gatherer lifestyle. It was intelligent, mimicking the movement of the robin that had caught onto it. It lured the bird on a swift and winding course, swiping for it good and hard but missed. Never mind. The robin fluttered up and into the line of sight of the black cat, a moment of fear in its beady eyes. Yet just as the night-like feline swept its razors at it, the robin burst into the air and flew off in the opposite direction. It had missed its meal by a feathers length. Every other robin in the vicinity flew off instantly, leaving the two cats dumbfounded.

In frustration, the orange tabby yowled and darted forth. Its clawed paw zipped out and popped the mouth of the black cat. The black cat hissed, stunned for a mere second before it lunged for the only comrade it had in this god forsaken world. The two tumbled together in an infuriated Halloween special of blurred fur. A gasp floated from your mouth as they rolled back and forth. A genuine cat fight unheard of. They sounded like two ghouls trying to out spook the other – alien and loud.

Johnny couldn’t help but laugh out of nervousness. He wasn’t trying to be cruel whatsoever. Didn’t like to see animals fighting and hurting each other, but it humoured some sick part of him. “Just like Dally and Tim, huh? Buddies one minute then at each other’s throats the next.”

“Amen to that.” You found the humour of the situation, only because it was too similar to the real life hoodlums you both knew.

You’d seen your fair share of those guys beefing it out in the past together in The Dingo parking lot, let alone practically in your own backyard. They were a strange duo – too competitive and cut from the same cloth. They’d never find another person just like them, that was for sure.

Just then an icy gust came throttling through the area, reminding you both that it was still winter. A tremor ran through the pair of you, and you huddled together for warmth. By now the cats had slumped off to their own corners of the lot, hissing and growling as they went. Sore egos and bodies made them sulk and mewl in the shade whilst they licked their wounds.

“Dammit-,” your teeth chattered, moving closer to Johnny. “March my ass…”

Johnny breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He scanned your features humorously, those bushy brows hidden by a thick blanket of his black greasy bangs that flopped onto his forehead.

“What?” You mumbled, your fingertips unconsciously reached for him in the space between you both. Johnny didn’t notice.

He stared at you for a good three seconds before opening his mouth to speak, “How can you be cold with all those layers you got on?”

“Well I mean it’s obvious, it’s winter.”

“Uh-huh-,” Johnny sassed, smirking slightly, “As if you ain’t wearin’ my shirt, my sweater and my jeans jacket too. Got the whole department store on your back.”

Abashment took hold of you as your gaze dropped down to inspect yourself. There was Johnny’s jacket on you, and underneath his tattered grey sweater, that black t-shirt poking up above the collar. And Johnny? He was adorned in a wrinkled white shirt with a blue and creamy egg yellow flannel over the top you guessed was one of the gang’s. Worn over that was Dally’s brown leather jacket with the cosy sheepskin lining. You pouted with a bruised ego, looking off to the side, “It’s not like you’re naked or nothin’…” you murmured petulantly.

Johnny chuckled breathily, your joined hands jostling as he tugged on it without any semblance of awareness, as if to gain your attention. “Not yet, but I’m gonna be! Man, do you know what I had to say to get this jacket from Dally?” He was teasing you.

“Mmmppppffff…” you grunted, crossing your legs on that wall.

“The guys are askin’ questions and I dunno what to tell ‘em any more!” His voice broke a bit before he continued, “Two thinks I’m preparin' to run down the centre of town butt naked!”

That made you burst out into fits of giggles. The thought was so unorthodox it was hilarious. “You’re tellin’ him that’s the truth right? God, could you imagine? I can see the news articles now: Johnny Cade, Teenage Delinquent Gone Buck Wild!” You beamed, throwing your free hand out to elaborate some unseen picture.

Johnny shook his head again, laughing with you, “Man, you’re just as bad as Soda!”

“I’m twice as good looking too!” You offered with all the cheekiness you could muster.

All he could offer was an entertained roll of his eyes. Your shoulders bumped together, old comrades turned into something more. His soft gaze fell onto your interwoven fingers, and his heart fluttered like dove wings. A widened gaze, then that notorious blush exploded under that tanned flesh. His mind was incapable of functioning. It was wholesome, but you read everything wrong. Made a move to release his hand and he stopped you.

"Don't." It was the strongest word you'd heard from him as he held your hand tighter than he ever had before. Not enough to hurt you, but to let you know it was real too.

"Y-you sure?" It was your turn to stutter.

The look he shared with you may have been wavering to some degree, but there was certainty in those eyes. His mouth opened to speak, "Yeah, I don't mind one bit."

I don't mind one bit. It ran round and round in your head. A starstruck expression invaded your beautiful countenance. The reassurance was a bonus that made your belly fill with a plethora of butterflies. Cloud nine had nothing on this moment.

Johnny explored the expressions flitting across your face with a newfound sense of wonder. That pleasant delight racing through you was infectious as you stared off into the junk riddled vacant lot, your mind preoccupied with his hand in yours. The sun dawned across your features once again, like that autumn night you'd spent with him in your neighbourhood's vacant lot. The understanding that he was the source of that made his belly squirm, a giddiness overcoming him. He could no longer deny the fondness he had for you so blatantly.

With him leaning a little closer to you, he whispered, "How about you give me at least some of my stuff back?"

"Mmmmm maybe,"

"yn-," there was an uncommon sense of sternness in his voice.

"But-," You tried objecting.

"No buts-," he rushed out with a shake of his head, "At least give me one! I've been wearing this shirt for three days now!" He was hilariously incredulous.

"Is that why you stink?" You taunted him.

"Not funny-," He made his best attempt to be cross with you.

"Okay, okay! I'll give them back." You said begrudgingly.

"You better bring the cavalry with how much you have stolen from me, you little shirt thief."

"In my defence, you did give them to me… But I'll have them for you next time I see you, scouts honour!" You spoke sincerely with your free hand held dramatically over your heart.

"Uh-huh, that's what you said last time and I still didn't get 'em back." He bantered.

"Well, that wasn't a real scout's honour." You admitted with a diffident rub to the back of your head.

"yn-," he shook his head.

"Hey! I'm serious this time."

"Good…" He trailed off, his other hand beginning to play with the rings banded around your fingers absentmindedly.

Blissfulness carried upon the wind, a promise of returning what wasn't yours already settled. Golden light broke through the clouds, catching Johnny in the face directly, which made him grimace evidently. You grew lost in his handsome physique, feeling the pad of his thumb drag up and down the back of your hand. The sensation was special, because Johnny had warmed up to you so much.

It was a lively Saturday night, and with the determined honour of a scout member, you showed up like clockwork with a bag filled with Johnny's things. It was just as the crowds at The Nightly Double encroached upon the Tulsa streets in boisterous droves. Everyone was high on the giddy delight of the movie they had just watched – the late night viewing of two specials before the drive-in closed its doors for the night. Previous arrangements with another friend had you missing out on the fun, but here you were wearing your very own leather jacket with Johnny's denim one bunched up nervously in the palms of your hands. Speaking of Johnny, he had tagged along with the gang – minus Darry, because movies seemed to bore the older man to death.

A pair of scrawny looking Socy guys stalked out of the front doors, acting like big shots, cutting in front of a dark green Corvair on its way out and into the oncoming traffic. The driver of the same social class hung out of the driver's window whilst his girl attempted to pull him back in.

"Hey watch it, wise guys! If you're lookin' to get your asses run over, then be my guests and step back in my line of sight!" He snarled aggressively before his girlfriend won the battle and pulled him back inside to tell him to "knock it off".

A line began to form behind them as the couple argued incessantly, presumably over the guy's foul temper. Car horns honked on the spring breeze, forcing the guy to nervously step on the gas. They almost crashed into a Chevy Impala before zipping off home. You could see the animated scowl of the girl refusing to talk to her boyfriend in the side view mirror as they retreated. She glowered at you as if you were the scum of the earth. It didn't make you feel too hot.

The two wisecracking Soc's cackled at their attempts at being hard, stalking forth when they caught sight of your lonesome form. Vile cackles were shot your way as they walked past you before deciding the better option was to encircle you like a couple of hammerhead sharks.

'Boy, these dingbats don't know what tree they're barking up.' You thought, stiffening your body up for any form of unexpected physical contact. You weren't gonna let yourself get blown over that easy.

"What's up, greaser? You lookin' to bum around on our streets?" The six foot tall pencil with the sour breath sneered down at you, bumping your shoulder, making a come around to your left. When he disappeared behind you, the other one with chestnut hair the texture of straw invaded your face.

"Yeah, who said you were allowed round these parts anyway?" He jeered, smacking his gum obnoxiously.

Typically these dorks wouldn't have been graced with so much of your attention, but being on your own with a whole sea of onlookers made you weary. However you sure didn't show it. No one was there to stand up for you so you had to do it yourself. All you could do was raise your eyebrows, feeling the burning sense of humiliation rise from the pits of hell beneath your feet. It felt toasty, but the wrong kind. A glower of pure vexation was sent up their way. 'Who are these cocky jackasses, anyway? I've got the same right to use these streets like anyone else!' You contemplated.

"Oh really? I never knew white trash chequerboards like yourselves owned the streets everybody walks on." Your lips flapped wryly before you could even say a word.

The entertained gazes of onlookers of every social class stopped to stare. Murmurs of speculation broke out: Two against one didn't typically seem like a fair fight, but with the sheer scrawniness of the socially elite, it seemed to look like the chips fell in your favour. Though you knew appearances could be deceiving, harbouring a surprising sense of physical strength.

In a rift of the crowd, six pairs of familiar eyes honed in on your shining moment of unprovoked confrontation.

"White trash chequerboards?!" The pencil growled out, sharing a glance with his straw haired counterpart. For the most part they were dumbfounded, not having expected you to stand up for yourself.

"If anyone's white trash, it's you, greaseball." The second one jutted his finger in your face.

Nothing about your countenance betrayed you. Cold and detached you stared at that finger in your face with a deep sense of boredom. Then an almost smug smirk etched your features as you stared up into his grey eyes.

"Oh my, my!" A dripping sense of mocking venom entered your tone. "Seems like I got more class than that finger you got pointed at me. Seriously, you got a licence to be armed with carryin' that thing? You better watch what you do with it before it falls into the wrong hands. You know, because with great power comes great responsibility and all." You were armed with so much sass it made you invincible.

The crowd surrounding you burst into a fit of laughter so potent that it burnt these punks into a startled pile of ash. The pair of Soc's were so vapid that they were a bore even to themselves, which is why they were acting out as if they were five times their sizes. You were lively, armed with a silver tongue that could slice just about anyone to pieces who tried to humiliate you.

"Oh yeah, you little punk?" The first one growled, invading all sense of your personal space.

You took one step back, your eyebrows raised, "It's his responsibility, not mine. Whatch'yu gettin' all riled up for, eh? Can't take a joke, Mister Funny?"

"I'll show you a joke when I knock your two front teeth out." He barked.

Oooh's and aaah's broke through the crowd on a symphony of guffawing. You cocked one eyebrow up at him, a cockiness overcoming you. What could you do otherwise? If no one had your back, you had to have your own. That was just the way the cookie crumbled when you were a greaser – if there was a cookie at all.

"Oooooh~ Don't threaten me with a good time, pencil dick." You snorted. "I will bend your ass like a goddamn pretzel before you can even have a chance to beg for your mommy to save you."

The two guys shared a look, the degradation burning their senses of pride to withering embers. Their faces were pinkened beyond recognition, boarding on a fiery red. Your insults only poured gasoline on the fires. They couldn't back out now with the engrossed mass around the three of you. Your body stiffened as they went to grab you, preparing yourself for a fight that would no doubt cause the fuzz to come shutting it down. The image of yourself being cuffed in the back of a cop car had you overcome with a sense of terror. You weren't made for jail with your sharp tongue and sass. Wouldn't last two seconds flat in a grim place like that.

Before any contact could occur, a boisterous New York accent throttled into the air, a familiar arm slinking over your shoulders, "Hey Dumb and Dumber, you really wanna go gettin' your asses handed to you by a girl in front of all of these people?" Dallas was snickering with a smoke hanging out of his mouth, leaning against you smoothly as he patted your upper arm, but he wasn't your only saviour.

The other five lean and hard looking members of the Curtis gang had rolled up in all of their greasy headed glory. Pony and Johnny were Dally's flanks whilst Sodapop and Steve jammed themselves on either side of the pathetic turkeys that had bothered you. Two-bit prowled like a cat, that smug, wild grin carved onto his handsome features. The oldest of the six came in the centre of the perpetrators, an arm slung on each of their shoulders. It was overly friendly, even for Two.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't the socially elite barking up a tree they didn't know was a mountain! I'd get your eyes checked if I were you." He laughed, squeezing them together under his impressive arms. The others joined in.

"I think it's time these tuff lookin' sons of bitches got in the ring with the big shots." Steve yipped sarcastically, clapping the straw haired guy on the back a little too roughly.

"Lookin' like a bunch of heavyweight champs, am I right?" Soda leered, his once kind blue eyes filled with a mischievous malice.

The two Soc's looked at each other, realising they'd made a mistake in targeting you. "We don't want any trouble." The first one said, fumbling.

"Yeah! We was only just jokin' around." The other made a pitiful attempt at joining in on the laughter.

"Oh really now?" Dally quipped through dragon's breath, plucking his smoke from his lips and wiping the back of his index finger under his nose like he was annoyed. "I call bullshit, beanpole. Ain't that right, Johnny?" Dally asked Johnny, motioning towards him.

With a black gaze as cold as obsidian, Johnny nodded his head, "Sure thing, Dally." He refused to take his gaze off of the perpetrators who recognised that hoodlum's menacing name anywhere.

"Pony?" Dally turned, looking over your head at the fourteen year old greaser with the greyish green eyes. He put that smoke back in between his lips and inhaled sharply.

"Yup!" Pony popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

"Great, it's settled!" Dally exclaimed, pulling his arm from over your shoulders and rubbing his hands together like a fly with an evil plan. He stepped forward, his face a mere couple of inches from theirs. "You dumbasses get to go toe to toe with me for fucking with the wrong person, and then my buddies will have what's left of you. How do you like the sound of that?"

The way Dally seethed it even had you shaking in your boots. There was almost a sense of honour riding on your guts. It wasn't everyday that Dallas Winston was standing up for you, but when it happened you took it willingly. The two guys had become pale ghosts, shuddering with sweat dewing their foreheads. Dally meant those words, but it seemed he was mainly toying with them. So were the rest of the gang too. With matching Cheshire grins plastered on their faces they watched as the two shoved past Soda, tripping over the boot Johnny had stuck out and shot in through an opening in the crowd to salvation. Sent to faceplant on the ground with a series of laughter as the drama seemed to be over for the most part and people lost interest.

"Where are you goin'? Wait until we set her on ya!" Sodapop called, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Yeah, she may seem like she’s all bark, but she's got one hell of a bite!" Steve cackled.

Lost in an ocean of chaos, Johnny's inquiry of concern for you slithered back down his throat. He bled into the background, admiring the way your eyes rolled as the wisecracking descended upon you.

"The hell was that, kid?" Dally said between inhaling his smoke. Rubbing the top of your head with his ringed fingers awarded him with a generous shove from you. His treatment hurt, but he was happy to see you, which was unusual.

"Get offa me-," You grunted and he eventually relented.

Before Steve could chime in about you being a smart ass or wandering around on your lonesome, your most dreaded member of the gang came blundering on over. A half drunken stupor holding him up by some invisible string, "Haha! Where did you learn to talk like that? Dare I say you got some inspiration from somebody in particular?" He waggled his eyebrows at you.

"Oh, well ain't those the biggest words you’ve ever said! Ugh, don’t make me sick, two cents." You bit at him.

"Eh, at least I'm worth somethin' in this world." He chuckled, clapping your shoulder.

"That was meant to be an insult." You retorted.

"Really? That's a whole compliment and a half!" He exclaimed with his arms thrown up.

"Yeah yn, I sure can hear the church bells ringin' right now!" Soda grinned at you, cupping his free hand over his ear. In fact, to seal the deal he wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the seven of you began walking to your neighbourhood.

Steve came up on the other side, walking the tight line of the curb, "From haters to lovers!" He beamed, spreading his palms out in the open space before you like he was presenting a far away picture. "It all started when you were in fifth grade and he was in sixth, gum to the hair, a pop to the mouth and the rest was history!"

Johnny listened and observed, laughing halfheartedly along with his buddies. Something about Soda's and Steve's words tugged on his heartstrings in a plucking fashion. It was uncomfortable and didn't sit right with him. Yet he couldn't be too mopey about it, it wasn't like anybody knew his growing feelings for you. By now there was a confusion in your friendship, as if all these special moments you'd experienced together had evolved the friendship into something else. He was afraid of what that meant. Things would never be the same ever again, and he found himself eyeing up the bag full of his clothes on your shoulder and his jeans jacket wadded into your hand.

Well, at least your promise had been genuine this time.

If you weren't riled up before you were now. A sucker punch to the gut was minutely dodged by Steve, who hopped to safety behind Dallas like a kangaroo. Being surrounded by people you knew was nice as the mood settled somewhat. Johnny found his natural place to the left of you, keeping in time with your easy pace.

Sodapop raised his eyebrows and asked the question everyone had been wondering, "Hey yn, what were you doing there all alone?"

"Ain't that Steve's line?" You quipped.

“Gettin’ to be more and more like Ponyboy everyday, yn!” Steve warned, messing up Pony’s hair for comedic relief.

Pony was certainly not pleased, pulling his comb out of his back pocket and using the sideview mirror of a car to fix his hair in the dark. “Stupid Steve…” grumbled past his lips.

“What was that?” Steve barked next to Soda.

“Nothin’, said I looked stupid…” He lied with burnt cheeks and ears to match.

"That's what I thought, little guy." Steve stared at him.

Once the commotion had somewhat settled Dally eyed you up and spoke through his smoke, “Soda’s got a point. What were you doing there?” He noticed that bag over your shoulder and whistled, “Did your goody two shoes ass get kicked out or are you just droppin’ by to bid your farewells on us common folk before you skip town?”

Put on the spot, you hesitated for a second, “Uh, I just came to see Johnny.”

“With the entire mall's inventory?” Two grinned wickedly, pressing for more information. "Johnny's become quite the charity case lately." He teased, noogying Johnny playfully who shrugged him off with a small laugh.

“Hey wait a sec, isn't that Johnny’s jeans jacket?” Pony spoke up once his precious hair had been rearranged.

Dallas’s pesky fingers swiped the jacket in your hands with a mind of his own – and like a chimp, he examined its authentication closely. The five other members gathered around him as if he held the fifth wonder, which left you and Johnny with the liberation of simultaneously backing up at the edges of the throng. “You wanna make a break for it?” You hissed your suggestion at Johnny, who nodded his head.

That’s when five heads whipped up with dumbfounded expressions. This was Johnny’s jacket! The one he said he’d lost. Soda’s eyes were the first to eye up that bag strapped to your shoulder, a familiar grey sweater poking out through the zipper that wouldn't close properly. “Hold on one stinkin’ minute.” Realisation hit him with a dopey grin.

Two caught on next, his hand grasping the bag strap and pulling it from your shoulder. In the same motion he’d freed the grey sweater from the confines, only to find more clothes underneath. “Haha!” He cackled noisily, “You’re the one who’s been swiping his clothes? You sly fox!”

“Johnny and yn sitting in a tree-,” Steve cackled, only to get cut off by Dally who smacked him in the chest.

“What are you man, four?”

“Four?! I’ll show you four!”

“Oh glory-,” You mumbled, looking at Johnny, “I think I made a mistake.”

“You think?” He hissed, his tone was somewhat biting, looking scared stiff for the incoming of terrible teasing.

"Johnny's got a girlfriend! Johnny's got a girlfriend!" Soda and Two started chanting, patting and shaking their pal with enthusiasm. It wasn't long before the other three started in on it too. The chant of the year belted out from strong chests on shrill wails of hyena laughter.

"Check him out, famous ladies man! I knew you had it in ya Johnny." Dally clapped his back.

"Should've known you were stealing my girl, Johnny." Two teased. "You can have her the first five days of the week, but I call dibs on weekends! That's when she gets extra sassy."

"In your dreams, two shits." You barked.

"I dream of sixth grade every night!" Two swooned, making you laugh.

Johnny was as red as a beet, even Ponyboy couldn’t contain his laughter. 'Boy, do we have something to tell Darry!' Pony's and Soda's eyes gleamed dazzlingly.

"Eh, guess you won't be needing this!" Dally grinned from behind you both, softly tugging on his leather jacket Johnny was wearing. In one fell swoop it was off of his shoulders and draped over Dally’s humble forearm.

“Here you go, young sire!” Sodapop bowed with a roll of his hand, an English accent flawlessly executed.

In came Steve on one knee, holding up the humble denim article he'd swiped from Dally's pesky digits. “Oh Johnny, with all of my love for you, will you take this humble offer?” he exclaimed dramatically.

Johnny snatched the jacket from Steve’s gripey hands, along with the bag of his shirts you’d brought along from Two-bit. He was embarrassed, that was evident. Wished you’d done this at a different time, but hey, duty called; a promise was a promise. Scout’s honour, right?

Without even thinking he grabbed your hand in his, reeling you away from the madness, all sassy. “Alright, that’s enough now!”

A chorus of wolf whistles expelled into the air. Wildness evident in the five guys who'd grown up with the both of you. They were just playing of course, excited that Johnny finally had a lady in hand. It wasn't often the raven haired greaser picked someone up, let alone initiated any physical contact – romantically of course. Johnny had always been quite reserved, but here he was taking the initiative, pulling you around in the opposite direction of them. Surprisingly assertive despite him shaking like a goddamn ghost.

You guys got maybe a few feet away when Dallas called out on the wind, “Hey yn, you better not be takin’ off the clothes on Johnny's body or he’ll be arrested for public indecency!”

"I said that's enough!" Johnny called back, heat vivid on his cheeks.

With that you both escaped around the next corner, the gang's calls and laughter fading into the background. Dipped into an alleyway to lose them for good. Glory knew they'd follow you both, and Johnny couldn't bear the thought of that. There was exhilaration in your chests. Johnny's hand was hot and sweaty in yours when you wound onto Pickett and Sutton. The air felt tight and you were afraid you'd just made an inconsolable mess of everything.

“Honest to God Johnny, that wasn’t planned-,”

He was sour, scrunching up his face, “Shoulda just let you keep these things.” He said with a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “They looked better on you anyway.”

“Johnny Cade,” you gasped, stopping in the middle of the street, the yellow light from above illuminating you both, “was that you flirting with me?”

Albeit clumsy, he was endearing. “Maybe, I dunno.” His cheesy grin warmed your heart.

All you could do was gawk at him.

“Look, all I know is that I kinda don’t mind you stealing my crap, okay?”

“So I have special authority to steal? What is this, a secret mission for your girlfriend?” You grasped onto his arm, leaning into him.

Girlfriend settled in the air in a peculiar fashion. It had never been uttered before, you both had just been friends up until this point. The confusion between you both seemed to fizzle away. The term sounded right. Johnny didn't want to be your friend any more, the guy on the sidelines dreaming of being with you. He swallowed thickly, looking at you.

"I'm sorry I-," he cut you short.

"Nah don't be." He shook his head softly.

"So uh," you breathed a laugh, "that means we're like dating? " You tested the word on your tongue.

He exploded with a blush, and a sense of pride swelled in your heart. "Y-yeah-," he nodded softly.

It went quiet, but nothing was awkward about it. Two hearts galloped like wild horses through summer filled fields. You found the courage to speak first, whispering mischievously into his ear, "So what about that secret mission?"

Johnny rolled his eyes, but breathy humour expelled from his lips, “Operation Shirt Thief!” He said in his best movie man trailer voice.

You burst out in a fit of giggles, the walk home feeling bountiful and warm.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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#johnnycade #johnny cade #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade imagines #johnny cade headcanons #the outsiders #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders johnny cade #the outsiders johnny cade x reader #the outsiders johnny cade imagines #the outsiders johnny cade headcanons #i hope you enjoyed!!

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hoonvrs · 10 months

Text

SANDY CHEEKS — y. jungwon

req for 1k event!

PROMPT playing in a playground with jungwon ( based on his video )

PAIRING jungwon x gnr

GENRE est. relationship, comfort, fluff

WARNINGS the words fuck and ass appear once

W. COUNT 0.4k

S. NOTE his video <//3 the title is so goofy omfg

walks along the han river at ungodly hours wasn’t new to you, courtesy of yang jungwon.

sure you’d stay up until the sun is almost rising, but actually leaving your house was never even an option because, why would you ever consider leaving your warm bed for the harsh cold wind?

until yang jungwon became your boyfriend.

your boyfriend who seems to love walks along rivers past 1am where the moon hangs idly in the sky, preferring to walk along the streets without having them filled with people — or worse, kids.

now, relaxing in your bed as you read online was a thing of the past. slowly finding yourself unconsciously preparing an outfit suitable for the weather outside for when you inevitably receive that ‘be ready in 20, were going on a walk!’ text from jungwon.

you didn’t necessarily hate the walks themselves, it was the cold. good thing you had your boyfriend there to warm you, “babe look! they have a park!”

you followed behind, not like you had much choice when you’re intertwined hands were tucked safely in his jacket pocket forcing you to go after him. sure enough, there was a playground, nothing especially different from the parks that were near your apartment except one thing.

no kids.

“they have a zipline i'm going to piss myself,” jungwon screamed, wasting no time to separate your hands and leave you in the dust.

you huffed under your breath, it's hard to complain about the sudden lack of warmth when you have your boyfriend climbing up the kiddie ladder to position himself high with the biggest smile on his face, “why can't you say you’re excited like a normal person?”

“because it's not as eloquent,” and maybe the effects of being on a playground took a toll on his brain because he blew a fucking raspberry at you. like, full spit and sound, “film me!”

“okay, you overgrown child,” you said, pulling out your phone to start recording him not expecting much.

maybe, you both should have taken into consideration that you were both adults in a children’s playground, so it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise when jungwon jumped off of the mini tower with the rope between his legs to only make it half the way before his feet buried themselves into the sand — effectively throwing your boyfriend down flat onto the ground.

he got up with a wince on his face, patting his pants down as you began doubling over in laughter on the ground unable to hear him whining over yourself, “i think i got some sand in my ass.” that only made you laugh louder, feeling tears ready to fall at any minute, “happy to see you enjoy my misery.”

“aww, don’t sulk sandy cheeks, let's go home,” you patted his shoulder, walking off towards the pavement leaving him whining behind you.

“hey! don’t call me that!”

perm taglist @mesopret @whoschr @haknom @shinsou-rii @redm4ri @lacimolela @llama-lyna @boyfhee @lazysmushi @flwoie @kocokookie @kyexvly @seongclb @dammit-jjk @flwrshee @produmads @teddywonss @aleiouvre @dneltrise @aleiouvre @nyxvrse @yohanabanana

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kitmoas · 8 months

Text

when the veneer crumbles

the sounds of water are always relaxing

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: **18+ MINORS DNI**, SMUT, dark and demonic themes, death, possession, drowning, magic use, Mommy kink

as per usual if there is anything I missed let me know

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this one was late, had a lot of car and financial shit I needed to figure out but I finally got it finished. This was one that i always knew how i wanted it to end, even from last year when i first planned it for the Occult series, but for some reason it was REALLY hard to put my idea into words. Hopefully it's not HORRIBLE, i'm a bit rusty after taking more then a few months off. The rest of them will be better I promise lol

Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation

The crickets in the distance are a welcome change to the busy streets of the city, cars honking

nonstop during your work day. The world you live in is hectic and out of control but the farther you walk into the almost clear empty darkness the more you can feel the control you naively gain. Stepping into the barely touched woods behind the mostly abandoned house was something that you had missed, a childhood memory that had died suddenly.

Allowing your mind to wander to the summers that you would spend here out on the lake, jumping off the dock, and laughing with your cousins was the welcome peace you needed as you settled along the rickety wood. Even if those fun times were cut short at your aunt’s sudden death, you knew that being here gave you just a moment of your innocence back.

Stepping onto the rickety wood carefully, you cringe internally as your arm tightens momentarily around the rolled up soft blanket. You should have known better to bring a water proof material but it was too late for that. Knees cracking slightly as you lean down, the smooth fabric flaps in the wind and you sigh softly in relief as you are able to fully settle on the dock. Deciding to stretch out was a bit of a mistake, in your time away you forgot just how soothing the sound of water lapping at the damp wood was.

Goosebumps spread across your skin as you slowly came to consciousness, brittle wind chilling you to the bone as you rub the sleep out of your eye. The fog is dense, and confusing as it was supposed to be a clear night. Slowly sitting up, your bones crack as you stretch as much as possible without rocking the dock too much. The unstable wood is loud even with the bare minimum movement causing you to flinch as it echoes across the empty field.

Squinting through the haze, you try to figure out if you can gauge just how late it is by the placement of the moon. The only thing you can see is a weird tunnel out in the middle of the lake, almost like a tornado of gray. Immediate fear isn’t your first thought, though you begin to question just how awake you are.

Condensation makes the wood wet, slipping as you try to stand up but it's the glowing red orbs in the distance that makes you freeze in your half crouched position. They are captivating even from afar. The air around you is thick, filled with the now red tinted fog that almost looks like it's bleeding. Heavy and molasses-like as it lays on your skin, eyes flickering around you try to make sense of your surroundings.

When she gets close enough to see smaller details, your brain slows almost to a complete stop. She’s entirely too breathtakingly beautiful and tragically horrific at the same time. No color to her skin, it’s almost as though she comes directly from one of the old black and white television shows your mother liked to watch. The woman is wearing tight clothing, torn and ripped sporadically. Her eyes almost seem so gray that they are an ethereal foggy green, only flashing ruby when the shrap thin lines all over her body pulsate crimson. Her hair is long and dripping with an inky hue, tangled and disheveled. Fingertips dipped in a steaming tar, dancing near her side as she stalks towards you.

It’s when you can almost reach out and touch the figure that you finally scramble backwards, putting distance between the two of you as the flight side of your instincts kick in. You barely make it more than five steps when you’re being dragged upwards with some sort of red translucent mist. It wraps around your wrists, dragging your arms above your head as you flop about uselessly. Screams are getting caught in your throat as you have to just hang there, watching this being get closer to you.

When the lady is directly below you, the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight and your muscles twitch from how tense they are. You want to panic, to yell, but something stops you. Tilting her head, she has to look up at you from where her magic holds you against the rough bark. Her hand comes out to touch you, but the soft feeling comes as a surprise to you. She cups your cheek, a low red spreading in her eyes as you shake under her touch.

She smiles at you, a soft almost nurturing thing. “You’re just as pretty as I thought you would be, little lamb.” Her voice is chilling, breathy with a raspy tone to it. The older woman’s free hand caresses your stomach, an unwanted warmth sinking into your gut.

Her nails are jagged, cracked and repulsive, as she takes her time to explore your body. It’s sudden, the vigor in which she gropes your body. Clumsy and completely all over the place, you aren’t entirely sure what she thinks she’s doing. Struggling against your restraints, the chill covers your body like ice freezing over a lake.

It isn’t until your body takes over, fear and anger sinking into your bones, that the creature seemingly gains control of her actions and her hand becomes confident and firm. Nails pointedly scratching at your skin as fingers map out your skin, almost stabbing at each goosebump she finds. Your eyes are glued to your face as your mind struggles to catch up to what you had done, flinching as her other hand reaches up. It doesn’t strike you as you thought it would, instead she brushes the back of her knuckles against her own face, trepidation stopping your blood from rushing through your body as you finally realize that you spit at her.

That wasn’t what you wanted to do, you knew that you needed to act smart if you were going to survive this but for some reason all your ability to think logically went out the window. You wanted her more than anything in the world right now, and you knew that you needed to try and do anything to keep her exactly where she was.

“Do you not have control over your stupid little body, mortal?” Her voice is low, almost filled with gravel as she mumbles. Rust filled eyes not even paying you a second of attention but instead staring at the glistening saliva that drips from her fingers.

Your head is shaking vigorously, denying inability in hopes that she doesn’t see you as foolish. The desire to be praised by her came as a surprise, but you weren’t fighting it and it seems to have worked. A smile slowly stretches across the surreal creature’s face as she blinks slowly. “It’s so funny to see such a useless being believe they are worth anything more than what I deem them to be. You think by answering my question in whatever way you think I want will make the outcome of your situation better?”

She speaks softly, almost nurturing as she rubs her soaked fingers along your neck, smearing your own spit against you. You crane your neck as much as you can against the crimson smog wrapped there, trying to hear her voice as clearly as possible.

“I take what I want and no smart mouthed, stupid brained little human is going to stop that. I like to have fun, and the peak is watching you bleed out for me.” The words are harsh but you can’t help but moan as your body is thrown upwards, red tendrils tightening and dragging you to hang limply from the tree branch. It’s devoid of leaves, and creaks under your weight, but it somehow makes you feel like you have a safety net. You had climbed this tree many times in the past, and even had various hanging sets from this very limb.

Swinging freely, you try to move your body as much as possible as the urge to escape your confines sinks in. Entirely too focused, you don’t realize that her hands are moving along your ice cold skin. Groping softly, her movements are controlled and precise to make sure that you barely register it in your brain. It’s when her hands force your legs apart, maroon vapor ropes slithering around your thighs to hold them open, that you finally realize just how hard you are breathing. Your body felt slightly warm, at least in your core, and you could feel your blood rushing downwards. It was almost like your entire being was electrified and you were entirely too conscious of every single thing you felt.

She doesn’t take her time, her eyes narrow as she focuses on mapping out your skin. The bright ruby lines she leaves in her wake only entertain her for so long before she finally moves in between your shaking thighs. The older woman’s finger swipes through your folds, collecting the small amount of wetness she finds there. Gasping as she spreads it across your clit, a throbbing ache despite the way your body revolts. Her jaw mockingly drops when for the first time her eyes light up with amusement, giggling when your hips chase her hand. “Oh poor baby, I can’t fuck you if you’re not wet enough. It’ll hurt your small fragile little body too much and Mommy doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Your head is shaking violently, nonsensical protests tumbling from your lips. It didn’t matter to you, regardless if it was because you wanted her or wanted the situation to be over with, you just needed her to touch you. Even though your wetness wasn’t enough for her, you did feel aroused. Maybe it was your mind tricking you into believing this was what you wanted or maybe it was the glittering crimson behind your irises, but that wasn’t a piece of information that you needed to know.

She tuts, chastising you. “Now don’t lie to me. I know what you want even if your mind fights it, and your body hasn’t caught up, I know.” You watch as she takes a step back, letting her eyes drink in your form. Letting the back of her knuckles run down your torso, you watch as she slowly kneels on the damp dirt. Her hands are grazing over your thighs, pushing them farther open as she leans in. The grip she has on you, though gentle, is strong and you can’t kick her when you feel her mouth along your skin.

The smoothness of her strangely sharp teeth is hot against your cooled body, but it’s the sharp pierce and spilling of your blood that leaves a weirdly chilled warmth leaking down your leg. Eyes widening you try to look past the head of dark locks to see what just happened, but it didn’t take long for your brain to catch up and the stabbing pain on your inner thigh.

She looks up at you, sparkling light jade eyes catching the moon light, with a toothy smile and a small dribble of crimson running down her chin. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You couldn’t help the shocked yelp, body shaking with fear.

The being doesn’t even answer you, giggling as rolls her eyes up at you. She seems so innocent in those moments but nothing gets rid of the terror emanating within your soul. Looking back at your bleeding thigh, she swipes her fingers through the thick liquid to coat them. Her nails catch on the open wound, sending another wave of searing pain through your body but she pays no attention to you.

It almost feels like time stops as you hang there, waiting, but the moment the brunette swipes her crimson dipped thumb across your clit something in your body cracks. It’s small but you can feel the change and in your mind you start screaming at yourself. You know being vocal won’t stop this crazy woman, but you wanted to deter her by being completely unaffected. It was the last thing you had on her, to make her believe that what she was doing was just pure torture and you found absolutely no pleasure in it, but you knew that that power over her was no longer available to you.

Never one for vanilla sex, not even in theory, you shouldn’t be that surprised that being taken by force from a demonic crazy being would be right up your alley. No one could ever keep up with you, your fantasies were just a bit too intense or a bit too dangerous, and for once everything you ever wanted was being fulfilled. This gorgeous being was forcing her fingers farther into you, your blood dripping randomly down different parts of your body.

Despite your want for intensely kinky sex, you knew that it should be completely consensual right? It should let you know that, and you could feel your anger rising in your body as the heat zoomed between your thighs. This couldn’t be consensual, not with how it started, but if it wasn’t then why did the idea of her actually stopping tear you up on the inside? You couldn’t fathom the idea of her ice cold thumb pulling away from your throbbing clit for too long, for her touch on your body to not cause goosebumps.

She doesn’t wait much longer, no need to attempt to please you now that she has the wetness she wants, shoving two fingers into you with almost no remorse. A shrill scream gets stuck in your throat as you choke on the force of air rushing up, the pain bringing tears to your eyes. A sign of weakness that this twisted soul revels in as she thrusts her fingers in, letting her free hand drag up crimson periodically.

The pain was immense and you were certain that she had to be using something besides her fingers, there was no way that the small hands in between your thighs were causing this much agony. You wanted to shove against her, but the moment her teeth sink into your breast you know you’re gone. Hips jumping, trying to get her to move more as the pleasure starts to settle in your tummy, uselessly against her body. It felt so bad that the good started to come from a delirious state, and you just needed her to move. The tips of her fingers just rubbing slightly against the soft spot inside of you, the texture of her wrinkled skin felt wrong but you were starting to become obsessed.

“Isn’t it comical? A desperate slut like you thought you had everything together, thought I was going to ruin your life by taking what was destined to be mine?” Through the heavy fog that had begun to settle in your head you tried your best to look down at her, shock painted across your face. How did she know what you were thinking? She doesn’t give you any answer, instead her thrusting gets more aggressive as the wetness between your thighs grows, and it mixes with the blood still heavily leaking from the bite marks.

You want to moan, whimper, maybe even plead but you were no longer sure what you wanted. Logically you needed this to stop if you were to ever be okay again, but at the same time all you wanted to do was feel her mouth on your clit. You wanted her to fuck you until you were incoherent, a drooling mess. Hatred towards yourself and her fueled your motions as you tried to work to take more of her hand, stretching around her third finger as she shoves it ungracefully into you.

Her mouth is at your knee now, glowing eyes looking up at you as she smirks. “Taking me so well for someone so against getting used.” Her arm is moving roughly, fingers curling inside you as she ghosts her teeth along your thigh. “So clean, so dry. Why don’t you make a mess for Mommy? I like my cunts all wet and messy.”

It was then you found your power, despite the arousal burning in your belly and the way you clenched around her fingers whenever she swiped her thumb along your clit. You knew that the more you let your thoughts wonder, even if it had to be forced, that you would be able to pull yourself from the situation. Imagine yourself somewhere else and almost black out during everything, your body would be limp and pliant but not give her what she wants. The movie you would go see in a week with your best friends, or the long list of groceries that you knew you needed to get when you went back into the city. Thoughts swarmed your head as you tried your hardest to ignore the way her fingers poked and prodded, the way her thumb caressed your swollen clit just perfectly.

Screwing your eyes shut, you make your best attempt at seeming unaffected but you don’t realize that you aren’t winning. If anything you just make it more fun for the being below you, giving her the opportunity to make you as wet as she wants.

Being so focused on the thoughts traveling through your brain was good until you don’t feel the tugging on your wrists, persistent and firm. It’s only when you’re tumbling helplessly through the air that you realize you are no longer hanging from the tree, but instead falling face first into the freezing lake. It’s a shock, breaking the surface of the water. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and forces your throat to close, you can practically feel all your muscles seize as well. You make the mistake of opening your mouth to scream, causing a rush of dirty water to fill your lungs, and it’s only when her hand claws at the back of your head that you feel even an ounce of relief.

She’s tearing your body out of the water, pieces of the thin ice fly around you and you can’t believe that you relax as your body collides with her. “Don’t think that you can try to outplay Mommy like that you little slut. I know what you want, you are my destiny. You were made to take me, so be a good girl and let me do what I was made to do.” Her voice is sweet, almost soft, as she speaks through her teeth directly into your ear. It shouldn’t calm your racing heart, neither should the almost warm comforting touch of her red mist along your thighs.

You want to let yourself fall, the intense arousal is boiling in your tummy and you can feel the coil tightening with each brush of her hand along your body. It would be much easier to allow yourself to become immersed in the pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t until she allowed that crimson fog to slip inside you. Despite the fact that whatever she was pushing into you was magical, you were still too tight for her liking. There was a part of you deep down that still didn’t want this and it was causing your body to react subconsciously.

‘If the slut doesn’t want to get wet, then I’ll keep you wet myself.” Her hands scratch up your side, a nail digging into your nipple on the way up and it makes your hip buck. You feel yourself melting back into her and a moan softly slips from your parted lips. The urge to pretend that it’s from the cold is strong, but you can’t even pretend at this point like the feeling of her hands on you isn’t turning you on.

Her hands are running along your torso, teasing your nipples and scratching up your stomach. It almost feels normal, just another hookup and it makes you forget. Losing yourself in the way that the ruby swells inside you, rubbing against the soft spot it finds and caressing your clit softly.

The wetness between your thighs is gathering the longer she plays with you, wine stained mist thrusting lazily into you. It almost plays with you, knowing that it ruts to hard or fast that it will bring you closer to the edge, but it keeps you writhing for more with each movement. You want to beg for more, ask her to touch you with her own hands as you have begun to crave her ice touch, though there is something that is stopping you from doing that. It isn’t necessarily pride, something you lost the moment you began to get turned on by this aggressive form of twisted affection.

It’s when her nails scratch at the back of your neck that you realize the fog that’s dragging you slowly, almost mockingly leisurely, towards the edge is growing. Almost like a ball, it feels like she’s pushing her magic abilities to stretch you to the point right before danger. You’re confused, as your wetness starts dripping down your thighs and your breath starts picking up, how much more wet could you get?

Instant regret floods your system almost as fast as the ice cold water that rushes down your throat as she shoves your face directly into the lake. It’s not a quick dunk to shock you this time, her claw-like hand squishing your face into the almost mud like dirt at the bottom. She doesn’t stop forcing more and more into you, her magical fog swelling larger and it presses against where your torso is now pressed against the ground. Even as you struggle against her, your internal will to try and live kicking in, you can’t help the build up in your stomach. The coil tightens as her magic moves within you, moving inside you as her nails dig into her back.

Sharp stinging pains are a contrast, an added sensation, to your panic as you begin to think maybe she is just going to keep you submerged. There’s no way she would, right? She wants to use you, there would be no reason that she would want to truly harm you.

A deep belly chuckle is muffled through the water, barely a vibration as your arm and head flail as much as possible. You wanted out but you can’t help but moan instead of scream, the pleasure of her nails into your shoulder blades and her thigh grinding between your thighs into the swell of mist there beginning to get too overwhelming. It was no longer a fight to survive but a fight to enjoy the last moments of life. Somewhere in your mind you knew that you wouldn’t actually make it out of this alive, but for some reason you’ve decided to ignore that.

“Such a stupid whore, letting just anyone touch your cunt.” She fists your soaked hair in your hand, and just for a fleeting moment the pain mixed with arousal takes over your fogged mind. “You don’t even know Mommy and yet here you are, taking my gorgeous gift like the good little fuck toy you are.” Her free hand abandons your back in lue of groping your ass, pushing down against it to get you to stop moving. Her thigh is pushing against your throbbing clit now, soaked in your wetness despite water lapping up as you splash about.

You can feel your vision start to darken, the edges of the burning sensation as you try to keep your eyes open have blurred and blackened. Unsure if you are even panicking anymore, your body starts to relax and the only thing you can focus on is the fuzzy warm arousal filling each nerve in your body. The water floating around you becomes tranquil as each muscle in your body softens and you move with each thrust into you.

A wide sinister smile stretches unnaturally along the being’s face, pulling her almost gray lips as far as they can as she stares down at your almost lifeless body. She can see the signs and for her it motivates her even more, forcing more and more of her magic into you. You were everything she could have ever wanted and she refused to let you stay in the living world, if she was destined to be stuck to this lake forever then so would you.

Slowly you could feel all the tension in your body start to clump together in your stomach, draining from the rest of you and tightening around the scarlet orb inside you. You craved that last bit of pleasure, that last rush in your veins to end this for good.

When it becomes almost impossible to move and you are no longer shaking from panic or exertion, but instead trembling from hanging onto the edge, she knows it’s time. Sneering down at your limp form, she uses her grip in your hair to turn your head. Slapping at your cheek until she can just barely see your fuzzy bloodshot eyes, an almost soft nurturing smile paints along her face once she sees your drunk like state. “There’s my girl. So fucked out.” Her sphere cloud inside you starts to vibrate, her cold dark eyes once more glowing a dim ruby.

Gripping at your jaw, her claw practically breaks your neck as she forces you to keep eye contact with her. Even as your eyes slip closed, struggling to stay open as you start to dangle over the edge, you can’t help but feel drawn in to listen. “Say my name, little toy, say it and stay with me forever.” Her voice is raspy, bordering soft but she’s taunting you. “You know it, you know you do, so say it. Say it now.” Her actions become frantic, her thigh grinding more aggressively into you. She’s trying to force you into a more pathetic state, even at the edge of death she wants you to be begging for her.

As much as you can you try to deny knowing, because how could you? You had never seen this person, if that’s what she is even considered, before this horrific situation. The attempt at trying to keep water from going down your throat had stopped, your lungs should have filled completely with liquid by now so some other power must have been keeping you alive.

Though you couldn’t see it, the being was getting annoyed. Her eyes rolled as she realized that you were thinking again, a brain dead creature who could still think. “Say my name and you can cum for Mommy, like the pretty little whore you are.” She spits at you through her teeth, pointed and your blood drying on the dull shine. With her words she sees a change in your stature, even held under the force of her hand, eagerness. Humming slowly she allows her maroon mist to sink into each part of your body.

Your brain was almost empty, nothing but serene thoughts going through it as you felt yourself slip into the darkness. You thought that there would be a light at the end of the time but instead you start seeing a faint rosy hue. The being above you is yelling at you and the need to give in is strong, you want to end everything on a high. You need that high.

Her name slips into the water almost silently, your eyes slipping closed as you fall into unconsciousness, but it’s there. She hears it, muffled, “Wanda.” Usually one of her biggest fears, not one to want to go back to the damned dark world but with you she could thrive. A black magic demon who accomplished its goal? She would rule the world with a scarlet leash around your neck. A small smirk as her magic starts to die, a sure sign she’s going back to being contained. Until the end of time you will be her needy little toy, just as you were as you took your last breath.

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