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generalsmemories · 11 months

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How do I tell my husband he got scammed into buying a lion?

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ summary: during one autumn afternoon you're suddenly faced with another one of your husband's impulsive purchases. only that this time it's a living being.

✧ content: established relationship, fluff, humor, might be a bit ooc

✧ a/n: hello there hsr fandom! i have unfortunately lost the battle against myself on making another sideblog for jing yuan, the man who has singlehandedly occupied my mind since his first appearance in the beta. i do hope that this will actually appear in the tags, but every infomation you would need if you want to request something is all up on the blog if you so wish! i hope we can have a pleasant time together !!

also this is not beta-read, we die like how fast my resolve to not create a jing yuan blog died.

Being the spouse of the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu comes with it's share of benefits and disadvantages. For one you're regarded at a higher position than most of it's citizens, often being stopped on the side of the road when taking a walk to exchange numerous pleasantries with merchants from outside of Xianzhou, various store owners or cloud knights on duty.

Another factor is shouldering the burden your husband has on his shoulder, an oath you had taken yourself the day you accepted Jing Yuan's nth proposal. You considered that a fair trade with his vast knowledge and insight into a possible future and doing everything behind the scene to avoid colliding headfirst into said problem. A feat that attracted you towards the general in the first place, minus his dashing looks of course.

The biggest disadvantage of publicly announcing that you were indeed the Arbiter-General's significant other was doing everything within your power to not throw your husband's famous title away for a newer, more terrible one. (more utc!)

Because as you see him walking up the steps of the Seat of Divine Foresight, your gaze is not locked with your husband's smiling face, rather it's fixated on the small being he has cradled in his arms. The soft smile you had quickly spreading into a more nervous and confused smile as you glance over at Qingzu, the counselor looking at you with just as much confusion.

How in the world did you manage to leave him alone out in the market area for an hour and he comes back with a lion cub?

"[Name], darling! Look at this grimalkin that a merchant had!"

A what now?

"... A grimalkin, you say?" Every book that has recorded history had specified that the grimalkin species had gone extinct, and you were well aware that your husband knew this fact. And yet here you were, faced with his smile directed down towards what you can clearly tell is a lion cub, his thumb pressing down at its paws affectionately.

You're starting to think that Yanqing's impulsive purchases with his sword collection aligns with your own husband's impulsiveness.

Coughing loudly into your hand, you take a deep breath before descending down the stairs to be on the same level as Jing Yuan, peering down onto the cub's face. It was indeed cute, and judging by how enamored Jing Yuan is, you can clearly tell that it's small stature is what attracted him to it in the first place.

Oh he's going to be crushed when it grows up, "It's adorable, Jing Yuan," you settle on saying, waving a finger over the lion's grimalkin face, the animal lifting its paws to try to grab it. You shoot a look towards Qingzu, a silent command for her to look into which outer merchant was now scamming people into buying literal lions. The counselor quickly excusing herself to look into the matter immediately, Jing Yuan only giving her a smile and a wave of his hand as she scurries down the stairs.

"Right? I decided to name it Mimi," he muses, and your heart breaks a tiny bit for him, but there are more pressing matters at hand than the fact that your husband once again got scammed because he was most likely bored out of his mind.

You would rather that the Xianzhou citizens know him as "The Dozing General" instead of the general that gets scammed a few times too many. How does one even go on about trying to tell their husband that the grimalkin in his arms is actually a lion?

"A fitting name indeed," you mutter, raising a hand to caress Jing Yuan's cheek, a simple gesture to make the general direct his attention to you. However, you could still see that his guard was slightly up with you. You only chuckle at that, leaning in to slide your lips over his own, Jing Yuan wasting no time to press back.

Another well hidden secret reserved for the walls of the Divine Foresight is the fact your husband is incredibly weak for his own spouse.

"... Want to tell me how much you paid for Mimi, dear?" you ask in a whisper when your lips part, thumb caressing over the mole under his eye.

Jing Yuan merely smiles, twisting his head to press his lips against your hand instead, "It was from my personal wallet, dear. Please don't fret over the small details."

"Darling, I hope you're aware that the small details would be the necessary funding for accomodation, toys and food, right?" you say with a chuckle, your husband freezing with his ministrations upon remembering that fact.

Oh well, you want to see how long it takes before your husband comes to realization that it's a lion. You just have to be extra vigilant towards the numerous fundings in the meantime.

While scrolling through your schedule for the next morning, your phone dings with a message from Qingzu. You quickly look down at Mimi whose resting on your belly and then at Jing Yuan whose sleeping self is still snoring away by your shoulder before letting out a small sigh in relief that the loud noise didn't awake any of them.

Qingzu:

Do I even have a say in this?

Was the message sent by Qingzu, attatched to it is a picture taken of what you can only presume is one of Jing Yuan's "diaries". The contents of it making you let out a low laugh, the shaking making said man beside you grumble before pressing his face into your neck.

Attatched image:

"Eventually, I paid hefty sum for the grimalkin, named it "Mimi", and took it home. Only that I'm too busy with official business and have little time to take care of Mimi. After thinking it over, chores like feeding it and changing its water should also be entrusted to Qingzu. I do wonder why [Name] looked so distraught when they first saw Mimi though. Maybe they didn't think I would favor the petite and small animals instead of the usual large and strong ones?"

[Name]:

So Qingzu, do you have an idea what the easiest way to tell someone they got scammed is?

Qingzu:

That is the role of the spouse, not the counselor.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail imagines #star rail x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #jing yuan x reader #x reader #reader insert

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fairysluna · 4 months

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the wolf's cage.

After being captured by the Northerns, you found yourself with the Lord of Winterfell whose strange politeness makes you doubt his true intentions.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader.

TAGS — smut (p in v, m!oral, spanking, use of the word whore, face fucking, hate sex(?, dirty talk, degrading/praise, belly bulge), cursing, mentions of war, blood and bruises, kind of enemies to lovers, dilf!cregan, and idk if this counts as dark!cregan but I'll add it just in case. If something is missing let me know!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — it's the first time that i write smut after a very long time, and i wrote this in a rush, so it's not perfect but i loved it anyway bc i fell in love with this trope. Reader is loosely based on Osha from GoT. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED.

WORD COUNT — 5.3k. (oh damn)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

“We found her close to the Godswood,” one of the men said. “She was hiding and preparing herself to kill, my lord.”

Cregan walked slightly closer to you, his curiosity peaking when he noticed how small you looked curled up in a corner of your cell, covered by thick pieces of fur. Your face was stained with dirt and dried blood. His men had told him you were a menace, but after looking at you, he didn't believe it.

“She seems harmless,” he pointed out, kneeling beside you.

“She is not, my lord. She's responsible for the death of three of our men,” the same man explained. They were all in combat position; holding the hilt of their swords just in case you would dare to attack their leader. Cregan, however, seemed to be unafraid, getting closer to you and trying to see more of you. He was certainly intrigued.

How was a young girl like you able to kill a group of ruthless men?

He raised his hand and gently pulled a strand of your hair out of your face; he saw a scar on your cheek and a cut on your lip. Then, you met his eyes with yours. Your cold and mercenary haze did little to intimidate him. You were finally in the presence of the man you hated the most; the man who had killed your people in cold blood. He could see your wrath burning through your haze, and he understood it.

With his thumb, he removed the drop of blood that was dripping from your lip — a soft touch that felt so foreign to your skin. He attempted to do it again, but you moved your face away and he knew it was enough. With a sigh, he stood up casting a large shadow over your smaller frame; you looked down at the floor, ignoring his penetrating stare on you before he turned around and walked out of the cell.

“Tell a maid to give her a bath, then bring her to the dining room,” he ordered.

“My lord, I don't think-”

“Tell the cooks to make a meal for two, and tell a maid to keep Rickon out of my room tonight,” he abruptly interrupted him, the guard was left in surprise.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I do not think it’s a good idea at all,” The maester advised him, talking in whispers so you would not hear a word. “I believe that being in a room alone with that savage would put your life at risk. We cannot afford that, not when we're in the middle of an imminent war.”

Cregan turned to give one more look at you before one of the guards locked your cell again. You looked so fragile, and you were probably starving after spending days in the merciless Winter cold. He knew you would not be such a threat in such a condition, so he did not follow his loyal Maester’s advice.

“The decision has been made,” he spoke as he started to walk away from the dungeons. The old man quickly followed his pace.

“I would advise you to make some double thinking about your decision-”

“Are you questioning my methods?” His voice came out low and slow, but it carried a bit of an intimidating undertone that was easy to catch. The Maester took a step back when his superior turned around; his Lordship was an imposing man, tall and with wide shoulders and some grey eyes that would pierce through your soul. Lord Stark was a kindhearted man, but whenever he was angry he was unrecognisable.

And the Maester trembled when he saw a small glimpse of his anger.

“Of course not, but it is my duty as your advisor to give you the best options… risking your life it's certainly not.”

“That girl is craving for a meal, I will not let her starve,” he grunted. “Besides, I might steal some valuable information from her. She's just a girl, and she's unarmed. She will do no harm.”

The old man simply nodded, knowing that it was a lost battle and not having the guts to continue to defy his lord. Cregan cleared his throat, repeated the instructions and then turned around to leave his men behind. They shared confused looks, doubting his plan and how unusual it was for him to have mercy with the people of your kind. This new and sudden sympathy towards you raised suspicion among the northern guards, but they were all too afraid to speak up.

They just obeyed the orders of their Lord.

Cregan was tapping his fingertips against the table, patiently waiting for your arrival as he was blankly staring at his half-empty cup of wine. The only sound that was heard was coming from the fireplace, and the rest of the room was deadly silent. He was wondering how much time would it take for you to arrive when two guards opened the door, and two others were carrying you inside. They were grabbing your arms, tight enough to leave a bruise behind. Cregan stood up the instant you showed up, and, with a slight nod from him, you were freed from their grip.

Lord Stark took the time to look at you, shamelessly glancing at every inch of your body. He noticed how your skin was glowing now, freed of any stain or impureness on your face, except for that scar on your cheekbone that seemed to be quite recent. Regardless of that, you were such a sight for his eyes, so pretty and young and fierce all the same. The glow in your eyes was still yelling your hate for him and, somehow, that would make you even more appealing to him. He followed the trail down your neck and found your bossom being squeezed by the dress which looked a bit too small for you, but that fit your body like a glove; shaping your curves and enhancing them, he had to take a deep breath after seeing you.

All the beauty that was previously hidden under thick layers of clothes and dirty hair and face was now starting to show.

“You can leave now,” he indicated to the guards. They nodded and followed his orders immediately.

Once they were alone, Cregan pointed at the chair on the other side of the table, inviting you to take a seat. You were reluctant, staring at the large amount of food with distrust; you thought this was a trap, no one ever invites their foes to supper. You did not obey him at first, standing still in your place, using a pair of borrowed shoes that were almost crushing your feet and making you feel like walking on burning coal.

You knew one thing for sure; you needed to get out of there as soon as you could. Or, better yet, you had to kill that man.

“Please, be seated,” he spoke so softly and politely that you could not believe it. It was so blatantly obvious. “The pork it's better when it's warm.”

A glance at the table and you saw your plate already served; this did nothing but increase your mistrust. However, you walked towards the spot, slowly and with your guard up. The sound of your shoes clacking on the wooden floor as you made your way to your seat until you finally sat.

Then, a silence fell over the room. Cregan's eyes seemed to never look away from you as he raised his cup and brought it to his lips. You nervously played with your cup, already filled with wine.

“I gave myself the liberty to fill your cup,” he said.

Besides that, your plate was full of beans, pork, carrots and mashed potatoes. Everything was already cut into tiny pieces, and only then did you realize you only had a spoon; no knife, and no fork.

“Is wine not of your taste?” Cregan asked after your long silence. “Would you rather have some ale? or juice?”

Nothing came out of your mouth. Cregan was losing his little patience, but he knew better and he stayed calm. Upsetting you would only make things worse.

“You might be wondering why I spared your life today,” he started, attempting a two-sided conversation. “If you were any other, your head would be in a spike by now… but you might be useful for us.” He made a pause, sipping his wine so delicately and manly. Then he added, “For me.”

Again, no answer.

“I believe you have valuable information that would help us to understand your people better,” he explained, trying to sound likeable and friendly, even giving you a warm smile. “Maybe that way we'll understand your reasons.”

“Why would I give information to the one who's murdering my people?” You finally spoke.

Cregan heard your thick northern accent and a smile was drawn on his face. He hid the gesture by grabbing his fork and knife and cutting a piece of meat before putting it inside his mouth. You realized that contrary to you, he had a knife; you wondered how you could reach it without him noticing.

“Ah, so you can speak,” he claimed, cheerfully. “For a moment I thought you were mute.”

“I am not,” you grunted.

“You could stop an imminent war, you know?” He continued the previous conversation. “Save the lives of your people, avoid a bloodbath.”

“You are the only one causing those things, my lord,” the mocking tone in your voice when you uttered the last two words was obvious. “This war carries your name.”

“You are the ones taking over our lands,” he debated.

“We're escaping,” you snapped. “You have no idea what's beyond that wall. You and your men would do the same in our position.”

“And what is it that's up there with all of you?”

“You wouldn't believe my words. You'll have to see it.”

He hummed, not convinced at all. He leaned back on his chair.

“How did you get that scar on your face? It looks quite recent,” he slightly narrowed his eyes.

“An accident while climbing the wall,” you simply explained, not wanting to give out too many details.

“When did you cross it?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“And what have you been doing all this time?”

“I already told you… trying to survive.”

Cregan clicked his tongue, sipping his wine once more and letting the topic go. “You haven't touched your food,” he pointed out. “Nor your wine. The cooks work hard on this food.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“It's not poisoned,” he let you know as if you would believe his mere words. “If I ever kill you it wouldn't be with a drop of venom, that it's not an honourable way to murder your opponent.”

“Honour,” you repeated with a mocking tone.

“Does that word sound funny to you?”

“It does when it's you saying it,” you muttered, clenching your jaw. “You have the blood of innocents in your hands, you have no honour.”

The tense environment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Soon, a small child entered the room and ran towards Cregan; it was his son, his spitting image standing right next to him. His weakness. You looked closely, and you noticed how Lord Stark's demeanour was briefly replaced by a softer one when he held his child in his arms, only to get angry again when one of the maids walked in rushing behind the boy. You were observant, and then quickly an idea of escape lighted up your mind.

“I apologize, Lord Stark,” the maid murmured, shaking and breathing unevenly. “Little Rickon wanted to say goodnight and he ran away from his chambers-”

“Don't let it happen again,” he stopped her before she could go on with her explanations that were of little interest to his Lordship. “Just take him to bed, and don't let this happen again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He kissed the child's forehead and hugged him one last time before the maid pulled his arm and took him away. The boy was looking back at his sire with saddened eyes as he walked, and once he was out of sight, Cregan was back to his tough facade. However, you knew new information, and now you knew exactly how to manage to escape.

“Was that your child?”

“Indeed,” he nodded.

“Beyond the wall, children are taught to fight and hunt from a very young age,” you randomly told him. “Does he know how to do that?”

“He's still learning.”

“How old is he?”

“We are not here to talk about my child,” he snapped, growing impatient with each passing second.

You stopped, only for a brief second to let it rest and prepare yourself for the next thing. The suddenness of your next question left him speechless.

“Where's his mother?” You noticed how he tensed, clenching his jaw and forming a fist with his hand. There it is. “Is she around?”

His silence gave you the answer you were expecting, you had to hold back a smile.

“Let me guess,” you murmured, “Childbirth?”

His fist smacked against the table and you noticed how all the plates jumped due to the impact. He stood up, fuming, all the kindness and politeness vanishing from his body as he lost his patience with you. Yet, you did not seem fazed by his roughness, you barely flinched. You stood up too and slowly started to walk around the table, to get closer to him.

“I bet your nights might be lonely now that you've lost your wife,” A false tone of empathy was heard in your voice as you kept taking step after step. “Does your bed feel empty at night?”

“That's enough,” he growled.

“You dressed me, bathed me and fed me… perhaps you're trying to convince me to stay by your side,” you deduced, using your seduction skills to distract him from the fact that you were getting closer to the knife on the table. “Is this your intention? To make me yours? To turn me into your whore?” Your voice lowered itself a few tones, getting raspier and more seductive.

You reached his side, his eyes were stuck on your face as his breathing was starting to get faster with each second. You saw his jaw, sharp as the knife you were trying to grab, and tensed as he tried to hide his growing arousal. Of course, he has noticed your attributes before, and of course, he had secretly —and shamelessly— fantasized about ripping your dress to see what was underneath, but now your words would only make his struggle grow.

Perhaps the Maester was right. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

“Have you heard what they say about the women from the Free Folk?” You were teasing him, boldly raising your hands until they went to his thick coat and untied it; it fell around his leather shoes, and only a thin shirt was beneath it. Your eyes glanced at him, noticing the chest hair on his skin as your hands felt the hardness of his abdomen; years of training with the sword had certainly made its effect. “People say we're difficult to handle, but that we fuck like goddesses. Wouldn't you want to try it out?”

One of your hands travelled lower and lower until it was able to feel the shape of his growing cock in your palm and through his pants. A winning smile appeared on your lips. His growing lust did not allow him to see the moment when your hand took the knife. Luckily for him, his reflexes were quite fast, and he was able to stop your hand right before you almost stabbed his neck. Your eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist and turned your body around, slamming you against the table. He pressed himself against you, your dress now ruined with the food beneath your frame.

Cregan's hand grabbed a big portion of your hair and pulled it back, roughly, forcing you to arch your back. You could not help but whimper due to the pain in your skull. His breathing soon reached your neck and caused shivers down your spine; it smelled like wine.

“You little whore,” he mocked you, “you thought you could've killed me?”

His voice was completely different to the one you have heard before; it was almost like a growl, so deep, slow and hoarse. You would be lying if you said you did not find it amusing. His touch was rough and lacking the gentleness and delicacy that it had hours ago when he wiped the blood off of your lip.

“It was worth the try,” you breathed out, laughing at him when you felt his arousal pressing against your arse.

“What's so funny, huh?” he grunted, pulling you harder and making you hum. “I could kill you right here, right now,” he threatened.

“But you won't,” you murmured.

“That's right,” he mumbled, breathing in your scent. Even after taking a bath you still smelled of pine tree, it was an intoxicating smell. “I will prove your word first. Let's see if the wildlings whores fuck like goddesses, mhm?”

Your eyes widened when you felt his hand freeing your hair and going towards the skirts of your borrowed dress. He lifted them, holding them in place on your waist behind your back. He saw how your pussy was already starting to glisten with your arousal, even when he had barely touched you beforehand. His cock twitched inside his pants when he noticed that all of this was because of his rough touch.

You filthy slut, he thought.

You heard a soft stump on the floor as his pants fell down his thick legs. It did not take too much time for you to feel his leaking tip brushing against your folds, spreading them open and smearing your slick all over it. You had to bite your lip, holding back a gasp as he teasingly rubbed against your clit; this was certainly not what you were expecting, but it felt good enough to make you want more.

Slowly, he started to make his way inside you, grabbing your arsecheeck with his free hand and spreading it only to see your needy cunt taking him. Cregan gasped, your soft walls were wrapping around him perfectly, squeezing him just right and creaming all over him. He hummed in delight as he felt your legs already starting to shake. Gods, he was big, stretching you out as of you were a fucking maiden, providing you with that sweet pain that made your eyes close.

When he was halfway in, he pushed himself all in with a single thrust. His head touched that sweet, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck!” you cried out, involuntarily spreading your legs further, at the same time your hands pushed all the plates and cups away from your side. It all ended up spilt on the floor.

He remained there for a few seconds, still inside of you and not moving an inch. Cregan's hand reached for your hair once again, pulling it back until your back was pressed against his chest and his lips were brushing against your ear. His breathing was ragged and unsteady; his tongue licked his lips as they started to get dry. You were able to feel him, his veins pulsing inside of you as he would twitch each time you clenched around him. Cregan hummed against your ear.

Without warning, his hips started to move and your legs suddenly felt as weak and giggly as jelly. Your hands gripped the border of the table as his movements started to increase his pace. He was filling you up so good, so deep. You found yourself murmuring senseless words as you slowly started to lose your mind, which was a weird thing for you; you would usually be the one in charge.

Though you did not mind submitting to him for a while. All your morality was soon gone, and all thanks to the man whose cock was good enough to make you forget about how much you hated him.

His hips started to meet yours with more force, thrusting hard but slow. It was just the beginning, and he wanted to make sure you would feel every inch of him, to feel every vein. All while he was also losing his mind over how good your pussy was taking him; your tight grip around him was sending him to the heavens, his eyes never looking away from the place where both of your bodies would join. Your walls contracted around him whenever he was pulling out, almost as if they were reluctant to let him go. Cregan loved that a bit too much, he might have become addicted to it.

Then, he sped it up. His grunts and moans were falling from his lips in cascades that reached your ears. A vocal man he was, expressing his lust with the most arousing sounds you have ever heard. It brought a sense of pride to your chest, having such an imposing man as him reduced to a moaning mess. But the truth was, you were not doing any better; his animalistic movements were now sending you over the edge quicker than you thought. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and the feeling of your arousal falling down your thighs was enough to pull you into a cloud of raw lasciviousness. Your mind felt dizzy.

Suddenly, Cregan grabbed the knife you were trying to reach and threw it right next to your hand. You saw it through your heavy eyelids as you panted and gasped. You felt his lips pressing against your ear once again, but this time he spoke,

“Try to kill me now,” he hoarsely said. “Go on. Where's the girl who tried to kill me? Not so brave now with my cock ripping you apart, huh?”

“Fuck off…” you managed to say in a murmur. Cregan mockingly laughed, and his hand fell against the soft skin of your rear, leaving a pinching pain behind. Gods, you hated the fact that you loved it so much.

“So fiery, and yet you're a mess…” he chuckled, his heavy breathing against your nape making you tremble under his touch. “I wish you could see how your little cunny is taking my cock… you're fucking soaking for me.”

You moaned, louder than you should have.

“Want to take a look?” he teased you, pushing deeper inside of you. You tried to mumble an answer, but nothing came out of your mouth. His hand met your arse again, this time slightly harder. “Answer me,” he demanded, using his lower tone which made your knees go weak.

You had no choice, “Y-yes…” you whimpered as tears of pleasure were gathering in the corner of your eyes.

He pulled out of you and you immediately whined, complaining about his absence. His hands went to the ties on the back of your dress, starting to pull them out to get them loose enough to remove that piece of fabric that was just bothering him. When he finally did, he pulled it down in a single movement, and just like that you were completely exposed to him.

He took a quick look at your body once you turned around, glancing at your breasts and your perky nipples, and then looking at the glistening mess between your thighs. His hand wrapped around your jaw, and he leaned forward; his leaking cock rubbing against your belly as his nose touched your cheek. Suddenly, his lips trapped yours in a heated kiss that lacked any delicacy; he was claiming your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and devouring you. You heard how he pushed the rest of the dishes, plates and cups on the ground, then he lifted your body forcing you to spread your legs. Only then he pulled away.

He looked down, watching your pussy drenched with your arousal and chuckling at the sight. “Didn't know wildlings women were such whores… getting this wet when I fuck you rough,” he mocked you, tightening the grip around your jaw and forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

Cregan guided his cock towards your slit, repeating the same teasing game as before, rubbing his tip against your now throbbing clit soaking it with the mixture of your juices and his. He gave a few taps afterwards, making you whine and your legs shake. You never, in a million years, thought you would be thinking of begging a Lord like him, yet there you were, about to plead to have him inside of you once again because the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable.

As if he had read your thoughts, he soon pressed his cockhead against your entrance, pushing just the tip. You sighed, biting your lip as you looked down at it. You could have come right there as you saw how he slowly filled you up and stretched your walls once more. The way your labia would spread to take him in; such an obscene sight it was, yet you couldn't bring yourself to take your eyes off of it.

Once he was fully sheathed in you, you managed to perceive a small bulge forming in your lower belly which would appear each time he would bury himself deep inside of you. He did not take too much time to be rough this time, starting to snap his hips against yours and making you moan and drool until your mind was fully gone once again. His big hands were grabbing your hips, his nails digging into your flesh and making it slightly painful for you; yet, you didn't want it to stop. The sound of him entering your wetness was enough to make you mumble nonsense, and it wasn't long before you managed to see a ring of your juices around the bottom of his shaft. Your eyes rolled back.

His animalistic movements were sending you over the edge, and it was humiliating how loud your cries of pleasure were; you were certain that they could be heard in the hallway, but neither you nor Cregan cared enough to stop. Both of you were consumed by each other's touch, it was rough and passionate, you could feel the heat running through your veins as he possessed every inch of your insides until you were nothing but a moaning mess. Your skin was glowing with a layer of sweat, and Cregan leaned forward to lick on your collarbone, his tongue creating a path to your breasts; his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and nibbling. You grew desperate for release.

“Fuck- I need to… I'm so close,” you whimpered, your eyes locking with his.

“Come on,” he hoarsely murmured. “Show me how good of a whore you are, and make a mess on my cock.”

His words blurred your mind, sending a stimulus right into your core. You felt that sweet sensation of culmination when he touched your most sensitive point inside of you over and over again until you were sobbing with the tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes as you felt your release exploding and washing over you until your legs felt sore. You felt weak, trembling and overwhelmed. Your hair was sticking at your forehead due to your sweat and you were far gone into the pleasure he had just provided you. Yet, he seemed to not have enough.

Lord Stark pulled out of you. His length had a layer of your release coating it, and you felt your cheeks grow warm. It was unusual for you to feel this shy in this situation, but this whole thing was something rather unusual and rare. Sleeping with the biggest foe, you were a traitor now.

But Gods, it felt so damn good.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. His hand wrapped around his leaking cock stroking himself, legs slightly parted as he looked at you with darkened eyes filled with lust. He was achingly hard, you could tell; his stones seemed heavy with his seed, which you would rather feel inside of you.

Yet, you obeyed, kneeling and looking up at him through your lashes. He cursed with a sigh, twitching with the lustful sight of you ready to take him once again.

“Open wide,” he instructed, brushing his cockhead against your swollen lips. You did what you were told. “Wider,” he demanded, and you obeyed again. “That's a good little whore…” he hummed, content.

You stuck your tongue out and felt his salty taste as he tapped his cock against it. You moaned, and he grabbed the sides of your face to keep you still as he started to move in and out of your mouth. He groaned, looking up and then back at you; such a skilful little minx you were, taking him so well.

Soon, your gags were echoing in the room along with your gulps and his moans. You were drooling; your saliva running down the corners of your lips as he fucked them as fast and hard as he pleased.

“There you go, take it all just like that,” he praised you, and you felt the warmth of the tears falling down your cheeks. “Mhm, fuck. I might start to believe what they say now. You're sucking my cock like a fucking goddess…”

You felt the back of your head pressing against the border of the table as he sped up. You were choking around him, and the sounds that came out of it were obscene and filthy, and Cregan loved it.

Before you could tell, he spilt himself inside of your mouth, forcing you to swallow every drop that left him. And you did.

Once he freed you from his grip, you pulled away. A string of saliva was still hanging from your lips as you desperately gasped for air, and only then Cregan noticed the big mess you had become. Hot and soaked cheeks, eyes tearing up, your lips swollen and covered with his thick and pearly seed. You were such an unholy sight.

His thumb reached for your lip, wiping your drool out of it. Such a gesture brought you back to that very same evening when he wiped the blood out of the cut in your lip. It did not feel foreign anymore. You were breathless, trying to regain composure as Cregan looked down at you with a satisfied glance.

“Seems like the rumours are not false,” he muttered, starting to pull his pants up again. “I might keep you so that I can feel those pretty lips around my cock again.”

“Keep- keep me?” you asked, confused and overwhelmed.

Cregan arched an eyebrow, “You think because I fucked you I will let you go?” he chuckled. You felt his hand wrapped around your jaw once again, forcing you to stand up. You trembled a little, feeling your legs shaky and weak. “So naive of you… to think that I would have a taste of you and then let you go.”

You felt your heart sink inside your chest as you heard him.

��Since you offered so nicely before, I will accept,” he sighed, picking up the dress you were wearing and throwing it up to you. “I’ll make you my personal whore, how about that?” You went silent. “Oh, come on, don't pretend this was not your idea… I was going to let you go with a warning but you came out with a better proposal. How could I say no?”

“I don't- I-” you shook your head.

“You belong to me now,” he chuckled. “A wildling made just for me to fuck as I please… Sounds perfect, does it not?”

You look into his grey eyes, perceiving and reading the mischievousness in them. You tried to escape and return to your freedom. Instead, everything went wrong and now you were trapped in the wolf's cage once again.

You were not sure how to feel about that.

follow @by-fairysluna for updates!!

#cregan stark #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon #house stark #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd fanfic

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saradika · 2 months

Text

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

#so sorry I am late my love #I have been thinking about this so much - such an great prompt and event!! 💖#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #writing challenge #din djarin imagine #din djarin

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feyascorner · 2 months

Text

9 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are

also praying the tags work this time

“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”

His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.

Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.

“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”

You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”

Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.

“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”

You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.

“I’m going to love watching him scream.”

Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.

“Again.”

Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.

Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.

“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”

Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”

“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”

“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”

“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.

You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”

“There are no warnings in a real battle.”

“We’re not in real battle!”

She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.

You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.

By some miracle, it lands.

She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.

“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”

You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”

“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”

Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”

“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”

You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”

Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”

“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.

“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.

“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”

“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”

She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”

They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.

There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.

You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.

Still…

The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.

It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.

This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.

“Shadowhea-”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

You blink. Twice.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”

You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.

“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”

“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”

“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.

She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”

“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.

“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”

Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.

“Whatever would you do without me?”

You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door. It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…

The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.

Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.

A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.

Petras.

Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.

The floorboard creaks under your weight.

Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.

He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”

Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”

“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow.

“Fine. His blood bank.”

Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.

“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.

He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”

“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”

“You nearly killed my sister as well.”

“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”

“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”

Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”

“What?”

He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”

“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”

“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”

“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”

Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”

You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria…they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”

The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.

“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”

“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”

This makes your throat go dry.

“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”

“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”

You don’t know why you’re defending him.

But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.

With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”

“Still—”

“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”

For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.

You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.

Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.

“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”

You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”

“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”

With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.

Shit.

The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”

And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.

You need a bath. Terribly.

Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.

Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.

You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.

Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.

But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.

You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”

A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”

Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.

You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

“Are you drunk?”

“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”

“I was at the tavern.”

He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”

Curse him.

“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”

He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.

Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.

“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”

While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.

“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.

Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”

You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”

“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.

“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”

His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

You don’t want to imagine it, actually.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.

“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”

You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”

“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.

You can count his eyelashes from this distance.

He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”

“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.

He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”

Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”

“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”

“And let him kill more people in the process?”

Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”

Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.

“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“The night’s only begun, though.”

The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”

Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.

“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”

He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”

His delirious expression says otherwise.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”

Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”

He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”

What in the hells is going on?

First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.

You should leave.

Your legs remain rooted in place.

You should definitely leave.

“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Convince me.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”

Gods, has he lost it?

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”

Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”

“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”

“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”

He hums.

“Three, you’re an asshole.”

“Very convincing, darling.”

“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”

Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”

The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.

“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”

Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”

With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”

Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.

Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.

Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.

Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.

He’s kissing you.

Astarion is kissing you.

And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.

He starts. “Darling, I–”

Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #feyascorner #bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion fanfic #bg3 companions

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lukesandromeda · 2 months

Note

gimme ur fav luke headcanons 😏

DATING l. castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

a/n: hi soleil it spooks me what u will do with this information but i also got so carried away with this for some reason and i did in fact not proofread it

• he’s a thief. so obviously as soon as you point out something in the store, uttering a quick “that’s pretty,” he’s nodding and pushing you along to go to another section of the store, mumbling something like, “sure is.” so as soon as you’re not looking he’s breaking the tag off the item and sliding it into his back pocket because he knows that if you were to see him, you’d scold him for his habit.

and when he hands it over to you later without an explanation, you’re asking, “how did you buy this?” and when he looks away nervously, you’re quick to lecture him about why what he did was wrong—but he doesn’t care; he gets to see the smile and appreciation from you.

• hearing constant “i’m so sorry” when he comes late to hang out with you. he’s the head counselor and has so many responsibilities to the point that even begging mr. d to let him go and hang out with his girlfriend will never work.

so when he finally does have the time to hang out, he’s exhausted—beads of sweat from sparring evident on his forehead as he takes the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and tosses it to the ground.

and he’s trying to give you as much attention as he can as he shares stories from his day with you, but his adhd’s getting to him and his eyes are so, so heavy and—you finally ask him if he just wants to go to sleep, and he’s jumping out of bed and changing into comfortable sleeping clothes.

soon he’s back in bed with you, comfortable and grateful enough that the few time he gets with you is not as stressful as what he had to deal with before.

• omfg sparring is the worsttttt with him. he makes you schedule two whole hours, yapping about something like, “i’ll just tell any other kids who wanna practice to wait until tomorrow,” and you’re telling him how it’s not fair for you to take that practice away from someone else, and he’s rolling his eyes and leaving your cabin after pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “see you tomorrow.” when you do see him tomorrow, he’s already working on his footwork and smirks as you arrive. the next couple hours are brutal. there are no breaks. at that point, why did you even bring a water bottle?

because every time he has you pinned down and you’re grunting, your throat dry as you look over to your water, he tilts your head back to him with his sword and gives you a look that tells you to focus.

and every time he gets his touch on you, he’s ordering, “again.” he wins. “again.” he wins again. “again.” so many times that you repeat the same moves, and every time, his sword is lightly pressed against your chest and you’re muttering in surrender.

after the fifteenth time of hearing the word again, you drop your sword to the ground and shove him, knocking his sword out of his hands. you break down into tears of frustration, and he’s quick to explain to you that he’s not trying to make you angry—just teach you how to protect yourself.

• usually he’s the one to hold you in his arms and let you speak your mind; he’s usually your rock. but some nights, when maybe a new camper has gotten claimed, or maybe someone got a birthday gift from their godly parent, he’s laying in the crook of your neck as he suppresses his tears against the soft skin there.

he’s talking for hours, babbling about gods know what. you find yourself wondering: how did he go from talking about nick, his newest cabin mate, getting claimed as a child of apollo, to talking about what he would name a dragon? you didn’t mind, because at least now he’s not crying about his father and the stupid quest he’d sent him on.

eventually, after a long day of a fake smile and the stressful teaching of a six hour sparring class, he falls asleep, his last words of “i love you” resting on his lips.

• he’d been happy the entire night—the blue team, his team, had won capture the flag again. he’d had so much fun at the celebration afterwards, (or at least it seemed,) but now it’s time to get ready for bed. it’s 1:30 am, and you’re washing off your makeup in the bathroom mirror when luke comes in, reaching for another rag.

he stands next to you in the mirror, watching your reflection for a moment before his eyes flick over to himself. his jaw clenches, his eyes trailing up and down the left side of his face before he swallows and wets the rag.

he begins to wipe the dirt and grime off his face, slowing down when the cloth traces the scar on his cheek. he drops the rag in the sink and sniffles, walking out of the bathroom and into the bed. once you’re finished, you join him in your room and climb into the bed. you lay down, and he rolls over and rests his face in the crook of his neck.

you wonder why it feels weird for a moment, and then you realize he has his head tilted oddly so that the left side of his face is hiding in the crook of his neck. odd, you think, considering he’d been complaining about neck pain the day before. you lift his head up, hand tracing on his left cheek and he freezes, body tensing.

“luke?” you ask, your eyes searching for a reason to his odd behavior. you look at where your fingers are tracing; on the scar. you understand, and for a moment, you see his eyes fill up with tears.

you swallow and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his scar before resting your forehead against his. he closes his eyes with a pained expression. moments pass, and then he moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time he doesn’t hide his scar.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #charlie bushnell #luke castellan x reader fluff #luke castellan x reader smut #luke pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell x reader fluff #luke castellan headcannons

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larluce · 3 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @virgil-wannabe since you asked for a PART 3 ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART1 , PART 2 , PART3 (you're here) , PART4

In "The Dragon's Call"

Arthur: (bulling a servant for the third time just so Merlin meets him again)

Merlin: (appearing out of nowhere) You, oppressor!

Arthur: (thinking) finally

Merlin: (thinking) Wait, that's not my line.

Arthur: (thinking and barely containing himself from crying, running to Merlin and hugging him and kissing him right there) He’s just as beautiful as the day I lost him 🥺🤧

Merlin: (thinking in panic) He isn’t saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything?! 😰😖

Merlin: Is that the way you treat your servants? You are a... a prat! and...and an ass!

Arthur:...

Merlin: (thinking) please say something, please say something, please say something.

Arthur: (coughs, just realising he's been staring for too long) You're right I was being mean. My apologies.

Merlin: ... wait what? 😧

In "The Poisoned Chalice"

Merlin: (ready to use a spell to make Arthur drop his cup)

Arthur: (dropping it on purpose) Oh, clumsy of me, I droped it.

Merlin: (to himself) What? But I didn't use the spell yet. (Looks at his hands) Or did I?... Ugh, whatever (picking up the cup) Hey, Gaius! What's that? (Pointing at the flower petal inside the cup)

Gaius: It's poison! Someone tried to poison the prince!

Arthur: (faking surprise) what? Really?

Merlin: (faking surprise too) I can't believe it!

In "Lancelot"

Merlin: He would make an excelent knight. He saved my life.

Arthur: (full panic mode) what?! When?! Are you okay?!

Merlin: (confused) ...yeah? The grif-I mean, the winged beast attacked me when-

Arthur: The griffin attacked you?! (Checks him) Why didn't you tell me?! Are you hurt?!

Merlin: (still shocked but blushing due to Arthur's sudden attention and closeness) Ahm... you didn't ask? And Lancelot stopped the beast before it could hurt me, so you don't have to worry.

Arthur: (swallowing his guilt for not asking in his other timeline)... Right. From now on you tell when these things happen, do you understand?

Merlin: Yes, sire.

Arthur: Good. (Lets go of Merlin realizing he's being holding him for too long) Well, as thankful as I am to Lancelot for saving you, I can't knight him if he isn't a noble. That's the code.

Merlin: I know but-

Arthur: So I'll give him another job in the castle and when I'm king I'll gladly consider knighting him if he's still interested.

Merlin: (more than surprised) You will?

Arthur: (nods) Is that all?

Merlin: Yes... (smiles) thank you

Arthur: (smiles) Anytime, Merlin. (leaves)

Merlin: (looking Arthur leave with hearteyes) 😍... wait. How did he know what the beast was called?😨

In "Excalibur"

Merlin: (debating with himself if he should let Arthur fight the Black Knight this time around or let Uther do it again)

Arthur: (arriving) Merlin.

Merlin: (utterly surprised) You are here! 😱

Arthur: Of course I'm here. You thought I would withdraw? I'm not a coward, Merlin.

Merlin: No! I'm just... surprised Uther let you.

Arthur: He did try to drug me to stop me from coming. (Looks at Excalibur in Merlin's hands, recognizing it) Where did you get that?

Merlin: Oh... I just thought... you would need a new sword for this. So I asked Tom to make it for you.

Arthur: You got it made... for me?

Merlin: Yes. (Thinking) Please use it, please use it, please use it.

Arthur: (holding the sword) It's good. Thank you.

Merlin: (blushing, still not used to Arthur thanking everything he does) I'm just doing my job. There's no need to-

Arthur: There’s every need. (Touching his shoulder fondly and smiling) Thank you, Merlin. For thinking of me.

Merlin: (screaming inside)

#merlin bbc #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin fic #merlin fanfic #merthur fic #merlin prompt #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur fanfic #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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unoislazy · 5 months

Text

I lied to all of you, Hiccup later, Mizu now!

Spar With Me

Mizu x Reader

Disclaimer; Possible spoilers.

Mizu will be referred to as “he/him” since the reader won’t know her secret at this point in time.

I can’t guarantee this will be completely in character, I’m still learning more about the characters so bear with me.

Part Two

Part Three

————————————————————

You had been traveling alongside Mizu and Ringo for a fair amount of time. You had been haphazardly picked up along the way, very much to Mizu’s dismay. The only reason you were allowed to tag along was your fighting skills. Your skills were no wear near Mizu’s level, not many people would be, but you were able to do enough that if the need arose, you’d be able to form some sort of protection for yourself and possibly Ringo.

But you wanted to learn more.

You didn’t want to do like Ringo and become a Samurai, it should be clear to anyone that Mizu was not a samurai, you wanted to learn how to fight. Throughout your travels with the two you watched how the man practically danced with a sword, the elegance as he leapt through the air and sliced up men with ease. The sword seems to be a sort of extension of him, of his arm, or his heart. When he wielded the sword it was like they were connected more than just physically.

You didn’t understand it well but you wanted to learn.

You had your reasons for wanting to fight. You didn’t want to learn in the name of tyranny or even greed, you wanted to learn to prevent a situation from happening ever again.

When you were younger, you certainly weren’t the most popular kid in your village. You never truly did much to attract attention so people often never really batted an eye to your presence. However, that meant no one truly noticed when you would walk around with several visible injuries some days after being picked on by some of the other village kids.

They didn’t pick on you for any other reason than they were bored and they knew they wouldn’t face any consequences if they went after you.

And they were right.

You tried your hardest to fight back but they were always a step ahead of you. So from then on you knew you wanted to learn how to fight, if not to protect yourself then maybe to have the hopes of one day protecting someone else.

You all continued to travel in complete silence, the snow lightly crunching beneath yours and Mizu’s feet. The only thing giving away Ringo's position was the bell that was wrapped around his foot. You looked down at his bell and smiled, it was almost like putting a collar on a pet, it was kind of funny to you. Ringo turned to you, noticing you looking at the bell and he excitedly smiled.

“Do you like it? Master gave it to me, he says I’m too sneaky so now he knows where I am at all times!” He loudly exclaimed, you think he was trying to whisper but he was obviously doing horribly at it. Mizu, who was walking a few steps ahead of you two, gave you a slight glance over the shoulder. You didn’t really notice as you were still smiling at Ringo, you enjoyed his ever optimistic demeanor on everything, it was so different from everyone else’s dreary lives and it gave you a reason to smile.

Ringo leaned over to you, trying his best to lower his voice but he still said everything quite loud.

“Maybe master will give you one too! That way we can both be sneaky apprentices.” He whispered, causing you to burst out laughing.

“Me? Get a bell?” You laughed before continuing, “I’m not going to call the man my master, I have no reason to.” You stated pretty plainly, which obviously confused Ringo.

“You want to learn how to fight, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to learn from Mizu, right?”

You nodded your head agreeing with him before realizing what he was getting at.

“So then Mizu is your master!”

“Woah, no way.” You argued, now crossing your arms with your head raised high.

You had your issues with calling some man your master. Especially one that barely gave you the time of day. Plus, if it wasn’t for your persistence and Ringo's persuasion, he would’ve left you on that street corner where he found you.

But he didn’t.

He instead let you travel along like a stray dog, following him around on his dark mission that you felt no need to ask about. You had talked to him maybe a handful of times before but he clearly didn’t want to give you the idea that he wanted you around. You were welcomed here, but with very cold and rigid arms instead of nice warm ones.

You might’ve been following him like a stray dog but you’re no pet.

And so you refuse to get that stupid bell.

“Why don’t you want to be Masters apprentice? I’d say it’s very fun, I get to do stuff for him all the time!” Ringo said, it was obvious he was trying to persuade you in some way.

“Well my friend, I think that position is occupied, number one. And number two, I want to learn how to fight, that’s it. I don’t want to learn the ins and outs of being a samurai. I’m simply hoping Mizu will teach me, as a friend.” You explained, it seemed this finally clicked with Ringo, but then you watched as his face contorted into more confusion by your answer.

Before he could ask, Mizu abruptly turned to the both of you and simply stated,

“It’s getting late, we should rest here.”

You both nodded as Mizu walked off in some random direction with Ringo following him. You however, took a moment to just stare at the already dark night sky. You hadn’t realized just how long you had been traveling, and you were a bit peeved that you had missed seeing the sunset. Although it’s not like you would’ve really been able to see it anyways, you were currently deep into a forest, surrounded by hundreds of trees with no clear direction in any which way.

Speaking of not knowing your direction, you quickly looked back down and spotted Ringo, quickly following after him as to not get left behind. If they had left you you would’ve been screwed, you have no idea where you are, or how to get out of the forest, not to mention there’s usually many dangers in the woods that you’re not yet prepared to deal with.

It didn’t take long for a fire to get set up and for Ringo to start cooking. He might not have made the world's best soba, but you’d argue it was pretty high up there. You and Mizu sat quietly by the fire, not really saying a word to each other as you stared at the scorching flames before you.

You wanted to ask if you could try training, while you’re both not doing anything, you wanted to try.

But you were almost afraid of Mizu. His stoic demeanor often sent shivers down your spine especially when he had such a stern tone of voice.

Well it’s now or never.

“Hey Mizu?” You began. You could see him just barely out of your peripheral vision. He turned his head ever so slightly to look at you, but you didn’t want to look back as you continued,

“Before Ringo finishes the food, would you mind sparring with me?” You asked. Mizu stared at you for a moment before looking back to the tree he had been looking at before. Maybe he was thinking about his answer?

Your eyes slowly crept over to look at him from the side. He didn’t really make a move to give you an answer, he simply sat there, thinking.

“It can double as extra training for you. Obviously not to your level, but you can use me as a warm up.” You persisted, now fully looking at him. You stared at him for a moment, he was probably in the most relaxed position you ever have, or ever would see him in. He rested one of his arms on his knee with his back against the tree trunk that lay behind himself. His dark hair was in its usual top knot and his glasses remained on and pushed up.

You didn’t know why he wore those glasses, you had never seen him take them off, and you had never seen behind them. Maybe he just really enjoyed wearing them, maybe a family heirloom?

Well, from what you knew about the man, his family definitely wasn’t something he’d want to honor with an heirloom. Plus, they seemed more of a newer style of glasses so there goes that idea.

After staring for what was in reality, maybe ten seconds, you looked away. If he wasn’t going to train you then who was, why were you even here if he wasn’t going to give you a chance. Were you seriously just along to be Ringo's makeshift bodyguard? Seriou-

“Fine, get up.”

You looked confused, being snapped out of your thoughts so abruptly had you thinking you completely made up what you thought you just heard.

“Do you want to learn or not?” Mizu asked, now standing before you, looking down at you as he waited for your answer. You nodded eagerly, quickly standing up and following Mizu just a little ways away from the fire.

It wasn’t like the forest was pitch black, you could still see thanks to the bright moonlight, it was just a little bit harder.

Mizu stopped in a little open area, just enough room for a fight to take place. You looked back, seeing that the fire wasn’t too far but It was enough that you couldn’t exactly see what Ringo was doing because of the trees that blocked your vision.

You stood a little ways away from Mizu, getting into a fighting stance, unarmed. You knew how to use a katana and naginata very loosely, but you wanted to just start with hand to hand. You knew Mizu could easily kill you if he wanted to regardless of what the fighting style was, but you trusted him even the slightest bit to not commit to ending your life.

Now you both stood quietly before each other. Both in fighting positions as you waited for the other one to move. If you were to attack first you were far enough away to give Mizu time to counter you. If Mizu attacked first, you might have time to counter or dodge but you weren’t going to get very far.

So, without another thought, you charged at Mizu. He waited for a moment before doing the same, and just as you were about to swing, he threw snow right in your face.

“Hey!” You shouted, wiping the snow out of your eyes before looking up and seeing Mizu sending a punch right for your face. You successfully dodged underneath and swung your leg to send Mizu off balance.

“You must be ready to use all the elements to your advantage.” He instructed, easily jumping out of the way of your kick and backing away. You quickly got up, dodging another one of his kicks before going in for a punch. You sent too much momentum into it which left you way too open and vulnerable leading Mizu to easily knock you off balance.

It was clear he wasn’t going to hurt you, just humiliate you for your lack of understanding of how to fight.

You fell to the ground, looking up at Mizu who was just staring at you, waiting for you to make your next move.

You two continued to fight for some time and you honestly could have sworn that you saw him smile a few times. Sure it might’ve been at your expense but you still felt proud enough to achieve such a feat.

You were slowly but surely getting the hang of it as you went.

Or so you thought.

You had gotten yourself into a position where you had a full plan of attack, but it seemed like Mizu was already eight steps ahead of you because with one simple move, he had knocked you down, now pinning you to the cold and snowy ground.

You struggled beneath his grip, trying to find a way out to attack but it was no use. He was indeed a lot stronger than you.

“Stop fussing, you lost.” He stated with what you could have sworn was a teasing smile. Fighting really brought out a different person in Mizu and honestly you didn’t mind it. It felt as if you two had finally started to get to know each other, even if it was just through a series of dodges and snarky remarks. It took you a few moments to realize he was actually straddling you, very tightly one might add. His hands were firmly holding down your hands and it was clear he was not going to budge.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the current situation you were in. It was nothing short of humiliating to practically beg to fight someone only to wind up underneath them, but you also couldn’t help but admit you also felt embarrassed for other reasons.

You looked up at him, and it was just then you noticed that his glasses had fallen off. You didn’t know when, you didn’t know where, all you knew was now you were staring at a pair of bright blue eyes that seemed to be watching you in amusement.

He watched as your face changed from a sour expression to one of confusion,

“What’s wrong, can’t handle losing?” He teased, nearing you ever so slightly.

That was until you muttered,

“Your… eyes.”

With those two words, Mizu’s amused expression dropped suddenly and he jumped off of you and faced away in a matter of seconds. He quickly grabbed his glasses that had gotten thrown off during one of his many expert maneuvers.

You sat up, now staring at the back of the makeshift samurai who didn’t utter another word.

You had heard stories of ‘the demon eyes’ when you were a kid, everyone did. You might’ve believed those stories when you were younger but here stands someone with those ‘demon eyes’ and you saw nothing more than just a very scarred individual. Sure, Mizu was scary good at wielding weapons, but that wasn’t some demonic power, that was pure skill, and you admired him for it endlessly despite never wanting to admit that outloud.

You both sat in silence, you leaning on your hands and Mizu, sitting with his legs crossed and his back towards you. After a moment of just sitting you took a breath in, as you did so you noticed Mizu’s head lower ever so slightly as if he was preparing to hear or feel something he had heard before.

Your eyes softened as you stated,

“Your eyes… they’re very pretty.” You complimented. You could see Mizu freeze for a moment as you stood up, walking just up behind him.

You couldn’t imagine the amount of stuff he had gone through throughout his life, having to deal with people treating him differently for something he couldn’t control. You didn’t need his whole life story to know it was probably rough. It didn’t take a genius to know that considering where you are, sitting in the middle of the woods as the man before you continued to try to track down certain people for a reason unbeknownst to you.

Mizu continued to sit in silence as you kneeled down just behind him, you reached out your arm to touch his shoulder but you hesitated for a moment. Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should just leave him alone, it’s clear he is not comfortable.

You just wanted to show him some kind of comfort, even if it was just in the sense of one little shoulder touch, so that’s what you did. Your hand ever so gently rested on his shoulder before you quietly muttered,

“I mean it.”

Mizu’s head ever so slightly turned towards your direction, but before he could say or do anything you took your hand off of him and quickly stood up, quietly rushing back to Ringo who was still carefully preparing your food.

It was only a few more minutes before Mizu followed behind you, making his way towards the fire. Neither of you mentioned what had just happened and you continued to sit in silence just as you had done before. It was as if all the progress you had made to getting to know him while fighting, had gone down the drain.

Until you heard him quietly mutter,

“Thank you.”

#mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #blue #blue eyes #x reader #x gn reader #netflix #idk how to tag this #i love her #my wife #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #blue eye samurai fanfic #blue eye samurai x reader #ringo blue eye samurai #sparring #unoislazy

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Note

Does handmain!reader braid Aemond's hair? Does Aemond know how to braid his children's hair? PLS THE FLUFFFF

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

notes: DAD!AEMOND DAD!AEMOND DAD!AEMOND

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Three hours after sundown, his mother arrives at his doorway, carrying a reading lamp and two books of faith. “Would you like to sit and pray with me tonight, Aemond?” Alicent asks, but her voice soon trails off when she notices the hairbrush clutched in his hand and the twins at his knees. Both boys toy around with their tiny wooden stick swords, offering their grandmother two toothy little smiles.

“Oh, I see that you’re quite busy tonight…” she then adds, in a tone faint with teasing.

Aemond nods where he sits, gently combing out any tangles and snags in his son’s silver-pale hair. “Their mother easily puts me to shame, as she does with most things…” he mumbles, glancing sidelong at his other son, whose own shines like moonglow in a loose braid, “-but I do believe I’ve done a rather fine job with my boys.”

Alicent hums. “Where might she be tonight? Did you dismiss her?”

Aemond gestures to his bed, where his handmaid lays fast asleep, cuddling around a pillow. As she slept, she had kicked off the blanket and sheets, and the pretty curve of her swollen belly limned in the soft glow from the hearth.

“The babe’s been stealing away most of her energy these past few days,” he tells Alicent, shaking his head. His fingers part the hair into three splits before looping the first over the second and tugging the third into the middle. “The maesters say the name day is nearing, perhaps in another fortnight.”

He refused any looks at his girl; otherwise, he’d drink in the lovely sight a bit too much like a drunken fool, and he’d prefer his mother not bearing witness to such.

Yet Alicent studies the sleeping handmaid, a shadow of a smile flickering across her lips. This time around, she had grown great with a girl, according to the maesters and midwives alike, as well as Aemond himself. He had pined so much for a daughter of his own, frequenting the sept alongside her, to sink onto his knees and pray to the Mother for a baby girl, one blessed with her mother’s features.

She hopes her son receives his daughter. He deserves it that much.

“Would you like for me to tuck in the boys for the night?”

Aemond smiles. “Ah, if it would be no bother to you, mother. I’d appreciate it…I don’t wish to leave her, not when she’s like this…” but Alicent waves him away, kneeling before the boys. “I’ll have them choose a bedtime story, and they can tell me all about their day.” So he kisses his sons on the nose and forehead before whispering a fond goodnight, sending them away with their grandmother.

And as they leave, hand in hand with Alicent, their little braids bounce with every step. The sight gives him nothing but joy and pride.

The fire in the hearth was quickly burning down to embers, and he hadn’t intended to disturb his resting girl, but he couldn’t stop himself from climbing over her. Sweeter than lemon cakes and more beautiful than all the seasons. He rubs at her bump, where hopefully his daughter sleeps too, and kisses her bare shoulder- then her cheeks and lips- and kisses her again when she murmurs in her sleep.

“You’re all I’ll ever need and more,” he breathes, nestling his head against her breast. I love you. I love you. I love you.

At that, her eyes open, and she smiles, stroking his hair. “Tomorrow, I shall braid it,” she whispers.

But Aemond snatches her hand and lifts it to his lips. “No. I’ll braid your hair, my sweet girl,” he promises, kissing each of her fingers, nipping at the skin, “I need the practice anyways.”

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond drabble #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #handmaid!reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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eydi-andrius · 10 months

Text

Clear Lilac Eyes (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

summary: Aemond had bowed and prayed, something he had never done before no matter how hard his life had been.

cw/tw: fluff, a bit of angst and hurt, aemond is a good husband, a dad and a king, childbirth, blood, implied war, patriarchy, threats, mentions of violence, threats and tags are not exhausted. Let me know if I miss anything

a/n: Wrote this as an alternate ending for Don't Get Sad, Get Even but I thought it was too positive so I wrote it as a standalone.

Also, I posted this as a celebration as my blog turned THREE (3) today! YAY! 🎉🥳 Mannnnn, I used to be a lurker on this app then I started craving for my whatifs then wrote them. To celebrate, I will post for all the characters I have written so far and it includes this one. And maybe I have something in store for the others. 👀 A much awaited comeback hehehehehe if you have any request, you may send me an ask! 🥰 I may write them. 👀 Anyway, without further ado, ENJOY!

Likes and reblogs are welcome!

💚

There was an air of uneasiness that chokes out the life of those who breathe it in. The flicker of fire from the torches and the quiet of the hallways made an eerie atmosphere in the Red Keep.

The shadows, the footfalls and the swish of clothings intensifies the feeling of distress in every mortal present at the birth of the King's child.

This was an important event for the realm as this child may become the first heir to this new era of dragons.

All the dragon-blood and silver-haired were almost wiped during the dance of dragons which happened for only a year.

Except for one.

With his wit and strategy, Aemond Targaryen was able to win the war and was crowned king.

He was vicious and no one could deny him of his throne. Once the swords were down and the white flags were raised, all heads bowed to him.

However, right now, the King's head was bowed to only one, the Mother. The Goddess of Birth.

While the realm was weary for his heir, he was scared to lose the love of his life.

She had always expressed her fear of giving birth. When they were young, she had said to him that if she had a choice, she would rather not give birth. During that time, he thought it was silly. No one can run from their purpose. Especially her, whose sole purpose was to continue her family's lineage. She was a noble and a girl. There was no way for her to continue life without giving birth.

Another blood curdling scream broke from her inside the room. It was loud. Terrifyingly loud. His gut twisted in fear. He had promised her not to enter the chambers while she gives birth but something was egging him on to force his way inside and to stay by her side.

The room was filled with the familiar sweet metallic scent of blood. He had grown accustomed to it on the battlefield and never once the sight repulsed him. However, the white sheets and the white clothes worn by the maester and midwives were all covered in blood. Her blood. There was too much blood around her. The sickening feeling swirling inside of him tore new fear as he rushed forward and watched her delicate face, pale and deathly. Her lips dry and her hands cold to the tips.

"My Lady wife, look at me, my dear. I beg of you " He watched her closely as her eyes fluttered softly at the sound of his voice. She looked at him and tried her best to give a smile but the look of it made him regret forcing her to go through the pain of giving birth. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at him before it closed with a deep sigh. He squeezed her cold hands with worry - he prayed that the Mother will show his wife mercy, as she did to all the mothers who had gone through similar pain.

A tiny scream of life caught his attention. He looked behind him and there it was, his child. He never saw that she had finally given birth and was blinded with worry as he rushed in. His small bundle of joy was wrapped in the familiar green and gold linen his mother used for him when he was born. His pride and joy finally came and his heart was filled with unfamiliar warmth. He had never felt like this before.

Without removing his hand that held his wife, he asked the maester to help him place his little dragon on his free arm. The silver protruding hairs on his head had proven he was his child. He looks so small, so full of life as it cries and he shushes him. He had never felt more at ease as he was surrounded with his family. The family he chooses and who chooses him. His love for them runs deeply and he could never express how grateful he was for them.

"It is a girl." The sound of the maester's voice brought him back to where he was sitting and he looked at him. The maester's face did not hide his disappointment but he will forgive him for now.

A girl?

A smile broke through him and he apologized inside his head to his daughter as he called her wrong. With a gesture of love, he placed his nose on top of hers and his heart was full as he heard her stop crying and coo at him.

He was overfilled with happiness. It feels like nothing could go wrong.

However, his joy was short-lived when he felt his wife's hand loosen its grip to his. He had now realized her palm was colder, almost like ice. His head whipped in her direction and he saw the familiar feeling of impending death.

No. Please. Not her either.

The wrong feeling in his gut came back again and he ordered the maester to help his wife. They rushed forward and he stepped back as he cradled the child, who was now peacefully sleeping on his arm. She must have been tired as she forced her way out to this world. She was so innocent and pure that she did not realize the terror that was eating away at his father's core.

He had watched them closely as they tried their best to bring his lady wife back to life. She looks so small, and fragile. He was afraid that they would break her as they moved back and forth to revive her.

The wet nurse of his child had asked and begged him to go out but he refused to do so and did not leave the room until the maester had told him that his wife was safe from harm. No one could tell when she would wake up but he was relieved that she could recover now.

At last, he had entrusted his child to her caretaker and asked the others to leave them be. Him alone with his wife. He waited for the sound of the door closing, before he broke down. With shaking limbs and eyes blurry with tears, he cried and kissed her hand.

He apologized for what he had put her through. He apologized for what she had to witness.

He apologized for exposing her to violence.

He apologized and apologized until there wasn't anything he could say to her.

If the life of his wife would be the retribution for his sins then he would never forgive himself.

That night, on his knees, he prayed and prayed for her to get better until there were no words he could utter to the Mother.

💚

Three days had passed and she was still asleep. He had smiled at her sleeping form as he recalled his interaction he had with his daughter. She was fussy and loud, just like her mother. He knew she would grow up with her mother's tenacity and boldness.

Ignoring her pale face and thin body, he bit the inside of his cheek and continued his story. This was worse than war. Sitting beside her and watching as she fights for her life. Waiting and not being able to help her. He hoped that his stories would make her feel strong.

He never liked the idea of her missing the growth of their child. He knew her better and this will make her sad. She had expressed that she had always wished for her mother to see her grow when she was young but she died too early for her to even remember her face, which people had claimed that they looked quite a lot like each others'.

He could never deny that there is no moment that he never missed her. Every inch and corner of Red Keep reminds him of her. Half of his life was him being with her. He wanted each and every waking moment of his was to be with her.

Swallowing his selfishness and pride, again, he prayed for her to get well and wake up soon. He bargained to all of the Gods that he will do anything and pay for it in his power to make it come true.

💚

The council room was obnoxiously loud. He watched them quietly like a hunter, staring down its prey.

If he had the choice, he would be with his daughter and wife. But alas, he had to create a strong foundation for this new nation for his lovely daughter. He had to muster all the patience he had to stay still and listen to them.

After the discussion about the trade and economy, suddenly, all the old men present looked at him warily. Even without them uttering a word, he knew what they would tell him.

A searing hot anger rises through him but he feels calm. Calm enough to not hesitate to stab and kill with ease, just like what he did during the war. Or maybe he could ask Vhagar to bite them off in half or burn them alive.

"Congratulations on having a girl, your grace. How was she?" He forgot that man's name but he believed the one who first opened his mouth was a Baratheon.

"My girl was doing well." He replied curt and short.

He saw how some of the men gulped in nervousness at the sound of his voice. He intended for them to feel the venom and challenge them to continue so he can cut their tongue. They looked nervous and fear was all over their features. Only Larys and Cregan, looked somewhat calm and remained quiet.

"We're happy to h-hear that." The Baratheon continued with eyes wandering around his allies, like a helpless sheep waiting to be slaughtered. Aemond moved back and leaned on his chair, he wanted to see them all on a better view. He lay his head to his hand as he stared them down.

The silence was loud as everyone stayed seated and waited for each other. No one dares to. They were afraid. Aemond, the King, was ruthless. They knew bloodshed would be inevitable if they opened their mouths to speak about the dying Queen and the King having no heir after she gave birth to a daughter.

Each one prefers their head intact, except for one. Or maybe the wise old folk of the North had better places to be and so he started the conversation with a tired sigh.

"I thought you have something to say about the Queen, boy." He looked at the young Baratheon who was seated across him with emotionless eyes.

The Baratheon stared at Cregan and the air shifted. The old wolf calling his name had given him confidence to open his mouth and talk about the real reason why this council meeting was held in the first place.

"Your grace, as much as we all pray for the Queen to get better. Please understand that we talk about this with the clearest intention in mind. After what happened to the Queen and the uncertainty of her health, we believed that it would be better to take another wife…..for the sake of our budding kingdom. In that way, we could secure an heir." He spoke with an air of superiority. As if he truly knew what he was talking about.

Aemond stared at the man. He doesn't know how long it was but he just looked at him. The silence was uncomfortable and some of the gentlemen in front of him looked nervous as they waited for him to speak.

"Y-your grace?" After some time, the Baratheon spoke again.

He breathed in and finally, with an intense stare at the fool in front of him, he spoke with a neutral chilling tone.

"Did you know how the war started in the first place, boy?" He tipped his head and waited for an answer.

Not knowing what to reply, the Baratheon boy blinked and looked around for help. But when no one could give him an answer he replied, confused.

"Your grace?"

"When my beloved lady wife was almost dying from childbirth, I suddenly remembered how and why we were all here. Why thousands of lives were lost. Why did dragons almost die and were wiped out?" He said with a menacing smirk.

"You see, it started on this very council. Who were greedy for power to have the dragon blood on their lineage. To have their blood on the throne. And a foolish king who wore his heart on his sleeves. Those greedy old men pretended to truly care for him by using the memory of his wife and in the end feasted on his heart, voraciously. "He was way too lenient for his own good and once he realized he was being used, it was too late to change anything." My mother once told me.

And I — I always saw my father as someone who swims along the current because he trusts way too easily, not knowing that there were sharp rocks waiting for him at the end. Even if I knew he wouldn't give me the love of a father as he should, I respect him for being the king. I believed he did his best to be a good one and a fair father to us. It doesn't mean it was enough though."

Aemond stared from afar as he recalled how he envied his sister. How she got all the love they deserved to have too. It was never their fault to be treated that way and so he blamed all of it on her. But after the war and during the time his wife had suffered the similar fate of the former Queen, he realized how lonely his father might have felt. He realized how his sister might have suffered from being a girl. It was a strong slap on his face as he sat in the middle of this council and watched how these men didn't care about what he had to endure and how the life of his wife was the only reason why he was keeping sane. They will never understand, never.

"Your grace, w-we cannot understand-"

"Of course you wouldn't. None of you would." He cut him off before he could continue to rebuke him.

"If the Queen dies right after this meeting, those who had agreed to have me married for another one would be beheaded for treason. If she did not survive even though her body has been doing well for days, I will treat her death as intentional from all of you. Speak again of her that way, head will roll, and blood will soak the iron throne. The only reason why you do not have a mad King, who craves death, was because of her."

He stood up and did not care with the way the men yelled in unison of their protest against what he said. The only ones who stayed seated were Larys and Cregan, who both shook their heads. He did not care if they agreed with him. His wife will not die and he will protect her even if it means he has to be a Mad King.

💚

He stayed seated beside her, just like what he has been doing these days.

He chooses to be with her at night. He cannot stand to sleep in their room without her. It feels empty and cold.

The barren room, even though filled with gold and riches, feels like another room in a gloomy castle.

Each night, he stayed with her. Talk to her until he falls asleep on her side. He will either hold her hand or weave his hand through her hair, to soothe her. Sometimes, he even sings to her in High Valyrian, hoping that she will hear him and finally open her eyes. She always tells him she loves his voice when he speaks his native tongue.

He waited and waited but it seems like today was like any other night. She needed a whole day of sleep to recuperate. He slowly closed his eyes after he kissed her goodnight. And prayed again that tomorrow, is the day she will smile at him again.

A caress…

He cannot help but smile at the soft feathery caress on his face. It reminds him so much of how she wakes him up in the morning. What a beautiful dream..

A dream…

He frowned when he realized it was just a dream. She was still asleep and sick. And with his brows knit together, he relinquished the soft touch of fingers on his face. It feels familiar and welcoming.

Just a bit more, he wanted to feel that she's with him.

He was slowly going back to sleep, after what happened today, he seemed tired than usual, and it did not take long as the sleep tugged him back again when a tap jolted him awake.

Even though the war ended a long time ago, his senses were still heightened and he was glad he wasn't wearing his sword or so he probably would have killed whoever forcefully woke him up.

A smile….

He stared, mouth agape, when he saw you giving him a tired smile. He blinked and then, he panicked as he rushed forward at you, careful not to hurt you with his weight.

"My love.." He said with so much worry in his voice. He was feeling the tears threatening to come out of his eyes as he gazed at her pale face and dry lips. He doesn't even know how he will touch her. A moment of hesitation, his hands stopped midair as he panics that he might break her. What if he hurt her unintentionally and she fell asleep again?

He watched her as she tried to move her mouth but failed. She swallowed and tried again. This time he went to where the water and cup was placed and he helped her up to drink. She was thirsty and her mouth is probably dry from being asleep for a long time. Aemond calm yourself! She needed you more than now.

Once done, he carefully assisted her to lean on the headboard and she sighed with relief.

He was just looking at her. And she was looking back at him. It took a while, the staring, until his face contorted with relief and then, he cried. He was shaking as he held her hand. She felt her fragile hands weave through his hair as she shushed him. He knew she was smiling. Glad to be back on his arms.

He never felt so relieved and so thankful.

All his life the people, his loved ones and even the gods did not like him.

No matter how much he tried his best. No matter how much he was better he will never be chosen for he was only a second son. He was there as a safety but never the one.

But you choose him. And never did your love wavered.

He never felt so hopeless when you were in pain and bedridden.

He never felt so useless despite doing his best to be the strongest for his family.

It was the first time he felt so inadequate and weak. That he gave all of his strength to kneel and pray for you whenever he could. He begged and promised that he would do anything in his power just so he could have you back.

And now, crying in your middle like a child, as you held him as tight as he did, he prayed for gratefulness.

💚

A week after you woke up, you are still not strong enough to walk outside.

You relinquished the sun on your window and watched as Aemond carried and sways your daughter.

You have a feeling that the reason why he was able to be in your room, as much as he could, was because he threatened the nobles every time they tried to stop him. You tried to talk to him once, compromising that he doesn't have to be with you, almost the whole day, but he shrugged and rolled his eyes, stating that he would rather be with his wife than be surrounded by men.

Aemond can be stubborn but he never runs from his obligations so this was truly new for you.

You giggled as you watched your lord husband's eyes widen from surprise. He was teasing your daughter by placing his finger in her small palm, when she closed and squeezed him tight, never letting go. His eyes softened when she cooed at him.

He looks so different from when they call him the one-eyed prince for being vicious and fearsome. You were truly loved by the gods for witnessing this interaction and being one of the centers of his affection.

"I will make her my heir." He said with a plain voice, as if he was asking you how you were.

"My love?" You frowned, confused. You have witnessed Rhaenyra being crowned heir and how the war started from there. What is going on?

"I will change the law to make the eldest an heir. No matter what gender they may be, they will be given the same education and treatment, fit as the next ruler. If the nobles disagree, not that I care about them, I will also add that a female heir and noble will always have a noble child. Compared to a prince, a boy, the one she would carry will have noble blood in their veins. I will use my life, my reign to establish this. My daughter will be heir and no man, no noble, will be able to take that from her." The initial worry and confusion you felt from earlier vanished, as you watched him share his plan with the softest eyes. The setting sun at the window, creating a soft silhouette of him carrying his daughter. He loves her more than the throne. Something you have never witnessed before.

It warms your heart and you never thought you would fall deeper in love with him this much in this lifetime. You will forever be happy that he chose you.

"My love…..you always prove to me why I choose you every single waking moment of my life." Without thinking you opened your mouth and spoke the words that always lingered in your end.

Surprised, he stared at you and then, he smiled in awe. You don't even need him to speak for you to know that his eyes and soften feature was him telling you that he loves you.

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