#and then the war against seeds began | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marauroon · 1 month

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hello !!! can i request a right person, wrong time with siri? maybe they broke up because of the war... and the reason is because siri doesn't want to put the reader into danger and then they meet again, all grown up and they still have feelings for each other and Siri has to grovel to win reader back again? And it ends with a happy ending (please) (Siri was the one who broke the relationship and reader was really hurt) it's very long yet vauge 😅

A CALL TO ARMS — S.BLACK

sirius black was the love of your life, and you were his. but sometimes higher priorities—and deep-seeded anxiety—can get in the way. but the invisible string of fate always brings people back together.

cw — fem!reader, details of the first wizard of war, reader and sirius have a messy and complicated relationship, harsh arguments, character death mentions, happy ending

sirius black x reader || hurt/comfort || 6.2k || requests open!!

a/n — let’s just pretend sirius doesn’t get avada’d like three weeks after this fic ends

The war put a strain on everybody. Some people had to leave their families to join the fight, some had to hide away to protect themselves from the Death Eaters.

Some didn’t have a family, anyone to worry about them coming home at the end of the day.

They threw themselves into it the hardest.

Then there was you and Sirius, a pair of outcasts who found solitude in each other. A pair who paid no greater devotion than protecting the people that you cared about from the ravages of Voldemort’s uprising.

You were barely eighteen when you both joined the Order, fresh out of Hogwarts and straight into the line of fire after the group had been offered a spot in Voldemort’s army and refused, leaving every one of you with a target on your back.

By the time you were twenty it almost seemed fruitless, with James and Lily being sent into hiding to protect them and their son under Dumbledore’s direct orders under fear for their continued safety and a Fidelius Charm placed over them to keep them safe. Sirius denied being their secret keeper with the explanation of it being too obvious a choice. What a mistake that was.

Then order members started dying.

And it all began to fall apart.

The brass framed picture in the entrance of the Black family home offered Sirius no empathy as he escaped the bitterness that October was serving him, the laughing faces of his friends and self-proclaimed family only serving to make his already dwindling morale dampen further.

Twenty-two people in the picture. And how many remained? Fourteen. In the span of five months.

It was Dorcus and Marlene that really did him over, and he could barely so much as glance in the direction of their hopeful smiles without feeling like he was going to throw up.

The trudging of his feet up the wooden stairs was proof enough of his arrival for any present members of the Order to hear, too fatigued and all together bleak at the continued state he was living in to announce his presence verbally.

“Sirius, sweetheart, you’re home thank goodness,” Not even the warmth of your arms around him or the relief in your voice as you pulled his head into your shoulder could satiate him anymore.

You shouldn’t have to be relieved that he walked through the door.

You shouldn’t have to hug him like it’s your final goodbye every time he leaves.

Every time you leave.

You didn’t deserve that. And neither did he.

“Godric you’re freezing, come and sit down,” You pull Sirius into his childhood bedroom with all of the care of a feather floating on a pool of water, squeezing his hands in yours like you’re trying to transfer your own heat to him.

He follows you with no real resistance, though he doesn’t make any move by himself, and you have to push his shoulders down to get him to sit in front of the lit fireplace that would hopefully quell the chill echoing across his skin.

You help him remove his coat with a sigh, dark frown lines marking your features as you take a seat beside him and rest the side of your head against his shoulder, your hand gently tracing over his to capture his palm in your own. He doesn’t return the small squeeze of your fingers.

You can’t blame him for being so dismal, the situation was something that nobody could make it through without a gargantuan crack in their emotional shield, but seeing Sirius display his almost funereal sentiment so fervently without so much as a hint of a mask was devastating.

Displaying even the tiniest glimmer of hopefulness was what allowed the Order to survive for so long, and Sirius couldn’t even muster that.

“Harry said his first word today,” You try to keep the conversation positive, ignore the downfall of everything around you and keep focusing on the small wins. “Dada of course, apparently Lily was pretty miffed,” You punctuate your sentence with a small laugh, although it’s more pathetic than genuine and even you can tell you’re doing a horrible job of trying to uplift Sirius’ spirit.

“They sent over a picture, Remus has it if you’d like to see—”

“Just stop.” Sirius shakes his head sharply, pulling his hand from yours and standing with his back to you.

“Sirius—”

“I don’t know why you keep trying to pretend that everything’s okay, it’s not. Our friends are dying and you’re acting like its completely fine.” There’s more malice in his voice than he’s intending, and logically you know that he doesn’t really mean to get so angry at you. It wasn’t you that was the problem, it was the world in which you were living.

But logic can often times get overridden by other facets.

“I am trying to stop anyone else from dying.” Your words are more desperate than harsh, and they’re not laced in anger like Sirius’ are, but they carry just the same amount of conviction. “If we lose hope then we may as well just hand ourselves over…”

There’s a stuttered exhale as you trail off, and Sirius swears he hears your voice crack as you try to take his hand in yours again. “I can’t bear to see you like this…”

“You should leave the Order.”

You’re almost not sure you heard him.

“What?”

“You don’t belong here, you’re not fit for this,” He sounds almost resigned, and his shoulders drop just enough that you’re not sure he really believes what he’s saying. “You should leave before you get hurt.”

There’s a moment where all you can really do is let out a breath of astonishment, and then there’s an overwhelming need to defend yourself against Sirius’ accusation. “I am perfectly fit for this, Dumbledore agreed that—”

“Well I don’t agree with it!” He cuts you off harshly, turning around so that you can see the anguish that’s drenching his features. “People are dying, our friends are dying, and you are on the goddamn list of whose next.”

He takes your upper arms in his hand and shakes you like it’s going to make you see his point, practically shouting at you as he desperately tries to get you to see his point of view. “You are a brilliant witch, and you are in so much danger that it makes me want to rip my heart out so I don’t have to worry about you any more—”

His rant doesn’t stop once his hands halt, and they stay gripped uncomfortably tight around your biceps to the point where you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Dorcus died because she was brilliant, Marlene died because her father was a muggle, you are like the two of them wrapped up in a package practically serving yourself up to the Death Eaters every time you step out of this goddamn house and I cannot take it anymore.”

Sirius practically pants as his yelling comes to a halt, and he almost immediately regrets getting riled up as he sees the reflection of the fireplace in your glassed over eyes.

“I love you. I love you so much and I can’t live like this anymore.” His hands move from your arms to cup the sides of your face, and you flinch at the contact like you’re afraid he’s going to hurt you.

It breaks Sirius’ heart.

“The Order is falling apart love… I don’t want you to be here when it collapses,”

You pull his hands from your face with yours at his wrists, shaking your head as you blink through clouds of tears. “I’m not leaving the Order, Sirius. You really think I would abandon my friends like that? My family? You?”

“Then I’ll make one of the hard choices for you,” Sirius lets his hands fall to his sides on your prompting, taking a step back from you to hide them in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“What—” There’s nothing but absolute betrayal written across your face, and Sirius almost breaks down immediately. “Sirius—”

“If you want to stay here and watch shit hit the fan then be my guest, but I will not put myself through watching your downfall.” He doesn’t give you the courtesy of replying before opening and slamming the door behind him as he leaves, but you’re not sure you’d be able to articulate anything even if he did, your only response being the start of a sob that echoes off of the empty walls and back into your ears to amplify your own anguish.

You move your belongings out of his room that same evening, taking refuge under Remus’ open arms as you cried yourself into an uneasy slumber, so emotionally exhausted that you could barely formulate any sense of coherency.

Lily and James died two days later.

The news hit you like a truck when Dumbledore relayed it to you, and whilst most of the Order were left in a blanket of shock, Sirius took off in a rage before he could even finish his sentence.

It was enough for you to push the grief aside to not cost you any more.

“Sirius wait—” You weave your way through the others and past Dumbledore to rush after him, the first words either of you had spoken in the other’s direction since the argument. “Where on earth do you think you’re going the Death Eaters might still be there—”

“I hope they are.” Sirius’ tone drips with venom as he pulls his motorcycle helmet from the coat rack at the front door, and you just barely catch his wrist before he has the chance to leave.

“You’re going on a suicide mission—”

“They murdered my brother, I have nothing to lose.” He again leaves the conversation with a slammed door, and you don’t know whether the possibility of his death or the fact that he’d seemingly accepted it hurt you more.

He had nothing to lose.

It was the biggest insult he could’ve possibly left you with.

And it’s all he did leave you with.

For twelve years.

You grieved the loss of Sirius like you did James and Lily, like he too had entered into an early grave of which he would never return. Azkaban may as well have been.

You were angry at first, disgustingly loathing the thought of what those twelve poor muggles had to endure as their final moments. You were less empathetic towards Peter’s fate, although your grief for him was replaced with a deep-seeded betrayal that sunk into your muscles all the same.

Then it settled into an uneven weight in the bottom of your chest, something that you carried with you from that point onward.

You moved out of England soon after, with nothing but a silent vow to Remus that if Voldemort were to ever return, that you’d be there, a final standing against the allegiance that stole your life from you.

You couldn’t stay there anymore, every street of London reminded you of him, of them, of all the people that you lost and how the prime years of your young adulthood were unceremoniously ripped from you under the false belief that you could actually make a difference.

As weeks turned into months, and then into years, there were days that passed where you didn’t think of what happened, of how your previous life had fallen apart and left you as a shell of yourself, and eventually, you managed to pick up the pieces and live your life like it hadn’t happened.

Apart from a single shard of your heart that had lodged itself at 12 Grimmauld Place, underneath the black silk sheets you and Sirius once shared.

You were thirty three when a letter from R.J.Lupin was sent through the letterbox of your house, and it was like those twelve years of growth and acceptance disappeared in an instant.

—

‘I hope this letter finds you well, I know I promised to contact you only for something of the upmost urgence regarding the resurgence of you know who, but I believe this is appropriately important.

Wormtail is alive. He was the one who caused those muggles to die without reason. Which leaves no question of Padfoot’s innocence.

I don’t know if you have kept up with the wizarding news, but he escaped from Azkaban, and is in a safe and secure location known only by the Order.

I understand if this news is too much for you to digest, but he has asked me personally for your consideration in returning to the place where everything began.

Yours sincerely,

R.J.Lupin’

—

The aftermath of your reading was a mess of shallow breaths and an elevated heart rate.

Panic.

You hadn’t felt so horrible since the day that James and Lily had died, the day one of your closest friends betrayed you and the love of your life was taken away presumably to never be seen again.

And now he was just out there? You were just adjusting to living without him, and now he was being thrust back into your life by his own doing.

He threw you away right before your house of cards toppled, and now he was trying to worm his way back into your life?

It took you almost three weeks of staring at the sheet of parchment before you made a decision, and it ended with the letter going up in flames and you watching on with a sunken expression, no tears left to cry over the man who’d ruined you.

All of those months where you’d pondered, where you’d asked yourself over and over again what might’ve happened if you’d have just not spoken to Sirius that day, if you’d just let him rest like he’d obviously wanted rather than try pathetically to lift his mood.

If it might’ve meant he would regard you as something to live for and stop him from blindly running off to avenge James and Lily without a second thought.

All of it went straight down the drain. Because you could have him back if you wanted. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to go back and see him again because the minute his name invaded your mind all you could think about was that god awful argument and it’s aftermath.

And it ripped you apart every single time.

—

“She’s not coming Pads…” Remus’ hand on Sirius’ shoulder was almost apprehensive as he gave it a soft squeeze.

It was almost three months of having to watch Sirius treat the front door like it was his lifeline, his head turning at the smallest creak of the wood in the fruitless hope that when it opened you would be on the other side.

“I know…” Sirius lets out a small, pathetic laugh as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his facade of indifference threatening to break with every breath he took. “Can’t blame me for trying though right?” His voice betrays his devastation, tone wavering and quiet, cracking when he tries to push it to sound more convicting.

“Pads…”

“I’m fine,” Sirius shakes his head with a dismissive hand, clearing his throat and blinking away the starts of tears from the corners of his eyes. “I’m gonna go get some sleep, gonna need all I can get if we’re gonna fight these sons of bitches hey?” Sirius nudges Remus with his elbow as he plays a characature of his former self, although it’s poorly executed at best.

“Yeah…” Remus consciously suppresses a sympathetic sigh that tries to escape his mouth, pressing his lips together. “Goodnight Pads,”

“G’night Moony,”

—

There’s eighteen months of radio silence before another letter is slotted through your door, and you have half the mind to burn it on sight when the familiar red seal is left face up on your patio tiling, but the handwriting on the back wasn’t Remus’, and it was definitely not Sirius’ either.

The scrawl of your address was almost unmistakably Dumbledore’s, and you were left in an emotional state of uneven limbo as you debated why he of all people would be personally sending you a letter.

Logically, you already knew the reason, but your brain chose to ignore that logic as you ripped the envelope open, only for that denial to be thrown right back at your face once the seal of the Order inked itself into the folded parchment.

You didn’t even need to read the letter to know what was inside it.

Three words.

Invitatio ad arma.

A call to arms.

You barely remember packing your bags, leaving the sense of normalcy you’d built over the past fourteen years to throw yourself back into the line of fire and more devastatingly, right back to Sirius Black.

The train ride to England almost felt like a fever dream, your body left in a state of dissociation where you couldn’t discern whether your actions were real or just a part of some vivid nightmare that you couldn’t wake from no matter how much you tossed and turned.

And by the time you reached the front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place it felt like you were right back where you started, just barely twenty one thrust into a war that could leave you in your grave at any unfortunate minute.

It felt almost foreign to you as you entered, the hallways that once proved to be your substitute home reduced to unfamiliar sights covered in dust and peeling wallpaper. There was no brass lamps to warm the sight, no picture of your closest friends on the wall, not even the mirror that had been hung beside the door had survived, reduced to a half shattered mess that hadn’t been replaced under higher priorities.

“Oh—” The slightly surprised sentiment draws you away from your almost depressing nostalgia, drawn instead towards an almost perfect capture of teenage James Potter, down to the slanted circular glasses sat over his nose bridge.

It’s enough for you to genuinely consider for a second that you’d actually stepped back in time, right into your graduation year when you were all so young and full of hope.

But it couldn’t be James. As much as your heart desperately wished it was.

“You’re another member of the original Order of the Phoenix right?” The boy takes a few steps towards you, wonder still lingering in his eyes despite the film of knowledge that cloud them. Knowledge of just how unfortunately dark the world actually is. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m—”

”Harry…” Your interruption is barely more than a breath of air as you take in the sight of one of your closest friend’s child, a child that he never got to see grow into an almost perfect replica of himself. “You look just like your father…”

There’s a mix of shock and a small amount of sadness in his expression at your statement, and it’s enough for the glimpses of Lily to shine through in his demeanour. “Thank you,”

It’s enough for your eyes to well with tears, and you blink them away with a small clearing of your throat to regain your composure in front of the boy. He didn’t need to see you cry over the fact that he looked like one of your dead friends with the personality of another. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Harry, properly,” You extend your hand almost hesitantly as you introduce yourself, and he takes it graciously in his own with a small sympathetic smile. Being proxy comforted by a teenager, how pathetic.

“It’s nice to meet you too, my parents have good friends,” You give the boy a small nod with a small, sad smile, and he mirrors it himself in turn.

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve any of this,” You let your hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly in a terrible attempt at consoling the sadness riddling his expression. “You’re just a boy Harry,”

“I know,” He gives a small sigh and a more confident smile, sympathy lingering in the creases of his cheeks in a perfectly Lily fashion. “I’m sorry for your loss too, I know they probably meant a great deal to you,”

“They still do, that’s why I’m here,”

“Thank you,” He sounds more confident in his thanks this time, more determined, and the remnants of his parents continue to show on full display as his focus returns to the reason you’d arrived here in the first place. “We’re about to sit down for dinner, join us?”

“I’ll be there shortly,” You give Harry a small nod and another small squeeze of his shoulder before excusing yourself up the stairs to leave your belongings.

—

“Good evening everyone,” Your voice is taught and awkwardly flat as you push open the door to the dining room, and you stand there with your hands wrung together behind your back as your eyes flicker over the room.

There are so many people that the table is almost entirely too crowded, and a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces in your presence, although those who do recognise you leave their seats almost immediately to greet you properly.

“It’s good to see you,” Remus reaches you first, wrapping you in a secure hug that you happily return with your own.

“It’s good to see you too, Remus, it’s been too long,”

“Welcome back, we need all of the human shields we can get,” Mad Eye’s reuinionative statement is much less heart felt, but you give him a small laugh and a “Thank you,” nonetheless.

Then there was Sirius. Stood at his chair, not daring to walk into your little bubble under fear of whatever consequences that might come from it.

He looked almost as you remembered him, but he was leaner, more gaunt, his hair more unruly and his skin even more paper-white than the almost impossibly pale complexion of his teenage years.

He was still Sirius, but he was different, and it took less than half a second of eye contact for him to realise that you were different too.

“Welcome back,” His voice is hesitant, almost catching in his throat as his brain catches up to the fact that you’re stood in front of him, less than ten feet away after all of those years he’d spent desperately dreaming of what it would feel like to have you in his arms again.

Now you were here. And you were a stranger.

“Thank you,”

Dinner progresses pretty much how you expected, a mix of awkwardly introducing yourself to the Order’s new members and horrifically failing at avoiding eye contact with Sirius from across the table.

Then the topic of interest moves to the Order’s plans, and things seem to spin into a downwards spiral all too quickly.

“We don’t have enough members to reliably be able to pull this off,” The argument was entirely valid from a logical standpoint, a weakness that quite a few of the Order seemed to have choice opinions about.

“Yeah well we’re not getting any new members are we?” Sirius leans back in his chair exasperatedly. “With the way Fudge is portraying Dumbledore and the lack of official credibility, we’re on our own here, there’s no use in waiting around,”

“I’m inclined to agree, we all know you know who isn’t going to waste any time,

“It’s reckless,” You shake your head with furrowed eyebrows. “We not ready to face something like that head on.”

“We’re never going to be ready,” Sirius shakes his head with a sigh. “We have to take action before he has the chance to build himself back to where he was all those years ago.”

“Sirius is right, we need to do something,” Sirius gestures towards Harry’s response like it’s the final nail in the coffin against your reasoning.

“Harry, sweetheart, I appreciate your enthusiasm but you don’t know the extent of what we’re dealing with,” Your voice is as gentle as it is assertive, not wanting to put him down too much but also wanting to make sure he understood the true extent of what was going on.

“He killed my friend in front of me—”

“And he’s killed dozens of ours,” You shake your head softly but firmly. “Jumping in without a plan is only going to make things worse, trust me.”

He seems more than a little shot down, but he gives you a small nod of understanding nonetheless as he backs down from his standing.

Sirius doesn’t pay you the same mind.

“So you’re suggesting we just wait in hiding for what, forever? We need to act,”

“The last time you ‘acted’, Sirius, you spent twelve years in Azkaban for it.” Your rebuttal holds none of the softness that was present when you were talking to Harry, and you can see it eroding the calcified shield behind Sirius’s eyes.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Sirius presses his teeth together to keep himself from raising his voice, his back straightening alongside his defensiveness. “At least I’m trying to do something, if you don’t want to contribute maybe you shouldn’t be a part of the Order at all,”

“I will not have this argument with you again Sirius!” His chastation seems to finally get under your skin as you rise yourself from your chair with your hands on the dining table, ignorantly ignoring the uncomfortable gazes of everyone else present as you’re forced back into that evening fourteen years go all over again.

“Okay, I think it’s time we called it a night,” Remus, seemingly the only normally functioning person at the table, rises from his chair slowly, taking your shoulders in his hands to guide you away from the group and calm you down.

“Yes right you are Remus,” Molly stands up with a nod that’s almost too enthusiastic clasping her hands together. “Off to bed, all of you,”

You can practically hear the lingering exasperation in Remus’ breathing as he leads you up the stairs and into the room he was staying in, and the second he shut the door behind you you knew what you were in for.

“You need to speak to him.”

“I know,”

“Properly.”

“I know,”

You’re sure the sigh you let out echoes across the house’s first floor, and it’s enough for Remus’ eyes to shift into displaying a concerning amount of sympathy in your direction.

“He misses you, you know,” Remus takes a seat on the edge of his bed with a soft sigh. “He said the thought of seeing you again was the only thing that got him through Azkaban,”

“Yeah well he wouldn’t’ve gone there in the first place if he hadn’t’ve been such a hot-headed twat,” You wouldn’t lie that Remus’ statement didn’t hit you a little where it hurt, but the lingering anger towards Sirius’ situation was clearly still more forefront in your mind.

“It’s a carried trait in all of us ’m‘fraid,” Remus tilts his head knowingly, and you have half the mind to roll your eyes at the clear implication of what he’s saying.

But he isn’t wrong, not really.

“You know where to find him,”

There’s a small moment of silence, then a sigh. “Do I have to?”

“The longer you wait the worse it’ll be,”

Sometimes you hate how logical Remus can be.

With another sigh and a loll of your head, you reluctantly stuff your hands in your pockets and turn towards the bedroom door, muttering a soft—and only half genuine—“thanks,” in his direction as you leave.

The wooden door that barricaded you from the former love of your life felt more like steel than anything else. Tall, dark, and intimidating to the point where you couldn’t even consciously lift your hand to knock against it under the blood rushing behind your ears from how fast your heart was pounding in your ribcage.

It really shouldn’t be so scary, you’d spent weeks, months in that room when you’d originally joined the Order, yet now it felt entirely foreign to you.

Maybe it was the fact that the wood was slowly rotting away with how unkept it was. Maybe it was the knowledge of what—who—was on the other side of it. Or maybe, your mind was just so completely and utterly fucked that the idea of confronting the consequences of your own actions was more nerve-wracking than the idea of standing face to face in a death match with Voldemort himself.

You stand there staring dumbly at the door for almost two minutes, and when it opens your eyes widen like it’s a new form of magic that you’d never encountered.

Sirius halts halfway out the door, arm stretched straight with the doorknob still in hand as his face seems to go through an insurmountable number of emotions in the half-second it takes for him to realise you’re there.

You don’t say anything as you make eye-contact, head immediately ducking downward and stepping aside so that he can leave without you blocking his path, but he just stays there, staring at you like you had been the door, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

You clear your throat with a feigned cough, pursing your lips together with a muttered “excuse me,” as you turn around to leave, but Sirius catches your wrist in his hand before you even manage to take the first step.

“Wait—” He loosens his grasp almost immediately after he feels a resistance, but his eyes convey just how determined he was to keep you where you were. “Let’s talk, please?”

There��s a hint of desperation in his tone, and you almost crumble on that alone, but you manage to maintain your composure with a small shake of your head and a gentle pull of your wrist from his hand. “I don’t think it’s worth it Sirius, not anymore,”

“Don’t say that, we can fix this,” Sirius mirrors your head shake with his own. “You just need to talk to me,”

“I tried talking to you Sirius, and look where it got us,” You gesture between the two of you with exasperation in your tone.

There’s a small pause where the two of you share and almost identical mask of composure over your agony.

“It just wasn’t meant to be, that’s it,”

“That’s not true,” Sirius shakes his head again, more confidently this time, and his inky black curls bounce against his shoulders like they’re trying to torment you with the memories of your fingers raking through them. “We can fix this, us, we just have to try,”

“I don’t want to argue with you anymore,” You lower your gaze away from his so you don’t have to see the heartbreak in his irises. “Especially not over this…”

“Then don’t, let’s work this out properly, like adults,” He reaches out his hand cautiously towards yours, and you flinch away as your fingers make contact. “Please,”

“Sirius…”

“I’m sorry.” Sirius lets out a heavy, pathetic breath as he retreats his hand to run it through his hair. “I am so sorry. I made the biggest mistake of my life and it cost me the person that I love more than life and I have suffered the consequences of it every day for the last fourteen years.”

Sirius lets his hands fall to his side with a start, voice beginning to tremble under the strain of his emotions as he desperately tries to voice everything that he’d bottled up over the last decade and a half before you leave him to rot in his own depression again. “I spent every hour in Azkaban imagining what it would be like to see you again, to hear your voice, to hold you and tell you that you’re the one thing in this goddamn hell that we live in that actually makes anything worth fighting for,”

The breaths between his words are shallow and weak, and your expression starts to blur as his eyes glass over with the beginnings of tears. “I love you so much, and I’m so— sorry that you had to live through everything I forced on you and I just—“ He takes a sharp, stuttering breath in. “—I need you to know that I will spend the rest of my life devoted to you, to correcting what I’ve done even if you don’t so much as spare me a glance,”

He’s not sure when the tears started running over his eyelids, but he can feel them fall in drops to dapple the ivory skin of his fingers. “And if I die tomorrow, I’ll take whatever punishment hell has to give me so that you can rest easy,”

The end of his rant is echoed by laboured breathing and a horrific attempt at muffling a sob that leaves his throat, bouncing off the walls of the hallway to settle into your muscles as you stand stationary in an astonished silence.

You’re not sure what to say. You’re not sure there’s anything you can say. How on earth are you supposed to respond to something like that? Something so desperate and raw and real?

Sirius Black, after fourteen years of radio silence, still loved you like you’d never parted.

“Sirius…”

And you’d be absolutely damned if you weren’t the same.

“I forgive you…”

It’s like a tsunami of relief ravages Sirius’ body at your words, barely a whisper escaping your mouth but invading his ear canals like a nuclear explosion, and it’s enough for that sliver of composure remaining to erode under the waves of his tears until he’s sobbing into his hands, hunched over with trembling shoulders as he lets everything go all at once.

“I’m so sorry—“

His final apology is doused in so much heartbreak it might as well rip your heart right out of your chest, and your at his side almost immediately, gently pulling his hand from his face to pull his head into your shoulder with a soft shush of consolation.

He clings to you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to, tears damping the shoulder of your shirt and his arms wrapped so tightly around your torso you’re not sure he intends to ever let go. You’re not sure you’d complain if he didn’t.

That familiar musky scent of cigarettes and faux leather hits your nose once he’s close enough, and that’s where you break too, silent tears streaming down your face as you bury your nose in his hair.

You’re eternally grateful that everyone on this floor of the house is already asleep, either that or just polite enough not to interrupt the two of you out in the hallway, because the state the both of you were in was definitely not meant to be seen by other people.

A desolate, broken side to the two of you only trusted in the company of the other.

“Stay with me tonight, please…” His plea is barely more than a mutter against your shoulder, and you’re sure he wouldn’t even have to ask to know what your answer would be.

And so you find yourself back where you started, tangled up underneath the silky black sheets of Sirius’ bed in the warmth of his embrace, that tiny shard of your heart finally recovered and back in it’s rightful place.

Right where you belong.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black angst #asks 🪶

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

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

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

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peachdues · 4 months

Text

y’all horny.

Enjoy a cut smut scene from The Great War, featuring Giyuu’s unlocked creampie kink.

MDNI. Explicit sexual content below.

His eyes fixed hard on the single bead of white that dribbled out of her sex, trailing down the curve of her backside before staining the silk of the kimono spread out below her. Curious, he traced the path it left with his finger, smearing it against her skin.

“Can you feel it?” He sat back on his knees, eyes still glued to his fiancé’s glistening core. “Can you still feel me inside you?”

Her eyebrows drew together in concentration, and she shifted her legs, slowly relaxing one to lay flat on the floor, the other still bent at her knee.

Her eyes widened. “Yes,” and Giyuu felt something smug and prideful roar to life in his chest as he watched her thighs tense. “It’s warm; very warm.” She bit her lip. “But — I think it’s leaking out.”

“Does it — do you like it?” Giyuu’s gaze dropped back down to where another thin stream of milky white escaped down the underside of her thigh. “Do you like how it feels?”

He knew he most certainly liked how it looked — a corporeal reminder that she’d chosen him, waited for him to return and allowed him to make her his once more.

That she’d accepted him — all of him — without reservation.

Greedily, Giyuu danced his fingers along her inner thigh eager to seek her out once more. He glanced back up at his fiancé and saw that her cheeks had turned bright pink.

“Yes,” her eyes did not dare leave his, even as she mashed her lips together as Giyuu pressed the pads of his fingers against her entrance in an effort to keep his seed inside her. “It reminds me this is real, and not just some desperate dream I’ve conjured.”

“It’s real,” he covered her body with his, catching her lips in a feverish kiss, savoring her responding moan. “It is real, and we are here, together; and I will never part from you again.”

Against her hip, Y/N felt his cock begin to stiffen once more. “Let me show you,” he implored her, his hand skirting down the outside of her thigh, coaxing one of her legs to hook over his shoulder, before stretching to do the same with the other.

With his weight pressing down against the underside of her thighs, pushing her knees nearly to her chest, Giyuu reached between them and gripped his hardened length.

“Let me show you,” he repeated again. “Let me fill you again, my treasure. I will do it as many times as necessary — even if it takes all night — if only to show you how real this is.”

He pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, and Y/N cried out, her hands flying to grip his hips as she urged him closer. Above her, Giyuu shifted so his weight pushed her legs flush against her chest, her hips lifting off the floor of his engawa. With a small whine, Y/N’s hold on his hips tightened and then she was pulling him into her once more, the slickness left behind by their previous climaxes allowing her to take him to the hilt without resistance.

Once he was fully sheathed within her warmth, Y/N adjusted her hold on him, moving her hands from their place at his hips to behind him, letting her fingers dig into the firmness of his backside as she held him flush against her.

“Fuck.” Giyuu moaned, bracing his arm against the wood over her head. Y/N’s knees were almost resting near her ears, yet she only pushed harder against his rear, her nails sinking into his skin in a silent command to move.

His groin pressed flush against her core, the former Water Pillar began rolling his hips, each movement pushing his cock deeper and deeper into his beloved’s euphoric heat.

“I’ll show you,” he promised her, their foreheads pressed together. “I’ll show you how this is real.”

He ground against her, hard, prompting a stifled squeak from the Shrine Maiden below him, her eyes large and locked with his.

Giyuu’s voice dropped to a growl. “And I’ll show you how you’re mine.”

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny giyuu #giyuu x reader #kny smut #giyuu smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer fanfic

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katealpha · 14 days

Text

Art by RandomGirl1265

While many of the underground facilities built by Vault-Tec have been uncovered over the two centuries that went by after the bombs fell over America. However, one of Los Angeles’ deepest secrets lie just underneath the decimated (and formerly named before the war) Chinese Theater.…

————-

Christina Kirby was just your average movie and TV actress in her late 20s. Born into money and practically raised by Hollywood, she had a promising career ahead of her. The Great War hadn’t affected her life all that much, though one day, she was brought to one of those vaults that were being created in case the worst happened. The plan was outlined to her as she was given a tour around the place. That when the bombs started to fall, she‘d be notified the second any bombs were detected headed towards the country, minutes before any nuclear sirens started going off, and she and other Hollywood names would live underground until the all clear.

It was a neat little place. It was furnished comfortably with many of the decorations based on the Hollywood esthetic. Movie posters, a walk of fame in the hallways, everything looking shiny. Her room was practically a smaller version of what she had in her mansion, but still comfortable and private.

When she was driven home after the tour, she was getting ready to walk through her front door, when she felt herself being grabbed from behind and a wet cloth pressed against her nose and mouth. Christina passed out within seconds, hardly able to struggle.….

————280 Years Later———-

A hydraulic hiss woke Christina up suddenly. Everything was blurry and misty as a glass door opened before her into a dim hallway. She felt horrible. Sweaty, sore, and most of all, severely bloated. As she stepped out of the cylindrical pod, she felt slow and heavy to boot. When her vision cleared, Christina looked down to see that her belly was disgustingly swollen. A gasp left her lips as her hands moved to feel herself. It didn’t take long for her to feel something moving inside of her. That she was pregnant. Very pregnant. Her heart sank and Christina imm began to waddle down one way, searching for anything that could help her, or give her answers.

As she made her way down, she passed by more of those pods like the one she was in. Inside she saw more women. All of them sporting baby bumps of various size. Some looking less than 9 months with one, some looking like they were carrying quadruplets. They all stood still, sleeping. Some were subconsciously caressing their bellies as they shifted and jostled with whatever lie within. Christina looked up and gasped again, seeing their faces and seeing their names on the tops of the pods. All of them were other actresses. Many having much more recognizable names than her. A List stars to lesser known actresses like herself. All Christina could do as she wandered through this place was wonder what was happening to them and why.

———-—

After finding a shower chamber and rinsing off, Christina managed to fit a blue and yellow jumpsuit on and began exploring, hoping to find food and water. She found water cans first, then some food stores with cereal and canned goods. Then, she found various terminals. All of them revealing more and more about what was really going on here.

Apparently, this was part of some horrendous experiment to preserve pre war Hollywood. By kidnapping nearly every prominent actress in the industry, stick them down in this lab, and inseminate them with the seed of multiple sports stars. To combine the genes of the most physically fit men in America with who many considered to be the most beautiful and influential women in entertainment. That by doing this, a new generation of potential entertainers could populate the wasteland. It all made Christina want to throw up, especially with the knowledge that the outside world was a nuclear hellhole, and that over two centuries had gone by, the pods preserving the actresses perfectly, as well as their unborn children.

After Christina gained ahold of her bearings, she ventured to an elevator and arrived in the living quarters upstairs. The place she remembered touring through what felt like yesterday. It was still in decent condition. The vault hadn't been discovered by the outside world, and everything was as it was left by the science staff. A trek up to the Overseer’s office revealed that not only was he dead, but killed by the scientists, who collectively agreed not to participate before their pregnancies reached full term. They left the vault together after over a decade, shutting it behind the. Only the robotic staff and the test subjects remained.

Now, Christina had a choice. One that had her stumped. From that terminal, she could override the pods, and release every woman in the lower levels. Let all those actresses wake up to the same horror Christina had. She couldn’t know what reactions would happen as a result, but she wouldn’t be alone, and the truth would prevail. However, she could also let them rest with their children still inside, and leave this place behind to start a new life. It was a tough choice…one that she hadn’t too much time to make, as one more question popped into her already overwhelmed mind.

When am I giving to give birth?..

#pregnant #pregnancy #pregnant kink #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout new vegas #video games #fanart #fallout fanart

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dark-and-kawaii · 3 months

Note

Thank you for writing such good breeding kink. 🫡 This war needs good soldiers like you. Raphael and Haarlep breeding is my actual kryptonite.

Bred By The Incubus & Devil

-Separate Stories-

Haarlep x f!Tav/Reader - Raphael x f!Tav/Reader

18+

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: You are so so so welcome!!! Thank you for the love and support you beautiful babe!!! I’m happy to provide!! And because we are both weak when it comes to Raphael & Haarlep breeding I wish to bestow this gift to you!!! xoxo have a beautiful day/night!!! I hope you enjoy xoxo

⋆˙⟡♡ Raphael ♡⟡˙⋆

“Mmmm, Raphael?” You whispered, “My devil, I’m achy again.”

Your pregnancy was the result of his desire, his deliberate act of claiming you, breeding you until your form swelled with the successor he sired. The early arrival of your milk, too, unfolded by his command, for he would lavish attention upon you, coaxing the initial droplets into constant flows that ensured your thoughts were filled only with him, marking you unmistakably as his own.

Your hand drifted to one of your hard nipples, your breast so swollen it was already starting to leak. You whimpered quietly to yourself before nudging Raphael softly, “my king~” and he began to stir. You bit your lip while watching him, his hair disheveled, his brows furrowed, he was so beautiful like this, and it was a sight only for your eyes.

You leaned into his warmth, pressing a kiss against his collarbone and then the base of his neck, his scent so thick here. Your hips rocked slightly against his thigh, your heat slickening his leg.

You knew his cock was already hard, ever since you had given him the crown the thing always seemed to be hard when you were near him. It was like an unspoken instinct for him to fill you up with his seed, to make you round and fat with his child.

“Always such an eager little pup,” he teased, his voice still heavy with sleep. He moved without hurry, his movements precise and practiced as he pulled you on top of him, the way he liked you best.

It wasn't long before he was deep inside of you, filling you completely. You were still a little tight, but with your pregnancy and constant fucking, your body was quickly becoming accustomed to the intrusion.

You rocked back and forth, rolling your hips just the way he liked, the way that drove him absolutely wild. You gasped and moaned, his hand gripping your hips so tight they would certainly bruise later.

“Such an obedient mortal,” he said through gritted teeth.

You whimpered softly, his praise making you gush.

“Do you wish to cum, pup?” He asked, his voice teasingly soft.

You nodded, your hips never stopping their steady rhythm, “Ye-yes my l-love~ b-but my breasts~♡“ you panted and moaned.

He grinned, his smile devilish, “Please articulate your desires with grace. Should your request be presented with courtesy, I may be inclined to fulfill it, little mouse.”

You flushed a deep shade of red, the nickname he gave you only adding to the effect, his words were like fire on your skin, you could never get enough of them.

You took a breath, steadying yourself, before finally speaking, the words falling from your lips in a sweet song, like honey, “I- I wish for you to relieve me, my Archdevil~. I wish for you to taste the fruit of your labor, and drain the nectar from my breasts~.” Your cheeks were a deep red, embarrassed by the things he made you say.

Raphael smiled, he loved the way you submitted to him, the way you obeyed, the way you said what he wanted you to say. You were so perfect, so beautiful, and it was his will that you would remain by his side for eternity, his precious little mouse.

He had chosen you, after all.

He could have anyone, yet he chose you. Such a gift was not one to be taken lightly.

“Very well,” is all he said before you felt his tongue upon you, the flat of it gliding against the swollen skin, before his lips enclosed around the pert little bud. You moaned and writhed, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your hips moving erratically. The feeling of instant relief and ecstasy overwhelming you.

It was a taste Raphael would never grow tired of.

You tasted sweeter than the sweetest wine, better than any of the delicacies the world had to offer. His tongue swirled around your nipple, his mind drifting to the thoughts of impregnating you again after this child was born. Would you let him? You had no choice in the matter, he would take what he pleased, as he was entitled to do.

You were his and his alone.

You were his Queen.

His little mortal.

His precious, precious little mouse.

⋆˙⟡♡ Haarlep ♡⟡˙⋆

With Haarlep now accompanying you in Baldur's Gate, their presence by your side in public spaces became constant. The sight of strangers eyeing you as if you were available incensed them deeply. You belonged to Haarlep, solely theirs, and they were determined to make that clear to everyone in the city. If demonstrating their exclusive claim over you was what it took to deter prying eyes, then that was precisely what Haarlep would do...

Haarlep was relentless.

“Beg, little dove-" they hiss, hauling your legs up so easily to your chest, “beg to be filled yet again~”

“Hgh~ Haarlep! P-pleeeease~ ♡” you whined, tears rolling down your cheeks. The stretch was always unbearable at first but gods did it feel good once you grew accustomed to it.

The strong grip they had on you was definitely enough to bruise where their fingertips dug into your soft flesh, “Nhh’~ M-more, please~ F-fill me with your thick, hot cum~ ♡ P-please, I need it~ I wan’ it- Hhhngh~"

"They stare at you with such hunger-," his thick thighs heavy on your body, “but their precious savior belongs to an incubus,” Haarlep smirked, “a vile creation that feeds off of her soul and pleasure-“ another snap of their hips, “Would they still stare at you with such preying eyes if they knew what was about to be growing within you I wonder~”

Your eyes widen, a fresh wave of arousal and excitement washing over you.

"I'll make sure the whole city knows whose precious hole this is," the incubus hissed, a low chuckle in their throat, “that their hero was defiled by a fiend, impregnated by a creature of the Abyss~ How delicious indeed~”

In all truth, there's so much of Haarlep’s cum in you already, that you were probably bloated by now- at least you felt like you were. Haarlep had never been inclined towards gentleness, only on rare occasions… This was not one of those rare moments. This was about their sense of ownership over you, and it had escalated to unprecedented levels… Especially after watching a halfling man eyeing you for far too long for their liking…

Your little whines are enough to provoke a growl from the creature, sliding their stupidly large cock back into you, their thick body heavy against yours, “You are mine, my little dove~ Solely my hands have the right to claim you in such a manner, only I can elicit those cries of my name from you, hm?"

"M’yours~ All y-yours~" your hands reach out, gripping onto their biceps, trying to hold onto anything, trying to ground yourself.

Your body was shaking, the feeling of your cervix relentlessly fucked made you a whimpering mess, the only word you knew was their name, and even that was a struggle.

Your walls clench and cling to their thick, long cock when they pull back out before pushing in again, much faster, fucking their last load of cum into you again. The ring of cream around their cock and the wet, sloppy sound of their hips meeting yours was a filthy symphony.

Haarlep chuckled darkly, “You will look so radiant while bearing my offspring~"

It was a fantasy of yours, one you had only recently brought up with the creature .

"Hah- ah~ ♡!!”

It was all so perfect.

The sloppy sounds of your cunny being destroyed by an incubus, their threat- no, their promise to fill you with their hot seed until you were swollen with their child- children, your body covered in sweat, tears, and bruises. It was the life you wanted, the life you craved after bringing them back with you.

"I want all the devils of the nine hells and all the mortals in this realm to know just who you belong to!”

They noticed how your eyes fluttered back at the mere idea of bearing their child. It was a fresh fantasy Haarlep harbored and was eager to realize…

And so they did.

Again.

And again.

Three children later, your beauty and suitability for the incubus remained as impeccable as when they first made you theirs. Your abdomen, once again enlarged with another child they had sown within you, didn't diminish your allure.

Haarlep, with a smile at the vision of your curved abdomen, declared, “I will ensure that you always remember who reigns over you~”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #haarlep #tav #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #haarlep x tav #raphael x reader #haarlep x reader #bg3 smut

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flowerandblood · 9 months

Text

A Wife's Only Duty

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Aemond • Targaryen x wife • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, toxic relation, violence, marital rape, choking, character death ]

[ description: The war changes Aemond beyond recognition, and his wife becomes the target of his eternal abuse, also in bed. One day, however, he crosses the limits and has to face the consequences. Angst, violence, marital rape, very dark!Aemond. ]

This oneshot is an Anon Request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these oneshots will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

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

My others works: Masterlist

____

At the beginning of their marriage he was terrified. He had no idea how to handle this young, gentle girl who, by his parents' decision, became his wife. Her presence embarrassed him, he hid his feelings behind a mask of indifference and hostility, he deliberately did not allow her to get close to him even when she tried.

He had had a few one-off adventures with servants before marrying her, but at the time he cared less for their fulfilment than for his own, treating them like vessels in which he drained his seed.

During their wedding night, he didn't know how to act, her face pale and frightened, he guessed her mother had warned her that the act would only be pleasurable for him.

He ordered her to lie on her stomach and she did so without a word. He told her to lift her hips and spread her thighs, and she did. He liked how meek and obedient she was and thought he would try to be gentle, that way he would reward her.

He heard her breathing hard and stifling sounds of discomfort as he entered her, as he began to move slowly inside her, panting hard, her hands clenched on the pillow. She was tighter than he had expected, her walls squeezing him from all sides, giving him pleasure he had never experienced before.

Unwittingly, he began to slide faster into her, panting louder and louder, her sounds of discomfort becoming more pronounced, he heard her cry out softly.

"− quiet −" He exhaled coolly, for she tightened her lips and fell silent, taking what he was giving her, cuddling her face into the pillow, obediently waiting for the end, which came soon after.

He cum inside her with a loud sound of relief and found to his surprise that he was satisfied.

"− you did well, wife −" He praised her with a low murmur, sliding out her slowly, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her whole body quivering.

He let her stay with him that night, she moved away from him to the other end of the bed and did not speak to him. The next day at breakfast, he saw that she sat up in pain, a look of discomfort painted on her face that she tried to hide by adopting at least a partially satisfied expression. She tried to start a light discussion about nothing, but he was not interested in that and remained silent.

After several of their close-ups, something changed, since she directed his hand between her thighs as he slid into her with deep, sure movements, since he discovered the point between her folds, her insides became exceptionally moist and sticky, no more gasps of exertion came from her lips, only moans, her insides clenched against him.

"− please, husband − touch me like this −" She mumbled, and he felt his manhood throbbing hard at her words, some kind of pride and satisfaction filled his chest, so he did as she asked.

That night was the first time he had seen female fulfilment.

Since then she had sought the closeness of his body herself, unable to bond with him outside of bed, approaching him in this way, and he had not spurned her. He could consider that at this point their marital life was quite successful, approaching what might be called a bond, even if only carnal, still close.

And then Luke died because of his stupidity.

He saw a change in her, her face, her eyes no longer lit up with desire at the sight of him, he saw pain and horror in her, she blamed him for starting the war, for making them no longer safe.

"What is the meaning of that look, sweet wife?" He asked, staring at her watchfully, his fingers rubbing against each other in a gesture of frustration that she knew all too well. She swallowed loudly, apparently wondering strenuously how to ease his anger.

"Forgive me. I'm terrified." She whispered, and he, without knowing why, burst into laughter. He approached her and she took a step back, her eyes wide.

He didn't like that.

"Come here. Come here, I say." He hissed, furious as she tried to pull away from him, his hand clamped tightly on her shoulder. He turned her around with her back to him and forced her to bend over, but she still tried to break free.

"− no − please − please, husband, I don't want to −" She mumbled out with difficulty, her voice and body trembling, her tiny fingers clenched helplessly on his skin. He pressed his lips to her ear.

"− you don't want to? − are you disgusted with your kinslayer husband? hm? − you swore to me, you fucking whore −" He growled furiously, struggling against her, pulling up her skirt in a violent motion, grabbing her head by her hair and pressing her cheek against the table.

She cried out loudly as he entered her suddenly and violently, panting hard, sliding into her hard and fast.

"− that's it − fucking take it −" He growled out, pumping his length into her so fast and aggressively that he felt like he was going to pierce through her stomach, her sobs mixed with her moans.

He slipped his hand between her thighs, teasing her pearl in circular, slow motions, her lips parted, horror and indecision on her face, her walls throbbing on him suddenly. He licked his lips feeling it.

"− just like that − that's my good wife − it's okay now, I forgive you −" He breathed out, fucking her with all his strength, the sticky, loud slapping of flesh against flesh echoing through his chamber. He chuckled under his breath as he felt her come suddenly, moaning and whimpering, her legs trembling all over as waves of pleasure ran through her body.

"− fucking knew it − greedy little whore −"

From then on, their rapprochements became more and more violent and aggressive because of him, because of what had happened to Aegon, because of what had happened to Helaena, because of Alys, whom he fucked every time he appeared in Harrenhal, because she was expecting his bastard child and his wife still hadn't given him an heir.

"− you drink Moon Tea, don't you? − say it, or I'll strangle you −" He growled, his cock slamming against her back wall again and again, pushing her walls to their limits, his two hands clenched on her neck. She cried out, all pale, shaking her head.

"− no − no −" She mumbled wearily, and he pressed his lips together, looking at her with rage.

"− fucking whore − you think I'm an idiot? − that I don't know? − that I don't know that you hate me, that you abhor the thought that you could bear my child? −" He wailed in despair, feeling like he was about to burst into sobs for some reason, her eyes rolled back, her breath caught in her throat.

If he had let her go then, she would have been able to tell him that she was expecting his offspring.

His hands held her neck in an iron grip until he finally reached his peak inside her with a growl of pain and relief. He looked at her face, panting heavily, her eyes empty, her body lying still.

She was not breathing.

He let go of her suddenly, looking at her with wide eyes, his hands trembling in the air. He touched her cheek and patted her lightly, as if he wanted to wake her from her slumber.

"My love? My love, wake up. I didn't really mean it, I would never hurt you." He babbled out with difficulty, his throat tighten, his heart pounding like mad, he felt like his head was spinning.

She didn't react, her absent gaze fixed somewhere far away, into nothingness, her lips slightly parted, her body soft and relaxed.

He whined like an animal, pressing his face to her cheek, holding her still warm body close, the tears he hadn't let fall for years dripping down his face.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry − I'm so sorry − please, forgive me −" He cried out in despair, cradling her in his arms like a small child, stroking her hair. He lowered her onto his bed again, stroking her cheek, kissing her nose, her forehead, her lips as tenderly and gently as ever.

"− please, wake up − please, I promise I'll change −" He mumbled, but it was too late, all that remained was her empty body, her heart no longer beating, on her neck bruises from the grip of his hands.

She ran away from him where he could no longer hurt her.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @verena-targaryen-writes @travelingmypassion @cryingforlife

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simp2537 · 3 months

Note

Darkling x breeding kink + spanking?🙈

Marking

a/n: My motivation has been low as of late, and my life has gotten really busy as of late. Also I’m really liking my tidemaker! Reader that invented so I’m gonna used her unless specifically told otherwise or if I just feel like not using her. As always hope you enjoy.

Warnings: breeding kink, spanking, dom!Aleksander and sub!Reader, safe word is not established but is their, p in v smut, dacryphilia, war room smut, tidemaker!Reader

Aleksander Morozova x fem! Reader

You weren’t sure if it was the hard wooden desk digging into your bare hips, the relentless pounding of Aleksander cock inside your dripping cunt or if his harsh hand landing in your ass was what sent you to tears. Your hands grinned onto the desk, trying to center yourself as Aleksander took out all his pent up frustrations of the day on you.

It had not been a good day for your lover. First the king had been particularly nauseating, the grisha were still unsafe as always and to top it off some new noble man made a move on you in front of him. Loyal as you were you denied the man and went to go to him only for the man to touch you.

Aleksander grunted as he felt you grip his cock deep inside. Your moan and gasps were bouncing off the wall and he hoped that everyone would hear. His hand landed hard against the angry red of your ass. You jolted as his opposite hand dug its way through your hair, pulling you up slightly.

He sucked up your neck, biting and leaving marks in his wake. You moaned as he began to suck on the sweet spot of your neck. His gently lowered you back into the desk that moved with every snap of his hips. His free hand moved to your pearl, rubbing fast and steady circles on the nerves. Your moaning increased as he kissed at the back of your neck. His hand colliding with your red ass.

“You’re doing so well for me milaya.” Aleksander praised as your tears hit the desk. You babbled cockdrunk as he hit that spot that always left your mouth gaping.

“I’m gonna shove my cum so fair into your cunt that it takes and everyone will know you’re mine.” The coil inside you tightened the eating to burst. Your moan grew higher, louder, more erratic.

“Sasha! I’m gonna cum- Sasha! Please!” You begged as he smacked your ass again. His over composer began to dwindle as he groan his thrusts growing fast as his own organism grew more apparent.

“I can’t wait to see you swelling with our child. All round and so full of me, all mine. Mine.” He grunted as you whimpered. With a cry of his name you came hard. His own release happening right after. You both panted as he pulled himself out. Your mixed juices dripped onto the floor until her shoved his finger in.

“Don’t want to waste anything, right my Tidemaker?” Aleksander sighed as he kissed your neck. You mumbled softly, not having the energy to be much of a brat. After a while her pulled his finger out and sucked in your combined juices. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap.

He scrapped his kefta over your bare form and kissed your forehead. You nuzzled into him as your eyes dropped.

“Do you think my seed will take?” Aleksander mumbled in between kissing your neck.

“If it doesn’t we can always try again.” He chuckled a smile landing in his face. His darling Tidemaker, always so eager.

#aleksander morozova x you #aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone netflix #aleksander morozova smut #reqs open #answered #general kirigan x you #general kirigan x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling smut

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motherofdogs1010 · 22 days

Text

Of Messiahs and Seeds III (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: The game has begun of one monarch against another, and with the fate of the colonies at play and winter fast approaching, Y/N is forced to think of hard decisions to make just to keep her people safe.

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW dark!fic, obsessed Paul, yandere! Paul, eventual forced marriage, eventual pregnancy, talks of war, eventual NONCON/DUB CON

Dividers @firefly-graphics Banner @vase-of-lilies

Part I Part II

The Apollo Colony was the first to lose contact and it felt like the beginning of a long game; one where Y/N knew her rule was soon to be tested.

And the dreams had only gotten worse and more frequent; Y/N found that practically any time she closed her eyes, Paul was there to whisper in her ear and it was beginning to be difficult to figure out what was reality.

Y/N looked at the heirloom crystal in her hand as she sat on her balcony; she wondered how her mother would be handling this right now.

The moon hung bright and full as always with her scaly children sleeping below as she stood up, her nightgown clinging to her body as she saw the city around her with the people happily bustling around for the night life.

She sighed as she walked into her bedroom, winter was coming in a few weeks and the winters were always harsh on Terra M above the equator. It looked like a tundra when the winters arrived and felt like the inside of a ice cube, which prompted so many resources to keep everyone afloat.

Paul felt pleased with himself as he sat in his room, the hologram of his future bride in front of him. He had invaded her dreams, filling them with their promised future that he had seen; he could practically feel her hair through his fingers, and hear the newborn cries of their son as he came into the world.

It was all falling into plan, Terra M was about to go into its harsh winters and be left vulnerable if he was correct. They heavily relied on their built-up resources to make it through the three-month-long brutal winter since the population lived above an equator.

Those dragons of his beloved would go into hibernation underground; that would leave one defense gone and away. He wouldn't dare to hurt them, they were an extension of his love and he knew how she cared for the scaled beasts.

"Paul", his mother said as she entered the room.

Her blue eyes bore into his as she said, "It's been taken care of, Irulan will no longer sand in your way."

Yes, everything was falling into place.

There was just one final thing left to do...

The smell of ash made its way into her nose as she felt the harsh winter air against her skin, she breathed out and saw her icy breath as she exhaled. Her skin prickled from the cold as she looked around, seeing the white, virgin piles of snow around her as she tried to get her bearings.

"Hello, my love."

Quickly turning around, Y/N saw him, saw Paul standing there with his cheeks and nose pink from the cold.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, "Terra has done nothing to the Empire."

"It isn't what Terra has done, but rather what you have done, my Queen."

Paul slowly began to circle her, the crunching of snow under his weight as he did. Snowflakes fell at a soft, slow pace as he spoke, "You have overtaken my mind, left me vulnerable to feelings that I thought I was immune to feeling again."

"That is not my fault", she argued.

"Oh, but it is", Paul smirked, "your very existence is your fault and that is something that your people will pay for."

Jolting awake, Y/N found herself alone once more as she scooted up the bed and pushed her hair back. She tried to steady her breathing as she felt as if it she looked out into the darkness, she would be able to see the glimmer of him smirking.

🌎

"We must devise a plan", Sir Lance argued, "they have taken the Apollo Colony. The only logical choice for them to grab next is the Athenian Colony and we must devise a plan of attack."

The Council meeting was buzzing with ideas, and arguments of what to do as Y/N listened to the proposed ideas. It was true, she needed to confront the Empire and its might but it has to be logical, fool-proof.

"Lord York", she finally said, the man looking at her. "Get as much information on the Great Houses and the Empire's armies. There will be a weak spot."

"And once we have the weak spot, your grace?"

"We rip them out like a weed, one by one."

TAGLIST

@ninastyless @james-bucky-barnackle @astarborntowrite @maggiecc @radiantdanvers @croatianprincess @deluxeplanteater @szapizzapanda @khaleesihavilliard @deathsimp @frickyea-guacamole19

#reader insert #x reader #chubby reader #dune part ii #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #paul atredies smut #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides x you

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perfectsunlight · 1 year

Text

𝗝𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗦.

𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶 𝗽𝗵𝗮𝗺 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟮.𝟮𝗸

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗮 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆.

𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱: ✔

hanni’s favorite feeling was the one she felt whenever she was with you.

the newjeans member felt her heart filling with so much genuine and sincere love for you whenever she laid her eyes on you. she loved you and everything that made you, you. from your eyes and their gaze, to your hands and their touch, you were heaven incarnate for hanni.

however, hanni soon realized that she didn’t like the feeling she got when she saw you and minji.

jealousy. a foreign feeling to pham hanni. the idol never got jealous before, which surprised the both of you in the beginning. but you both grew to realize that the security she felt was enough to outweigh her insecurities or doubts.

unfortunately, that wasn’t the case this time around.

a cloud of jealousy began to cast its shadow over hanni's heart, tarnishing her feelings in a way she didn’t like at all. it gnawed at her, like a persistent ache that refused to fade away. she tried to ignore it, burying her unease beneath smiles and feigned indifference, but the more she observed your interactions with minji, the stronger the pang of jealousy grew.

in her mind, she understood that friendships and connections could exist outside of your romantic relationship. she knew that you and minji had a history together, a bond forged through your shared passion for music. you were a member of the group fifty fifty, but before that you had been a trainee with minji. the two of you were friends. always had been, and always would be. but knowing it intellectually was vastly different from grappling with the emotions that surged within her.

hanni questioned herself, doubting her own worth and wondering if she was somehow lacking, compared to the easy camaraderie between you and minji. in the quiet corners of her mind, a voice whispered insidiously, planting seeds of insecurity. it taunted her, feeding her fears of being replaced or forgotten.

every time she witnessed the two of you engrossed in a private conversation, sharing laughter or inside jokes, hanni felt a twinge of exclusion. it felt like she was an outsider looking in, longing to be part of that intimate connection you shared with minji. but instead, she found herself standing on the periphery, watching as your friendship flourished, while her jealousy grew like an unbridled wildfire.

unable to contain her emotions any longer, hanni found herself teetering on the precipice of confrontation. she knew she had to communicate her feelings, to lay bare the vulnerable corners of her heart, but the fear of rejection held her back. what if her jealousy was dismissed as baseless or irrational? what if it pushed you further away?

nevertheless, she chose to ignore it all. she would rather die than tell you she was feeling jealous. to be honest, she simply thought it would just go away on its own.

she couldn’t have been more wrong.

“y/n, stop moving.” you groaned as you felt minji pulling your arm back towards her. the warmth of your body was currently supplying minji with comfort as well as you laid across her lap. the both of you, as well as the rest of her members, were watching the first movie in your “movie marathon” night.

however, hanni couldn’t help but stare at you two with a war inside her heart and mind.

you had laid on minji’s lap because you always did that. it was something you two had done for years, even before you started dating hanni. plus, it wasn’t like minji was hugging and kissing you.

so why did it bother her so much that you were so close to minji?

the scene played out before hanni's eyes, each second etching deeper into her consciousness. her heart pounded in her chest, and the ache of jealousy intensified. the logical part of her mind battled against the irrational, but the battle seemed futile.

as the movie played on, hanni's focus shifted from the screen to you and her member. her thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of emotions and doubts, fueling her jealousy even further. she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being replaced or sidelined, that her place in your heart was being threatened.

hanni's breathing quickened, her palms growing clammy as her internal struggle raged on. she couldn't continue living in the shadow of her own insecurities. but on the other hand, she didn’t want to make you feel like you had to pick between her or your friend.

leaving the comfort of her seat, hanni excused herself quietly from the movie night, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her inner turmoil. she needed space, a moment to collect her thoughts and gather the courage to address the swirling tempest inside her.

finding solace in the solitude of the bathroom, hanni closed the door behind her, shutting out the outside world and the scene she had witnessed. she leaned against it, feeling the coolness seep through her back, grounding her in that moment. taking a deep breath, she mustered every ounce of courage she possessed.

she reached for her phone and began typing, her fingers flying across the screen as she poured her heart into a heartfelt message. each word was carefully chosen, each sentence crafted with sincerity and vulnerability.

"y/n, i need to talk to you."

hanni hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. doubts and fears crept back in, whispering the possibility of rejection and the potential damage she could cause. overcome with her second thoughts, she deleted the message and put her phone back into her pocket.

this feeling had to go away. for her sake, and for the sake of your relationship.

after that evening, you noticed hanni was a little off. she was suddenly very clingy, always wanting to hug you from behind or hold your hand a bit longer. hanni was never against pda, but this was definitely more than what you were used to with her.

if only you knew the real reason why. however, you weren’t one to complain about your girlfriend being more affectionate.

however, hanni's internal struggle intensified, the battle between her desire to protect her relationship and her fear of vulnerability tearing her apart. she didn't want to burden you with her jealousy, convinced that it would only drive you away. so, she swallowed her emotions, burying them deep within her heart.

days turned into weeks, and the weight of her unspoken jealousy continued to grow. the vietnamese girl couldn’t shake this lingering emotion of envy. and to make things worse, you and minji had been spending a lot more time together.

first it was minji inviting you over to play wii sports with her. hanni wanted to join you two, but she felt as if she was third wheeling her girlfriend and best friend. or maybe that's just the way she interpreted it through her jealousy.

hanni watched from a distance as you and minji laughed and played wii sports together. the sound of your laughter echoed in her ears, twisting her heart with a mix of longing and insecurity. she wanted to be a part of that joy, to share those moments with you and her friend, but her jealousy held her back.

as the days went by, hanni found herself increasingly on edge, her emotions bubbling beneath the surface. she couldn't bear the thought of losing you, but her jealousy continued to eat away at her, clouding her judgment and fueling her doubts.

things only got worse when hanni walked in on you wearing one of minji’s sweaters.

the girl’s face twisted into confusion. why were you wearing minji’s sweater instead of hers? did you not want to wear it anymore?

hanni's heart sank as she witnessed the scene before her. the sight of you wearing minji's sweater struck her like a blow to the chest, intensifying her feelings of insecurity and jealousy. doubts flooded her mind, casting shadows over the love she believed you shared.

but once again, she simply kept pushing her emotions further and further down. “it’s just a sweater,” she kept telling herself as the day dragged on. “it’s just a stupid sweater.”

if only your girlfriend knew that the reason you were wearing minji’s sweater was because you were washing hanni’s after wearing it for two weeks straight. you and hanni had a rule where you both could only steal one piece of clothing from each other at a time. so instead of breaking your little rule, you decided to just borrow something from your best friend.

but hanni didn’t know this. all she knew was that her newfound feeling was definitely growing and getting worse by the days.

except, you didn’t realize when something was really off until hanni started arguing about her not wanting to come with you and minji to the mall anymore. originally, it was supposed to just be you and hanni going, but at the last minute, you were asking her if minji could come along.

needless to say, the vietnamese girl did not like that idea.

“why don’t you want her to come?” you asked, slightly frustrated at this sudden passive aggressiveness coming from your girlfriend.

hanni took a deep breath, her mind racing as she struggled to find the right words. the weight of her unspoken jealousy bore down on her shoulders, making it difficult to speak without her emotions overwhelming her.

"it's not that i don't want minji to come," hanni finally replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "it's just... i feel like we never have enough time alone together lately. and…i miss that."

her voice trailed off, and she cast her gaze downward, unable to meet your eyes. the truth was out in the open now, her jealousy exposed in all its rawness. it was a terrifying moment for hanni, baring her insecurities to the person she loved, fearing your reaction.

you took a moment to process her words, your frustration fading as you recognized the pain behind her actions. it suddenly dawned on you—the extra clinginess, the hesitance to include minji in outings—it all made sense now.

hanni pham was jealous.

reaching out, you gently took hanni's hands in yours, offering her reassurance through touch. "hanni, i'm sorry i haven't been aware of how you've been feeling. i never meant to neglect our alone time or make you feel left out. it was never my intention."

hanni looked up at you, tears glistening in her eyes, a mix of relief and apprehension on her face. she squeezed your hands, grateful for your understanding.

"i know our friendship with minji is important to both of us," you continued, your voice filled with sincerity. "but you are my priority, hanni. i never want you to feel like you're being replaced or pushed aside. i love you, and i want to make sure our relationship feels secure and cherished."

hanni's tears spilled over, and she leaned into your embrace, finding solace in your words and the warmth of your presence. she felt the weight of her jealousy slowly lifting as you reaffirmed your commitment to her.

“i love you too, y/n.” she whispered, holding you close and making her own doubts disappear within your embrace. the other girl felt so happy to finally tell you how she felt. it felt even greater to know that you understood her so well.

“promise me you’ll tell me when you feel like this again, okay? i don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me.” you said softly, running a hand up and down her back in a soothing manner.

the newjeans member nodded a small smile on her face as she leaned up and kissed your cheek. “i will, i promise.”

“good.” you replied swiftly, pausing to lean in and whisper into her ear. “although, you are very cute when you’re jealous.”

“be quiet and kiss me again.”

#hanni pham #newjeans fic #newjeans #newjeans x reader #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader #wlw #kpop #kpop oneshot #newjeans oneshot #perfectsunlight

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shiyorin · 2 months

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The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well

Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)

+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]

+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian

+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]

+++ DATE: 327.M38

+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus

+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS

+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]

Summary of Findings:

Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.

Behavioral divergences included:

Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery

Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts

Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command

Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations

At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.

Excerpted examples of documented cases:

[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]

"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."

"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"

[SAMPLE ENDS]

[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation

"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"

*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]

[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]

-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries -Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders -Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions -Final pict: [REDACTED]

The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.

Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.

2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.

3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.

Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.

The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.

I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.

Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."

-Inquisitor [REDACTED]

#shiyorin's writer #tw: yandere #yandere au #space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #lol

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wifeofsnowbaird · 5 months

Text

You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

Coriolanus stood beside his cousin, lost in his train of thought. Tigris paused to question him about his tribute since he had mentored her during the day before noticing a scratch on his face.

‘Coryo! Why haven’t you put a bandaid onto that cut?’

Coriolanus glanced at Tigris before gazing at the scratch on his hand.

He was sure that the scar on his face was worse than his hand but he abandoned the thought of covering it because…Well, what if [Name] Lily Baird had attacked him because she liked him? He had seen her red face multiple times and she always ended up extending her claws like a cat.

‘They’re her marks on my skin.’ Coriolanus shrugged, glancing back at Tigris as she stood by the stove lost in shock. She grimaced as he gently smiled at the thought and walked to the dining table where Grandma’am sat.

The old woman glanced at him before settling down and calling a maid to hand her the scarf.

Grandma’am has always been stuck in a world before the Civil War between the Capital and the Districts so Coriolanus intervened through the elder woman's anger at a non-existent person and went to fetch it from another room.

Tigris sighed, gazing back at the boiling cabbage in a hot pan in front. Her mind kept on sliding back to her cousin’s answer about why his tribute kept on attacking him.

‘ Her marks on my skin? Well, isn’t he delusional…’ Tigris mumbled before going back to the hot pan on the stove.

‘Sejanus,’ the boy beside Coriolanus looked up at the blonde near him.

‘Yeah? You need something?’

‘Does [Name] Lily attack the other tributes like she does to me?’

Sejanus stopped chewing midway through the sandwich Ma had made.

‘No, she’s nice once you meet her the second time. I saw her with Dill, Wovey, and Reaper once and she was teaching them about how to tell the difference between certain seeds for some reason.’ He shrugged. ‘Apparently, Wovey and Dill were interested…Why though?’

Sejanus then glanced at the scars Coriolanus had received from his tribute and frowned, having heard about what happened yesterday. Tigris had told him about it when he had stopped by their penthouse.

‘So…I’m the only one? I’m special to her?’

Clemensia Dovecote, one of his acquaintances since they weren’t close, interrupted the conversation before Sejanus could respond.

‘Listen, Coryo, don’t get caught up in your delusions. She hates you, I’m sure about that.’

Coriolanus scoffed at the girl in front of him before grinning at you while you were being dragged by a Peacekeeper.

He stepped towards you, ignoring his friends' comments, and wrapped a hand around your waist but was pushed away.

‘Get off me!’ You sneered before stomping away in an angry fit.

Coriolanus glanced back at his friends but ignored them once they shook their heads, mentally telling him that, ‘they told him so.’ But unfortunately, he had lost himself to you.

At least to his future First Lady of Panem.

One sentence kept repeating in his head while he was following you,

‘I’m her only, she made me claim her as mine.’

And without sensing the slight possessiveness coming from your mentor, you glared at the arrogant boy who was meant to keep you safe.

‘Really wish I could destroy you now, Coriolanus Snow.’

next chapter is gonna be Sej x Lucy Gray sooooo be warned ig?

#tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #president snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #yandere coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #sejanus plinth #snow lands on top #thg tbosas

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blueiskewl · 3 months

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A Statue of Atlas Emerges From the Ruins of Sicily’s Ancient Temple of Zeus

In the fifth century B.C.E., 38 looming sculptures of the Titan stood guard at the structure.

After 20 years of restorations, a 26-foot-tall statue of Atlas is once again standing guard at the ancient Temple of Zeus in the city of Agrigento (once called Akragas) in Sicily.

The statue, created in the fifth century B.C.E., was one of roughly 38 similar Atlas monuments built into the temple. They stood in a line between columns with their arms raised, appearing to hold the holy structure upright.

In Greek mythology, Atlas was a Titan who rebelled in a war against Zeus. As punishment, he was forced to hold up the sky on his shoulders. Unlike the mythological Atlas, however, the stone likenesses were unable to hold up Zeus’ temple forever. Ultimately, earthquakes and other events caused the structure to crumble.

For many years, pieces of the statues were scattered around the site amongst other ancient ruins. In 1812, Charles Robert Cockerell, a prominent British architect, first identified one of the Titan’s giant sandstone heads during a visit to Agrigento. A century later, in 1920, archaeologist Pirro Marconi became the first person to attempt to reconstruct one of the Atlases, which is now housed in the Archaeological Museum of Agrigento.

The seeds of the current project began in 2004, when the Valley of the Temples park conducted a sweeping research campaign at the site. Experts cataloged 90 fragments from at least eight Atlas statues.

“The idea was to reposition one of these Atlases in front of the temple so that it may serve as a guardian of the structure dedicated to the father of the gods,” Roberto Sciarratta, the director of the Valley of the Temples park, tells the Guardian’s Lorenzo Tondo.

But rebuilding Atlas in a standing position was particularly challenging, as researchers couldn’t simply stack the pieces of the statue on top of one another. Instead, they attached the fragments to metal shelves, which are supported by a larger metal structure.

The restoration has faced scrutiny ever since officials first announced it several years ago.

“No archaeologist would endorse the use of ancient sculpture, no matter how fragmentary, to create a modern sculpture, even if the purpose is to highlight the site’s antiquity,” C. Brian Rose, an archaeologist at the University of Pennsylvania, told the New York Times’ Franz Lidz in 2020.

But officials like Renato Schifani, the Sicilian governor, think that the statue’s resurrection is a commendable feat.

“Today is an important day for Agrigento and for all of Sicily,” says Schifani in a statement, per Google Translate. “This stone giant of ancient Akragas, which after many years of studies and research we can observe in its natural position, is the heart of an important museum project of the entire area of the Temple of Zeus."

By Julia Binswanger.

#A Statue of Atlas Emerges From the Ruins of Sicily’s Ancient Temple of Zeus #Akragas #Agrigento #Sicily #Valley of the Temples park #temple #Temple of Zeus #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #greek mythology

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mcytblrsexymen · 1 year

Text

Highlights from the Mod chat

[ID: discord message from fake GeorgeNotFound fan, reading: Every round that passes I feel more secure in our seeding choices The suspense is ramping up round to round as intended]

[ID: discord message from former leash kid, reading: when i explained this thing to my social worker i described doc as "the uncoolest cool guy to ever exist"]

[ID: discord message from classically trained drabbler, reading: fuck grian idc abt grian]

[ID: discord message from a capricious and willful god, reading: the Venn diagram of doc fans and ren fans is a CIRCLE it has been reacted to 8 times with the "this tbh" react]

[ID: screenshot from Something So Vile, reading I think I just saw somene argue that slime wsa the most autistic choice it has been reacted to 6 times with the sob emoji]

[ID: discord message from Something So Vile, reading back your sexyman with your whole chest]

[ID: discord message from SAD GAYISMS for SEXYLAMPNAP, reading: declaring war on my hermit friends over the grian v quackity poll it has been reacted to four times with the handshake emoji]

[ID: discord message reading: The number one most important rule of sexyman polls is having people who are dedicated to spreadsheets. The second most important rule is ✨consistent branding✨ It has been reacted to with the YesYes cat emoji and the clap emoji, both 11 times]

[ID: discord message from not a homelander simp, reading: got this is literally the allegory of the cave]

[ID: discord message from roxxy reading: i voted grian bc i had to go against a quackity fan for techno's honor]

[ID: discord message from Something So Vile, reading: I'd post on the hermit reddit but I am forbidden do I dare post ont he etho reddit]

[ID: discord message from undercover weeb, reading: I AM DEVASTATED AT PIX'S LOSS, cry cat scream emoji]

[ID: discord messages from a capricious and willful god, reading: I know we have some dirty wilbur voters in here it has been reacted to with one laugh emoji]

And some bits of where it all began:

[ID: discord message responding to a message from a capricious and willful god, reading: man okay the more I think about this the more I think a mcytblr sexyman po... Something So Vile has said: oh yeah I'd run a nomination period first]

[ID: discord message from undercover weeb, which reads: Medusa need constant spreadsheet enrichment😔 it has been reacted to with the pensive emoji twice Something So File then says: I so do]

#data crunch group chat

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zablife · 1 year

Text

Tachipen (Part 6)

Part 5

Tommy x female reader

Summary: John reacts to the news of his betrothal and Y/n finally learns of his true feelings. Seeds of a rivalry are planted between the two brothers. In 1924, the jealous actions of their past come back to haunt them as the vendetta begins.

Author’s Note: Tommy meets y/n in 1919 and the story goes thru present time which is the year of the vendetta, 1925. I'm borrowing some events from canon S3 & S4 with a few changes and condensed storyline.

Warnings: language, violence, arranged marriage, mention of arson, kidnapping

1919

"You've done what?" John asked, blue eyes narrowing in the dim light of the parlor. Tommy only nodded in confirmation and John looked away in disbelief. "Christ, Tommy!" he exclaimed.

"It's the only way forward, John. You can end this war," Tommy stated, eyes darting to John's clenched fists. The anger beneath the surface was threatening to spill over as it always did when he was being told what to do. His younger brother abhorred his sense of authority.

"A war you fucking started when you brought Y/n here!" John shouted, the toothpick in his mouth wobbling precariously. Then he stopped short, staring ahead as he remembered your offer to talk to your aunt. "Is this why she took you to see Zilpha?" he asked, voice now eerily calm.

Tommy swallowed thickly, recognizing a look of hurt wash over his brother's face. It might have been a shift of smoke from the fireplace, but he swore he saw John's eyes turn glossy as he awaited an answer. "Tommy?" John insisted.

Tommy let out a frustrated sigh in response. "You didn’t ask for Y/n to come live with you. What's the difference if it’s another girl now?” he reasoned.

John clenched his jaw as he turned his gaze toward his brother. "You have no idea what I want because you never ask. Did you ever think I might care for Y/n?"

"So much you were fucking Lizzie last week?" Tommy retorted.

John lunged toward Tommy and Tommy grabbed him by the shirt front, slamming him against the wall.

On the other side, you jumped at the sound of the commotion, one hand coming to rest over your heart. The voices of the two warring brothers carried through the thin walls loud enough for you to hear in the kitchen and you stopped to listen despite your better judgment.

"What the fuck are you doing, eh? Do you love Y/n?" Tommy asked, searching his brother’s face for the truth as John pushed against him.

John gulped, fight leaving his body under Tommy's firm grasp. "I've loved her since she arrived, but Pol said to let her alone," he confessed, hanging his head when Tommy’s hand fell away from his throat.

Tommy stepped back, tugging his shirt sleeves back into place as John staggered along the wall to stay upright. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tommy sighed with exhaustion, knowing there could be no other outcome once a pact had been made.

He opened his eyes to find John leaning over the sofa, plucking one of your discarded hair ribbons from the cushion and clutching it in his hands so tightly his knuckles began turning white. He stared at Tommy with the desperation of a man who still held out hope, despite already knowing the verdict.

“Doesn’t matter now, it’s done. The Lees will hold us to it or there will be bloodshed,” Tommy warned as he approached his brother cautiously.

"It's what the Lees want or you, Tommy?" John asked, as he caught his brother gazing at your black, velvet ribbon.

"It's what Y/n wants. She made the deal with Zilpha, not me," he confessed in a low voice.

"She did?" John asked with a loud sniff, hand brushing his nose harshly as he tried to keep emotion at bay.

Tommy confirmed with a nod.

John pitched forward, allowing his head to hang low and breathed deeply, the thought of your rejection stinging far worse than Tommy's betrayal ever could. After a few moments, he stood to his full height and addressing his older brother in the same flat tone he used during the war, he repeated back the orders given to him like a good soldier. "I'll marry Esme Lee."

"Good," Tommy agreed.

You held your breath as you listened to John leave the house, the door crashing against the frame forcefully as he went. A single tear slid down your cheek as you whispered, "I'm sorry, John. I love you too."

——————————————

On the morning of John’s wedding, you helped the children dress and you took special care with Katie, braiding her hair and intertwining wildflowers you’d picked together as an added adornment.

“All finished,” you proclaimed, attempting an encouraging smile as you turned her to face you. There hadn’t been many words exchanged, a tinge of sadness around the edges of the day where happiness ought to have been.

As you held her small shoulders, you felt an almost imperceptible shake, then you noticed her lashes dampen with tears threatening to overspill her deep blue eyes.

“Why do you have to go?” she questioned, a few tears escaping as she furrowed her brow in a mixture of confusion and anger as if she might force you to stay by her will power alone.

“It’s time,” you answered simply, reaching up to dry her damp cheeks gently with your fingertips.

“Because you and dad have been fighting?” she asked, looking up at you with sorrowful eyes.

"Oh, Katie...," you exclaimed, inhaling sharply, knowing she had probably overheard more than she should have in recent days as you and John sniped at one another under the stress of making new arrangements and the dreadful ache of emotion left unspoken.

“Your father is remarrying so I have to go live with Aunt Polly and help your Uncle Tommy in the betting shop,” you began, but you knew she was a clever girl who would need a bit more than that. “But you’re right, we haven't been getting on as well as we should. Things will be better with your new mum. You'll be happy, you'll see,” you promised her, reaching out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. As an afterthought you added quietly, “I hope your dad will too.”

She threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly as though she’d never let go and you patted her back comfortingly. “I’ll be mad at him if you want me to,” she offered between sniffles, voice muffled by the thick material of your dress.

You laughed silently at her act of solidarity before answering, “I’m not mad anymore, just a bit sad like you, but I’ll be alright. Come on, we have to go or we’ll miss the ceremony.”

——————————-

The deafening crack of fireworks exploding overhead woke Henry who had been peacefully sleeping in your arms since the dancing began. Blinking in confusion and rubbing his eyes with chubby fists, the toddler immediately burst into sobs. You tried to quiet him with gentle rocking and his favorite lullaby, but nothing seemed to help.

No one paid much attention as the party was well under way and most everyone was too drunk to care about a crying babe. You scanned the crowd for Polly, hoping she would be ready to leave, but you couldn’t find her as you dodged whirling skirts and men shooting celebratory gunfire up to the sky.

Pressing your hands to Henry's ears, you sought peace and quiet away from everyone just as a soft voice called out to you. “Would you like me to take him?” You turned to find John’s new bride with her arms outstretched toward you and you nodded hesitantly. Feeling as though you couldn’t deny her, you passed the child to his new stepmother and much to your astonishment, he stopped crying long enough to capture her veil between his fingers, rubbing it against his cheek as she giggled.

“Looks like John, don’t he?” she remarked, stroking Henry’s blonde curls. You nodded again, unsure what you should say to her. Did she know who you were? It seemed foolish to explain now if she didn’t.

Before you could say anything more, Tommy strode toward you from the dark shadows between vardos, eyes fixed on you determinedly as though he’d been searching you out for some time. “Y/n, may I have a word?” he asked.

Seeing Henry babbling away happily to Esme, you crossed to join Tommy by a large bonfire.

“Enjoying the festivities?” he asked, fishing his cigarettes from his pocket.

“I was thinking of leaving actually,” you said, pulling your arms into your body as you realized how chilly the night air had become.

Noticing your shivering form, Tommy removed his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. As he came close, you breathed in the scent of tobacco and whisky, so like John, but with a tinge of something earthier as though he’d just come from the pasture. It was oddly comforting and you focused on the scent to calm yourself, feeling a rush of emotion return to you as you watched John approach his new bride and place his arm around her with Henry squealing in delight between them.

“I know why you proposed that particular strategy with your aunt,” Tommy said, interrupting your thoughts. He looked down at his cigarette before daring to find your eyes in the glow of the firelight.

You swallowed harshly thinking about where your fit of temper had landed you, watching the man you loved speak his vows to someone else. “Maybe it wasn’t the right thing,” you mused, your whispered regret carried away on the wind to Tommy’s ears like the closely guarded secret it was.

He shook his head softly, “No, this was meant to be.”

Your turned to look at Tommy with trembling lower lip, but no words would come out.

He stepped closer to you, rubbing his large palms up and down your arms soothingly. “Hey, look at me,” he instructed and your heart skipped a beat as you found the courage to look into the hypnotizing blue of his eyes, like a tide drawing you inward. “You did what was best for the family. I know you were angry at the time, but what you did took courage and sacrifice. I won’t forget that.”

“And John? Will he forgive me?” you asked, blinking back tears.

“He’s gained a good wife in Esme. I’ve no doubt he’ll thank you for it in time,” Tommy said, reassuringly. It seemed as though he wanted to add something, but stopped himself and you stood together for a moment in awkward silence before he dropped his hands to his sides and shoved them back into his pockets.

You dried your eyes and shifted the coat around your shoulders as Tommy led you to his car, offering a ride home. He said he didn’t want his newest employee wandering the streets of Birmingham alone in the early morning hours, but you had to wonder. His protection over you seemed like more than a formality.

----------------

1924, The Grace Shelby Institute

"You alright?" you asked as Tommy guided you toward the room where tea and cake were being served after his speech.

"I fucking hate speeches," he muttered as you passed a group of ladies associated with his charity. "Grace was better at this sort of thing," he mused.

You nodded in understanding as he fidgeted with his tie nervously. You pressed a hand to his shoulder, stopping him before he entered the room. "Let me," you offered, shifting Charlie to your opposite hip and reaching up to straighten the silk knot to your satisfaction.

Tommy grasped your hand in his, searching your eyes for a moment before admitting, "I'm sorry about the other night. It won't happen again."

Feeling a heat rise in your cheeks, you bit your lip unsure of how to respond. His advances hadn't been unwelcome, but you wondered if it was merely the grief causing him to act.

"Don't be sorry," you said with a small shake of your head. Just then the door swung open and your eyes locked onto Linda, standing in the corner and surveying everyone with a judgmental stare. "It's just...what would your family say?" you asked, hesitantly.

Grasping your chin and turning you to look at him, Tommy stressed, "We haven't done anything wrong, eh?"

You nodded, wishing you could agree with his sentiment, but you knew no one would ever believe that. "Maybe it's too soon though," you suggested with soft eyes, hoping he would trust you in this.

Tommy studied you for a moment, unsure if you were in need of more reassurance or distance. There had always been a fine line in your relationship, your agreement with one another shifting over the years until he could no longer think of the right word to describe exactly what you were to him.

Rushing toward you with a giant smile on her face, Ada triumphantly proclaimed, "Tommy, there's a woman who wants to discuss a two hundred pound donation with you."

"Go ahead, I'll entertain Charlie," you assured him.

However, the task grew more difficult as the afternoon wore on. The child was growing more restless by the minute as ladies gathered to coo at him and pinch his cheeks adoringly, taking turns to express their condolences or offer praise for Tommy's parenting.

When it was clear that Charlie needed a nap, you excused yourself and weaved through the dense crowd in search of Finn who was supposed to drive you home. Struggling to hold an ill-tempered Charlie, you suffered his kicks and jabs as he refused to be contained within your embrace. Finally, he pushed against you with the strength of ten children, suddenly sliding down your body and hurrying off on chubby little legs before you could grasp him. He toddled away precariously in between people’s legs as you rushed after him, calling his name.

“Charlie, come back!” you cried, but he only squealed excitedly at your game of chase and ran faster. With no other family members in sight, you hurried after him on your own, wishing you'd chosen more sensible shoes.

As you rounded the corner toward the empty offices, you heard his tiny shoes squeaking against the polished floor and heard his giggles as a door opened suddenly. Perhaps he was finding a place to hide to try and continue this little game, you thought, but that particular activity would have to wait. You were determined to get him home.

“Please, Charlie!” you called a bit more softly, hoping he would peek his head out and come running back to you upon hearing your distress.

“Sound so sweet when you beg,” a low voice rumbled behind you. The imposing figure removed his fedora and you gasped when you recognized one of Angel’s men, Enzo, looking down at you in amusement.

Your heel wobbled under you as you tried to back away from him and you stumbled in your hurried attempted to regain balance. “What do you want? Did Angel send you?“ you gulped, trying and failing to conceal your fear.

Your reply only infuriated the man. He captured your arms in a painfully tight grip, pulling you into his large frame, before leaning down to hiss in your ear, “Angel’s dead, you fucking puttana. You ought to know, you started all of this.”

You felt your mouth go dry and your hands began to shake as you thought back to the night John set Angel's restaurant ablaze. There had been no peace with the Italians since, only an escalation of violence. In the wake of Grace's death you should have known the Shelbys would retaliate and now, according to the tradition of the vendetta, they would pay dearly in return. It was in this moment that you remembered Charlie and prayed he was hiding himself well as Enzo slowly dragged you toward the exit.

To your horror the empty hallway soon filled with the sounds of a screaming child and the sight of a second man holding Charlie’s wriggling body in his arms.

You thrashed wildly against Enzo to reach the boy as you pleaded, “Take me and let him go. Please, he’s just a child. Don’t hurt him!”

Unwilling to hear any more, Enzo silenced you by placing his large hand over your mouth and nose. You continued to struggle until you could no longer breathe, the room spinning around you and black spots dancing across your vision before you gave into the darkness.

---------------

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